A Speculative Fiction

A Speculative Fiction

Propagandhi
(album: Potemkin City Limits)

A new iron curtain drawn across the 49th parallel. Cut all diplomatic ties as we expel all American dignitaries, and issue a nation-wide travel advisory for any others left inside. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. The burned out shells of south-bound traffic lay strewn across a cold stretch of would-be interstate. Still visible below their charred remains: Pax Americana plates. Your stupid fucking laser-pucks were just the start. And while you may stand six full cubits and a span, we got a shepard´s sling and five stones in our hand and the battle of 1812 lives in our heart. We don´t care if we´re destroyed. We´ll never capitulate. We´ll take the whole fucking world down, down with us in flames. Just a speculative fiction. No cause for alarm. We got a good 15 years left till the United We Stand murals on West Broadway finally fade and we wave good-bye to such sad, childish refrains. Replaced with other stupid lullabies like "you can have my guns when you pry them from my cold dead hands". Just a speculative fiction. No cause for alarm.