here comes the sun ; not here , it ca n't penetrate into this electric pool , this neon lake where all my submarine friends are gliding gracefully past , french polished , sunless , bloated creatures , vaguely surrealistic beneath their substitute suns , floating , drifting , denying their inertia , betraying all laws rising and falling and tumbling in plant-like slow motion amid the particles of dust that turn and revolve like fragments of crystallised air , glass dust , continually settling like chalk dust from a tweed arm , dusting me .