I see you.
I see you there.
I see you there in the dirt.
Like a snake from the thicket of my past.
Like a scorpion from the desert of yesteryear.
Hisss.
So, exactly what’re you expecting me to do, eh?
Do I invite your poisonous fang to bite?
Do I kiss your deceitful stinger?
Do I smoke your venom?
Or do I stomp?
Stomp.
(Storm: 455)