The sky has scrapers now
 The streets are made of clothes
 Embroidered on every single sleeve
 Some of us have seen
 The Golden Arrows poised
 Arc across the plaints
 Turns us pale
 Some of us have seen
 The Golden Arrows poised
 Arc across the plaints
 Turns us pale
 So this is where the shapes begin to drip
 Her [bad word] teeth fluttering in the wind.