Finch - Ink

I climb the mountain top, I saw the bottom drop.
I cling to drift wood, I swim in the deep world.

Words unspoken, seem so foreign.
Have you heard this one?

The hair on the back of your neck stands.
Another way out, another way out...
The army ants have escaped.
The hair on the back of your neck stands up.
Ink runs into my cup, I sip epiphany.

Fang bite tarantula, taste of my symptoms.
Gasoline and a pistol, blood filling the bathtub.

Swollen eyelids, baffled by this.
Tell us what you see?