From my niche, solidified on top,
Stomp my feet around my block,
Am I quick' - hold me down 'round my spot,
In the cit I'm not left alone, susceptible and prone to be got,
Make my home, I won't stop.

Peeping through open windows - where have you gone'
Searching to and fro, harder as the wind it blows,
Peeping through open windows - where have you gone'
Message is the same; got it for you, here they go.

Mechanical like a bull, my movements are sporadic,
So emphatic, the way I pull my eyelids when they bat,
See where I'm at, covered in wool,
Grammatically hit you, gravitate you, feed you 'til your full,
I hit you too hard, a sheep,
Who creep on fertile ground when they asleep' - a wolf, transformed before your eyes from on the street,
My poise is slightly off 'til I match it with my surroundings,
Adapt to the situations most people are found drowned in,
Offer myself as very good condition to train victim,
Take on the pressure, explode just so the stains stick 'em,
The martyrs of Jones