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Three Altars For Rats
02:30
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The rats are in the corn again, and our faith’s been all but shattered. The cat’s in the cradle, fast asleep, his lungs in ragged tatters. But living will is to mercy kill as standing still is to going backwards. We’re being fucking dragged there. When “protect and serve” tastes like a curse and the baton swings by default, we don’t need a goddamn weatherman to know on whom the rain falls. All the resolve of a dead dog’s bite. All the brilliance of a thousand points of light. Swallow your words and try to keep your voice down. Truth for a truth. Lie for a lie. Let the bastards spend 10,000 restless nights, every hair on the back of their necks alive with the burning glare of grieving mothers’ eyes, in no short supply. Agent provocateurs: Rats in a cheaply sewn disguise. If you’re lucky, they’ll let you foot the bill for the mace that’s in your eyes. But big enough carrot, long enough stick and we’ll swear we’re immune to the sting of the whip and chomp at the bit of scraps they’ve cast aside. Tooth for crooked tooth. Eye for blind eye. Let the bastards hang 100 stories high. Serve as shade from the glare of the harsh sunlight for those they saw as merely rungs on which to rise, on the wings of flies.
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Maybe the best advice I ever got was to always dress for the job you want. So I spent 2 bucks on a ghost costume, made a torch of a sawdust covered broom and went out looking for a place that I could haunt. With the Black Lodge Boys Choir singing hymns so low and sweet to the bastard sons of boredom and defeat. For what felt like a second, it was Black Lodge Boys uber alles. We annexed Snoqualmie and made short work of Ft. Worth and Dallas. Had a vision at 1919, hindsight, 20:20 behind us. At least the nights were brilliant, if the mornings were blinding. And if that waitress, off the 85, is still slaving there, please treat her nice. A cup for each of us, cause Jesus, what a night. Let her know that she was half right, cause we ain’t driving spikes, but we’ve been making fucking tracks alright. For what must’ve been ages, it was Black Lodge Boys uber alles. We annexed Snoqualmie and made short work of Ft. Worth and Dallas. Had a vision at 1919, hindsight, 20:20 behind us. At least the nights were brilliant, if the mornings were blinding.
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Arms Aloft Eau Claire, Wisconsin
Hello, comrade! Fellow worker! Arms Aloft is a punk band, still spiritually from Eau Claire, WI. We are trying to invent pop-doom, 2 minutes at a time (it seems). Thanks for listening. Take care of each other.
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