The carasoul spins in the dark, its music trailing like peacock feather
The bits collected stick to the parts, the builders of souls sputter with rage
They watch it go, around and around, somehow never leaving its place
And yet, the riders shout for joy and glee and carelessness
Unaware of the pain the builders have
The builders fume and snarl, angry at their bits gone astray
And they do not stop to see that they are whole
They worry and shiver at every lost sliver
At every piece that did them no good anyway
It left through the workings of nature
But every loss is personal and cruel and an act of sabotage
And the carasoul has all the blame
There is no fee to ride, you know
Anyone can jump on
All you need is to make the choice
Take the chance
All the souls together, in joy
But only by their own hands
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