We make milk without a teat. We make butter for your lotion. We're all standing in a row Or up high beside the ocean.

You can size us up with letters Or measure flour for your scone. If I manage all your printers, You're gonna miss me when I'm gone.

Long and slim, You can drive me in. Long and slim, You can give me a trim. Long and slim, But not quite a pin. Long and slim, We're at the end of a limb.

Born in silence, fed on leaves, I am torn from living sleep. Worms die so kings may shine. I crossed empires soaked in blood, passed hand to hand through plague and greed. Roads were named for me, yet I never chose the journey.

I show you a figment of the picture's whole. I share the pigment with the purest charcoal. I'll come with you wherever you tred, but I'll never go in your stead.