The sculptor takes us all one by one

Squishes, rips and cuts our flesh

Folds us over onto ourselves and friends

He hates the clay, and how it forms

He beats us with his bloody palms

From his grip, we do rend

On his wheel we are thresh

The clay does not survive being spun...

By the city square

To the stage

a man

invites others towards him

To dance by the food trucks

In tune with his step

The song starts to play

Another man, long sleeves, button shirt

Sweaty. Overweight but keeps up the dance

Young, a job in the city, but never a flirt

Father drops him off, mornings in a trance

Government job but shirt scuffed with dirt

Always late, always rules hes trying to skirt

S...