"It seemed to me that the last human beings were dying in prisons and camps and would leave no heirs, while a horrible mutation of the species was taking place outside. I thought of committing suicide, or of finding a way to return to my prison cell so as to live out my days among comrades and die among human beings." (Fredy Perlman: Letters of insurgents)
C G Dm F
This morning I can't tell if I'm nihilist, or religious, or if there's even a difference. If god made the West Texas highway, guess there probably isn't. There's a darkness in my bones. It reaches all the way down to the mud. There's a spark that's in your eyes. It catches flame, and it burns all through my blood.
And every friend locked up or raided, it's reason enough to go all in, to raise the stakes, to call the bluff. To burn all the world down for the sake of the ash. For the things that we've got coming through the storm of gasoline and broken glass.
This morning I can't tell if I'm anarchist, or religious, or if there's even a difference. If I'm waiting for the right time to act, well, guess there probably isn't. There's a darkness in my bones. It reaches all the way down to the mud. There's a spark that's in your eyes. It catches flame, and it burns all through my blood.
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