Sometimes I dream of spitting out all my teeth.
One by one until my mouth is clean.
How many teeth do I spit out?
You would think it would stop at a dozen.
Maybe I could spit out
five hundred and fourty-three.

But the teeth, oh the teeth, 
they just keep on coming.
I spit them out in a constant, constant stream.
So many teeth, they hit the ground, 
embedding themselves in everything.
So many teeth to be found covering the ground.

And the scene before me 
switches to black and white.
It's such a toothy scene to be seen.
There I am under this old tree
spitting teeth at everything.
A fountain of teeth is me.

My perspective shifts and then I'm a tooth,
flying in the air and embedding in a bird.
The bird takes off in the air
and flies around, but something's wrong.
Something's wrong. The teeth they spread!
I consume that lovely bird and it's a toothy thing.

And I spit them out covering, yes, everything.
They don't just stop at one or a dozen.
The teeth keep on coming,
keep on covering things,
until it is a toothy town.
Until the toothy town comes down.

And as those tooth buildings fall down,
it reminds me of my mouth ... closing.
And as those toothy buildings come down,
I think again of spitting.
But I don't! I don't! 
I want toothy doom stopped.

So I just let the valley 
sink in to the ground.
That toothy town,
it is way, way down.
Where it now will never be found, be found.
It will now never be found.