Poem: The Rag and Bone Shop Sells Art

A poem about the selling of art, and souls, and the link between them.

The Rag and Bone Shop sells art. You sign up in
blood and pay from the start. You sell what you
can, when you can, as you must. You charge by
the hour, people pay you in trust. You can’t take
the art home, it hangs from the walls. Your blood
drained from your face, your blood drips from
the stalls. You won’t make much money in this
day and age. But people will find it funny that
you thought you’d get paid. You love it, so just
do it; you love it - you’re so lucky. You’ve just
got to want to do well, that’s all there is to it -
that’s how you get things to sell. The Rag and
Bone shop sells art. Make sure you keep up with
demand. We all have to make sure we are doing
our part.