When my button eyes unravel And the fresh skin behind the veil is burned by the sun, We must fly. Chained to the produce aisle, liberation must come! The dairy clerk messiah with his triumphant name tag approaches, sees and leaves us captives to remain amongst the oppressive shapes closing in. The only way out is the way in. Climb into a tomato and out into the sunshine. The conical rays of cosmic bliss encircle the pale leftovers of the imprisonment. Tan fat and greasy we give thanks to the herb