You can hardly blame any life On Mars for burrowing deep into Polar molecules when you come feeling Around Mr. Metal, Mr. Daily Planet, Mr. Praise The Lord and pass The Cherokee Removal. Your reputation’s pretty well Shot on this island, roots and diatoms Are prepared to shrug you off like a virus, Plutonium and wheat crouch on the rainbow Bridge threatening suicide, the buffalo Tongues are gone you used to gulp Down all day with dippers full of whiskey. You and your deep love for this planet Touch everything. It’s all listening: Dolphins and mice, quartz, rain forest Mahogany, air and ocean currents, Earthquakes and rain. They all want to hear another of your famous Torch songs. Sing the one where you kill For love.