Bat chainnPullernBat chain pullernPuller, pullernnA chain with yellow lightsnThat glistens like oil beadsnOn its slick smooth trunknThat trails behind on tracks, and thumpsnA wing hangs limp and retreatsnnBat chain pullernPuller pullernnBulbs shoot from its snootnAnd vanish into darknessnIt whistles like a root snatched from dry earthnSodbustin’ rakes with grey dust clawsnAnnounces its coming in the morningnThis train with grey tubesnThat houses people’s very thoughts and belongings.nnBat chain pullernPuller pullernnThis train with grey tubes that houses people’s thoughts,nTheir very remains and belongings.nA grey cloth patchnCaught with four threadsnIn the hollow wind of its stacksnRipples felt fades and grey sparks clacks,nLunging the cushioned thickets.nPumpkins span the hillsnWith orange crayola patches.nGreen inflated treesnBalloon up into marshmallow sootnThat walks away in forty circles,nCaught in grey blistersnWith twinkling lights and green sashesnUuhnPulled by rubber dolphins with gold yawning mouthsnThat blister and break in agonynIn souls of rustnThey kill gold sawdust into dust.nnBat chain puller,nPuller puller.