Holes poked in the plastic top Air for us to breathe Just enough light filters in For Ernie, Eb and Steve They say that when the top comes off The light's too bright to take And what you see can frighten you There's been talk about a lake And if you get to see too much You're lifted from the dirt And reamed right through the length of you Some say that it hurts 'Til the light pours out of you Stay away from the light Try to keep out of sight The one on top died of fright I sure hope the fish don't bite When the top comes off I am not the fingers I repeat, I am not the fingers I am the moisture And I am the dirt And I am the fallen tree And just as the wind And the rain And the stars And the sky And the mountains And the streams And the bunny rabbits And, and the deer And the racoons And the birds And the insects And the rocks And the native Americans Will far outlast this shithole that some people call civilization So shall I be there So shall I be there when you meet your final end Because this is not Disneyland This is not punk land This is Indian land This is Indian land This is Indian land You must be wondering how I know all of these things Well, you know, I'm god So listen up ok? My will be done