The Marshals Are Dead

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Fashion victims
Blood sport
Cop killer
Don't trust art
Don't trust culture

Cancel your thoughts out forever
Milk it and strain it to residue
An insult that dilates forever
Passing from history that's made from arrangements
Of tannoys and cordons in symmetry
That cancel forever


Spring breaks in ranks and in boulevards
A country that grows us
But cannot contain us

A curse on your houses
Rivers run with your sons' blood
No case for extenuation
All the marshals are dead