lying on your threadbare banners
beneath the canopy of smog,
you hum your dreams of home, of land
against the cold fence of the DAR.
all the pains you endure
i endure like the crown of thorns
that pierced the Saviour’s soul;
and my heart weeps: rage, rage.
a, tonight, this rage will explode,
i shall witness the final set;
my heart will dance: long live ely!
long live eraserheads!
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