Listen to the facist sing

"Take hope here

War is elsewhere

You were chosen

This is Gods land

Soon we’ll be free

Of blot and mixture

Seeds planted by our Forefathers hand"

A mass of promises

Begin to rupture

Like the pockets Of the new world kings

Like swollen stomachs In Appalachia

Like the priest that fucked you as he whispered holy things

A mass of tears have transform the stones now

Sharpened on suffering

And woven into the slings

Hope lies in the rubble of this rich fortress

Taking today what tomorrow never brings