Right hand raised. The left stickers - picking out the deviant. A choice of colours, inclinations, factions see only red. He wants them dead. He kills them in his mirror when dark... And when he thinks that no-one is looking he spreads the and leaves his mark. Swastikas shout out from walls, tattooed on a million fists. Clenched together, safe in numbers... from the precipice. Fodder! Plod on down icy path... A cannon is waiting for the fodder. Enlightenment comes a blast. A bang. A bangabangabang...
place. A different story. Fingers play with stale cigars. Business creeks, the warehouse leaks, the chairman sold his daughter's car. reading charts and sharpening knives for cutting when the seems right - for him alone. No pause for mercy if the out of sight.
Equality is a word for cranks to shout out as the batons swing. beautiful in theory... he knows it's not for him. got his fodder!
In higher places, chime for the meeting of the lords. They stay discreet as guilty secrets cause no behind closed doors. A portion for the megabomb. A portion for the queen... can't the army or the law 'cos they to keep the cities clean. And sure they know they'll get their way as protests echo from the streets. (The blood is from the streets) His hired and sheets of armor gives them shelter through the heat! The fodder...
But there are other bullets, other walls, where justice in shiny red. reason dies and passion burns persuasion's just a hole in the head. Purges after midnight... no discretion in the mass. A volley. A silence as cover up the mess.
kid yourself. You're civilized - it could happen anywhere. In choking cities, steaming jungles... maybe here.