Eat your piecemeal porridge
and strap on your half-shined shoes
The whole damn sky is coming down
there’s not much left to lose

Your fingers cold, my fingers cold
we’ll wander hand in hand
stomachs filled with piecemeal porridge
and our footprints left in sand

But they’ll wash away eventually
we’ll wash away eventually
and leave us with a fallen sky
to sift through