Straw Men

How many new ways to moralise ashen skin and blood-soaked cries? This will never be our war Their mortal rattle Not mine, not yours To die in the name of emancipation or the aspirations of a cold skyline? This will never be our war Their mortal rattle Not mine, not yours The same old card-trick through the years: human life for capital Rand sold her lines and built the trojan horse Now the glib Valley dances to the smug hum of drones Their cruel sweep of progress recast as liberation Profit makes it clinical and distance makes it clean While torture greets the outstretched arms of humanity And at home they'll sell you freedoms, twisted portraits of the self The commodity of confidence, slick opinions off the shelf All snake oil distractions and Frontier morality while the Eagle and the Cowboy plunder workers in the street