There is lambswool under my naked feetThe wool is soft and warmGives off some kind of heatA salamander scurries into flame to be destroyedImaginary creatures are trapped in birth on celluloidThe fleas cling to the golden fleeceHoping they'll find peaceEach thought and gesture are caught in celluloidThere's no hiding in memoryThere's no room to avoid
The crawlers cover the floor in the red ochre corridorFor my second sight of people, they've more lifeblood than beforeThey're moving in time to a heavy wooden doorWhere the needle's eye is winking, closing on the poorThe carpet crawlers heed their callers:"We've got to get in to get outWe've got to get in to get outWe've got to get in to get out"
There's only one direction in the faces that I seeIt's upward to the ceiling, where the chamber's said to beLike the forest fight for sunlight, that takes root in every treeThey are pulled up by the magnet, believing they're freeThe carpet crawlers heed their callers:"We've got to get in to get outWe've got to get in to get outWe've got to get in to get out"
Mild-mannered supermen are held in kryptoniteAnd the wise and foolish virgins giggle with their bodies glowing brightThrough the door a harvest feast is lit by candlelightIt's the bottom of a staircase that spirals out of sightThe carpet crawlers heed their callers:"We've got to get in to get outWe've got to get in to get outWe've got to get in to get out"
The porcelain mannequin with shattered skin fears attackAnd the eager pack lift up their pitchers, they carry all they lackThe liquid has congealed, which has seeped out through the crackAnd the tickler takes his sticklebackThe carpet crawlers heed their callers,"We've got to get in to get outWe've got to get in to get outWe've got to get in to get out"
"We've got to get in to get outWe've got to get in to get outWe've got to get in to get out"
"We've got to get in to get outWe've got to get in to get outWe've got to get in to get out"
"We've got to get in to get outWe've got to get in to get out"
The carpet crawlers heed their callers,"We've got to get in to get outWe've got to get in to get out"
Alguien llama a quienes se arrastran por las alfombras. Son criaturas frágiles, ansían que se les asigne una trayectoria. Se desplazan abrumados por la soledad. No se ven entre ellos. A lo sumo, escuchan pequeños indicios de cosas que se resquebrajan. Una salamandra que se precipita al fuego. Busca la paz en las llamas. Detrás de la luz están la cámara de las 32 puertas de madera pesada y el cordero yaciendo en Broadway. La lana suave y cálida bajo mis pies desnudos. Hay un vellocino de oro al que se aferran las pulgas. Hay que entrar para salir. Hay que echar raíces. Los superhombres de maneras correctas se mantienen en kriptonita. Las vírgenes necias se ríen. Podéis llamarme Rael. No responderé, pero no hay otro nombre del que pudierais valeros para que yo os escuche. Ni los que se arrastran podrían. Ellos, los ciegos y los muertos. La música sugiere que el camino de vuelta a casa no será dulce, a pesar de la fragilidad de la melodía, que parece venir desde fuera del tiempo e ingresar en él con la fiereza de lo que desea extenderse, ocupar el cielo, enredarse en el agua, comprometer el silencio hasta que todo cesa y regresa la incertidumbre.
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