To live outside the pale
Is to wither and die
Beyond the pale there are only
Dressed up cavaders
They are wound up each day
Like alarm clocks
They perform like seal
They die like box office receipts
But in the seething honey comb
There is a growth as of plants
An animal warmth
Almost suffocating
A vitality which accrues
From rubbing and glueing together
A hope which is physical
As well as spiritual
A contamination which
Is dangerous but salutary
Small souls perhaps
Burning like tapers
But burning steadily
And capable of throwing
Portenous shadows on the walls
Which hem them in
Is to wither and die
Beyond the pale there are only
Dressed up cavaders
They are wound up each day
Like alarm clocks
They perform like seal
They die like box office receipts
But in the seething honey comb
There is a growth as of plants
An animal warmth
Almost suffocating
A vitality which accrues
From rubbing and glueing together
A hope which is physical
As well as spiritual
A contamination which
Is dangerous but salutary
Small souls perhaps
Burning like tapers
But burning steadily
And capable of throwing
Portenous shadows on the walls
Which hem them in
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