Single file queues and single shots of whiskey (on the rocks), we follow the leader. Ghost lines, we follow. Airports, train stations, the taxi to nowhere - we're on autopilot. Slave away at blazing furnaces for little trinkets in your daughter's ear, we become the people we hate. Your mother, your father, the hobo at the corner of the street.
I bet he loved once.
Fight against the system, you say, fight against oppression, you say. When the fight is over, the heroes lie like old dogs out in the thin, wintery sun, battle scars across their ribs. Crumbs for the mongrel! Crumbs for the mongrel! Ask them to fight once more and they'll tell you, the big wars have already been won.
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