Busy Lumps of Carbon

Busy lumps of carbon follow signals down the street

Encased in steel mountains that’ll serve in their defeat

Sleep work and eat and then repeat

Imaginary tentacles will slither round your door

Reap your means of living then they’ll take a little more but that’s the score

It’s what they’re for

And if they ask me I’ll say it’s here and now but they won’t ask me anyhow

My nerves are like a slinky

There’s an echo in my chest

The substance of my politics is ill-informed at best

I’m like the rest

My heads compressed

I’m wishing that significance would carry on my tongue

Won’t bother with the ladder ‘cause there’s oil on every rung

We’ve all been stung and then we’re done