Grind my bones, please, to a halt. Why do this dance anymore? No anchor, no weight. Blow my dust into the wind. I am scattered. My skin itches. I eat the scabs from the shin bones of the undead. Lies feed captive lions. Everyone a snake to his own tail. No one. No one. No one holds me down. No one dances my counter turn in the round. Idiot drummer and madman fiddler race to our deathbeds footless foreign flight. Kneel everyone, and knees are needed for the whip, the lash, the bite. Finishing victory, first to fall deaf to himself and burry the man of flesh. Burn me instead the fire, the bed, and send me to my rest.