Guest
Oh my God! Ice floe, no where to go, ice floe, no where to go, lost in the blinding whiteness of the tundra! Check him out! They call him the shrew, arms in short, in with the claw! I’m little Johnny Frostbite, movin’ around, freezing you up, freezing you down like an icicle, coming in your tent in the pink light scissor bite. Arctic death, infinite night. Call me tundra boy, because I move like an arctic lizard, when the blizzard strikes, I disappear like a pipe dream. All that’s left is a gleam, on a tent
