Carpet crawlers

He returns from his mixed-up memories to the passage he was previously
stuck in. This time he discovers a long carpeted corridor.
There is lambswool under my naked feet.
The wool is soft and warm,
– gives off some kind of heat.
A salamander scurries into flame to be destroyed.
Imaginary creatures are trapped in birth on celluloid.
The fleas cling to the golden fleece,
Hoping they’ll find peace.
Each thought and gesture are caught in celluloid.
There’s no hiding in my memory.
There’s no room to avoid.
The walls are painted in red ochre and are marked by strange insignia,
some looking like a bulls-eye, others of birds and boats. Further down
the corridor, he can see some people; all kneeling. With broken sighs
and murmurs they struggle, in their slow motion to move towards a
wooden door at the end. Having seen only the inanimate bodies in the
Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging, Rael rushes to talk to them.
The crawlers cover the floor in the red ochre corridor.
For my second sight of people, they’ve more lifeblood than before.
They’re moving in time to a heavy wooden door,
Where the needle’s eye is winking, closing in on the poor.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
“We’ve got to get in to get out
We’ve got to get in to get out
We’ve got to get in to get out.”
“What’s going on?” he cries to a muttering monk, who conceals a yawn and
replies “It’s a long time yet before the dawn.” A sphinx-like crawler
calls his name saying “Don’t ask him, the monk is drunk. Each one of us
is trying to reach the top of the stairs, a way out will await us there.”
Not asking how he can move freely, our hero goes boldly through the door.
Behind a table loaded with foo