...but I still find cracks in this thin crust
Small stains of paint that's been spilled
Children awake out of sawdust
Wrapped in a black-spotted film
As I try peeling it strikes me
('cause still some things come from within):
The feeling of being human
From wearing animal skin

Done up to dive into tar sands
You are thrown back on your arms
Muscles that tense as you wring hands
Because you're built to do harm
And when you cut loose from their fear march
The pounding paws of your kin
There will be no way to feel human
Outside your animal skin