Miserable minions of the world, grab the nearest tree and hug as hard as you fucking can. Squeeze until your eyes go bloodshot, until your straining limbs issue tears from the leaves. You’re pouring the elixir right down the drain, drowning your own cure. You’ve left the swine asleep at the troff and they’ll eat themselves alive when the sun comes up.
How far we haven’t come, my conspiring comrades. At the doorstep of Utopia there’s a welcoming committee of riot police and random strip searches. The Garden of Eden has surveillance video, keeping an eye on the animals. How can we commit sins effectively when all we have is forbidden fruit? We’re following orders with our fingers crossed behind the backs you stab, and we’d change our minds but you’ve made it clear that you’ll do that for us, too.
Needless to say, I won’t be attending the history book burning. I refuse to stick to new tradition, to fall in line with the masked parade of pawns. If there’s any God to speak of, he’ll choke you with the vapor cascading through passages and out between my cracked, grinning lips. I am the future for your past of misadventure. Let’s drag our sacred children by their tails through fields of truth. Let’s bring home the hero and lie through not a single tooth. We’re all sick of waking up in fear of life, someone said this was supposed to be the Promised Land.
