A gentle hand, a fallen tear,
a whispered word beneath the smear
of grease, the screams, the feet of blind
men rushing, lost forever. Signed
in blood on flesh, the bill of sale.

The product thus received can't fail
to please the eye, to soothe the ear,
to make the rest seem not so dear,
to make the rest seem not at all.
The rest was just so very small
it was forgotten. Still the feet
that carry blind so deftly cheat.
For gone the smile, the wisp of hair,
the feeling. Everything was there.