No visible means of support and you have not seen nothing, yet Everything's stuck together I don't know what you expect staring into the TV set Fighting fire with fire, ah
—Talking Heads, Burning Down the House
Our agency is not defined By the bold wishes made real Nor the industrious plans fulfilled Passing is a fair wind’s blessing Perilous is the tending of the insatiable Cursed is the boot upon the bodies of the vanquished Our fortunes live on the thresholds Between icy fear and daring nerve Flaming failure and redemptive verve Sleeper waves and treading water Dreams that falter and choice to alter Eating crow and humble amends For our stories are but moonlight Shimmering ideology and faith Shortsighted feats and fancies Expected to serve, expected to last Reserving coliseum seating to witness Our aims face Time’s brighter sun I do not worship a judgmental divine For apocalypse I do not pine But damnation is what we mine Fervidly unearthing the mother of all lodes Hoarding its sharp nuggets and gems Burning hunger stones lighting the path Clear as day Clear as day