I am hungry, but I'm not cold.
I'm starving, but the suit keeps me warm,
and the light hits me full in the face
as I assume my new and dreadful form.
Kick an incubator open
like a flower in bloom;
Sustenance, blessed sustenance
oozing from the tomb...
I know that sleeping bodies hide
sweet things inside.
And in the ever-present light,
and in my ever-growing needs...
If a man should crest the ridge,
he's gonna have to watch me feed.
But no one's ever gonna come,
and nobody's gonna know.
I will sail home again
concealed among the upright walking men.
To know that sleeping bodies hide
sweet things inside...