And without payment frogmarched in to a corner
where a malaise, an orange haze obstructs.
And without consent pushed into a corner
papers and phone, overhead drones, the deconstruct -
tion of our way of life. Mandated, obliterated and eruct.
Hold the line Bulldozer. This is far from over,
keep the faith. Keep your head: it’s a takeover.
Hold the line Bulldozer even as the Blue Shirt throws her
over hard on the tarmac. A black river runs through their hearts
and like a blow dart pierces thin blue veins where
a soul naturally generated by love and the ability of remorse
has lost control like a spaceship toward a black hole. A heart
made of charcoal that’s paid by bosses on the global bankroll.
Hold the line Bulldozer. We’re not party to their death-roll.
