It's too bright out, the heat dries my eyes out and
we, we turn over, we turn over like a wheel.
No one stays here besides devils and rockscalers,
and they know better, they are gonna disappear but
we'll be here. We will be here.
Under the rough that grows itself outward toward the
four corners of the earth,
not downward. There is no water under the gravel,
there are no wet-throated travelers.
And we turn over, we turn over like a wheel.
Under the traps of scavengers,
bat your eyes and you are wrapped up in them.
Kicking of limbs and wriggling endlessly won't set
you free, you are a tumbleweed,
a jumble of feeble parts, can you even see in the dark?
You're carrying all that you own,
carrying all that you own and on and on and we turn
over, we turn over like a wheel. We turn over, we turn over like a wheel.