It’s been this way since the Domesday Book. So convinced no one would need ever take an arrow in the eye again. An arrow in the eye, there are other ways to blind, or to be blind. There’s an exhibition of driftwood washed up on the river. Washed up on the river, choked to shallows by uncut reeds. They slashed the hospitals, knocked on the doors of the ill and workless Ill and workless, fleeing borders. Dancing while we tried to keep our parent’s throats from burning. But he’s here to talk about pylons Here to talk about pylons, cheeks blazing, not with shame, but misplaced sunscreen. And he realises too late about red coats and foxes; Red coats and foxes don’t solve every problem The river is the centre of the valley. The river is always the centre of the valley. That’s how erosion works. That’s how erosion works. Erosion of truth, trust and tolerance, so all that’s left are hollowed stumps. It’s no surprised we want you gone. And to be fair, I think you knew that. In the end, I think you knew that In the end, the pylons didn’t make us angry anymore You had no concern That the river never turned from brown to blue And nor had your national shirts And neither had you.