Snake & Mirror from Slab by Neighborade

To all the snakes
Who writhe in wait
Who want for nothing more
Than accolades and easy prey

To whitewashed tombs
In cheap perfume
To mask the rotting corpse
We all could use some breathing room
For sure

Like vultures say,
The reaper makes
The finest meals, of course!
We pick the bones
We like the taste

And it's me, I think
I can see those black birds circling
It's me, the least of these is me
And I'm not the only one

To keep it real
Sometimes I feel
Like smoke machines don't break
But now and then it dissipates

The turning wheel
Will dress the cut
And set the bones we break
We all could use a little time
And space

I think I hear
Bells ringing and the clip of horses
They've come to carry me away
And it's all too surreal
Looks like I won't be home for dinner
I sure could use a balanced meal
And I'm not the only one

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