Tekster: Mountain Goats, The. Emerging.

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...