You have your very own number
  They dress your cage in its nature
  Once you roared now you just grunt lame
  Pace around pathetic pound games
    Wanna get out won't miss you sensaround
  To carry your own dead to swing your tyre tricks
  Wanna get out here you're bred dead quick
  For the outside,
  The small black flowers that grow in the sky
    They drag sticks along your walls
  Harvest your ovaries dead mothers crawl
  Here comes warden, Christ, temple, elder
  Environment not yours you see through it all
    Wanna get out won't miss you sensaround
  To carry your own dead to swing your tyre tricks
  Wanna get out here you're bred dead quick
  For the outside,
  The small black flowers that grow in the sky
    Here chewing your tail is joy