us and we grow in the throat
everything we touch renamed
we linger in crypts of the fifth Egyptian dynasty
through the vein of the newt,
its solar brow one long black toe.
in the shape of a horseshoe, stops the free-fall
At night, the priests come to crush our livers
Blown in the face, this mix
Our children will learn to gnaw
but emperors shall never
Polish our genome
This is that voodoo that we do.
One of a series of lyrics I have written from the point of view of pelagic creatures. These creatures frequently possess the personalities of economists. Not everyone knows that scientists recently succeeded in breeding detoxified fugu. My significant other Wendy nevertheless refuses to eat them, given the "cute, snuggly fashion" with which they stare at her. Consider yourself warned.