In lieu of a more substantive update, here’s a fragment of a song I’m working on:
(with apologies to William Butler Yeats)
The dough-faced anti-Christ
is oozing crocodile tears,
building an army of the lowest of the low.
They wave their grease-stained placards
scrawled with badly misspelt fears,
a new religion with a one-word creed:
Now the best lack all conviction, while the worst
are shouting fictions on T.V.
And what rough beast slouches across the screen?