The Squeaky Wheel Gets The Grease But

Pile The Bodies High At Austerlitz And Waterloo. Shovel Them Under And Let Me Work. I Am The Grass. I Cover All.

The Drum In A Dream Pounds Loud To The Dreamer.

Time Is A Sandpile We Run Our Fingers In.

If [america] Forgets Where She Came From, If The People Lose Sight Of What Brought Them Along, If She Listens To The Deniers And Mockers, Then Will Begin The Rot And Dissolution.

Let The Gentle Bush Dig Its Root Deep And Spread Upward To Split The Boulder.