Cracked screen, broken glass, combat boot on the neck of the pulse of the revolution, the ghosts of fascists haunting skyscrapers staring back at me with eyes that stopped working in the 80s, protest signs written in dead languages I can't begin to understand, I can already tell where everybody stands - I can see it in the Eyes and on the t shirts and on the blog posts and on the graffiti tagged windows that read like picture books in a school for deaf children,
The orphaned poets, the ******* sons of *******,
Hell is wherever you're wasting away come Rapture, where you are now is where your ashes will be scattered,
Your memorial beneath your feet defaced and unbegotten by the seed of the ****** wind, and here you will be returned at the end of the day, your trail of tears turned to paths of lilies and roses and the desert sweeping your suffering underneath the centuries-
This is how you will be remembered, sand piled upon ******* sand