Up in these hills There was a type A piece of fruit That doesn't ripe Not meant to consume On a table in a room They'll take an inch in real life A little pinch, a little lie A penny for your skin It only just begins Surgery channel Surgery channel A tiny crack Up on your walk We're focused in Becomes a fault A slight of the eye A pressure deep inside You feel an itch You can't deny To cut it up To look alive You rust, you die You must not comply What can be done? What can be said? Inside the glass There is a face Not one that you know Such a sight to behold Surgery channel Surgery channel Surgery channel Surgery channel