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  knows my true identity.
 For all we know I'm John  Kennedy's
 love child  Nosferatu.
 We can't know, but  we got to.
 Nobody knows how deep this  goes,
 but ancient  history shows:
 We're all descended from the same  alien slime.
 And  a pretty shade of gray.
 It makes  woodwork eat away.
 Glass breaks and cow's  curdles.
 It glows in the dark  it mutates turtles.
  told me something interesting.
 They told me the world  always tempesting
  and around again.
 I've had enough of  pseudo-Zen.
 Somebody else was  from afar,
 screwing  up like a broken VCR.
 She thought  I was very insincere, because
 I rolled my eyes a bit  much.
 Am I really that  of touch?
  should I care about this?
 I'm not concerned with the things  miss.
 I don't see the point in  believing in
 things you can taste like fear and 
 Sadly this hasn't gotten me anything  dread and gluttony.
 Under the ground is where I  go.
 Surely there  a way, but I dunno how to get there.
 No one seems to  actually, so
 I tried to use a garden 
 but it was  poorly made.
 It broke  so many pieces.
 It's times like  that I wish had
 Telekinesis...Telekinesis...Telekinesis