Tiny parts of something big 

And larger parts from others small. 

Parts as one, parts as all. 

Scrap within, scrap without 

Scrap abound, do not misdoubt 

For scrap is found where ‘ere you look 

In the air, in the ground 

By the banks of a babbling brook.  

Scrap is everywhere in sight 

Especially with a little dynamite. 

Scrap is in the things we use 

And can be made with a centrifuge. 

Scrap is all the things we are 

But without a shredder you won’t get far. 

All our lives are made from scrap 

From scrap we’re made and to scrap we go 

To scrap does all our Pudding flow 

And then from scrap do all things grow 

Grow, things, grow. 

—F. E. Nyx