If I apologize for the swift and sudden rise in the recurring themes of love and God and war, will you make amends for the way we all pretend these aren't the t hing we think about when we can't think about our jobs anymore?
I'm so sick of this fate, I felt compelled to create. I left it for you, waiting in the nylon space of record crates, to ease the pain from the soft features of your face. So you can put your windows down and impose your musical tastes upon this immense landscape. I think I'm starting to relate to these troubled states . And I can't set aside all the condescending lies they're making us believe abo ut state and faith and law. Paint every dark-skinned man a criminal, and every W hite Christian forgivable. We're choosing sides, a soldier's life, in the new cu lture war. I'm, so sick of this fate I felt compelled to create. I left it for y ou, draped in a jewel case outside your place. For heaven's sake, if the long kn ives of the night are keeping you awake...I think we share the collective fate o f these troubled states.
So we're all going to hell, but with one hell of a plan. Presented in folded fla gs, embedded in foreign sand, written upon the dead skin of a dried-up land it b egan: "We'll fix the fat and the ugly with incisions. We'll stash the gay a nd liberal up in New England. We'll keep the black and poor in (or under the con stant threat of) prison. And they'll all feel blessed just for being a part of t he vision..."
God please save these troubled states.
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