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21st Century Pop Song
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1
the one true resolve of the flame and the bullet
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is a pile of flesh like an unmanned puppet;
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a set of bones gone suddenly still.
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and in a lab under every flag right now,
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someone's splitting atoms, and inventing new breakfast cereals
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in the shape of their nation's borders
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and drawing brand new maps,
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discreetly expanding their nation's borders.
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(andrew broder):
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it's root root root for the home team.
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shout like your dad at the tv screen.
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tie a dollar bill around a circus flea,
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the fee to flee what you can't see.
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(yo, i agree with glee with me).
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somebody told me when the bomb hits
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everybody in a two mile radius will be instantly sublimated,
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but if you lay face down on the ground for some time,
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avoiding the residual ripples of heat,
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you might survive, permanently fucked up and twisted
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like you're always underwater refracted.
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oh but if you do go gas, there's nothing you can do
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if the air that was once you
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is mingled and mashed with the kicked up molecules
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of the enemy's former body.
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big-kid-tested, motherfucker approved.
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you put your life in the hands of the highway designers,
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your stride an unforseen side effect
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of the urban planner's realized blueprint dream.
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andrew broder:
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our font's bigger than your font.
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our font-so straight, so legible and all and impenetrable,
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like a fortress, like a column, a skyscraper.
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our font will crush your font,
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we like our font just fine-
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one font under god under god under god...
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chorus
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