Arrows raining down on our feet,
And yours aren't covered.
None hit our heads but the bottoms of your feet blister.
So take my sole to save your soul,
Because we can't control these arrows or how far we have to walk.
We can't tell our feet to stop blistering and moving
When there's work to be done in places
That aren't here.
Thousands of tiny arrows make their way from our feet to our shirts,
Just over our left *******,
Where we thought our hearts were no longer.