The people police have grown
In amongst the crowded streets, they roam
They catch you out at your religion
They watch you when you’re at home

The people police have grown
In numbers along the seashore of time
More numerous than starfish
Drunk by sights of imagined crime

The people police have grown
They pour through the turnstiles like poisoned salt
Like a glacier moving over a population
We die like poppies under the ice