Arrows are alive in some skies No such luck here We have fog and breath Fat is falling out through pores See-sawing down the weave To slide across non-repellent planes To fester out of sight While bowels march Amassed in shitty millions Seasoned, but yet to lie aflake They hover above bus seats A magnetism compels them They need to collide but won't The grease poured in prevents them They are bagged up for now Saved for later The parent of your cells Wants to make you grateful It will find a grudge of its own To shove into your pipes Lie down amongst pissed-upon newspapers Crane them in, bury them down Plastic and tin will scram at you Count them in, too Eat shit, eat shit Tolerate it, encourage it Need it, ignoring the want Take up shit, stick it in holes Push it round, feed it in and out Plug it through, tease it Make it prickle you Hold it in, right up to your heart