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 in 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, elders   Environment not yours you see through it all      Wanna get out won't miss you sensaround   Carry your own dead to swing your tyre tricks   Wanna get out in here you're bred dead quick   For the outside   The small black flowers that grow in the sky      Here chewing your tail is joy