• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 12
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A brief account of our intended projection

There’s a tremor in the kingdom.
England’s having its standard fit.
You might think that it is fearsome.
No. It’s The Wreckers’ greatest hits,
Remixed in a blue bag catapult,
Tremolo moaning as default.
Over concrete forgetful hills
Rolls the litany of our ills.
Fuck that. Instead say ardently:
Compassion is always our vow,
Whatever the hardships of now.
We boldly black heart our country.
Next upon a time – grounded glory.
Let’s start a new, binding story.