My shell is my bell;
I fell from a cliff
but the abyss was narrow—
my shell became wedged.
My shell is my shelf,
myself I just dangle here
nor can I land
because I'm so jammed,
but I'm not a land turtle
but I'm not on land
and I had no hand in it
my hand's in my shell—
my shell that's my land
that I cannot walk on,
that I'm in, that is me
that I gladly would shed,
shed all that is me,
for I'm jammed twixt these lands
and the pebbles that hit me
resound as they land,
with that dull thud you hear
on my bell that's my hell,
on my bell that's my shell.