Chris Santiago - Fault Lines lyrics

It was Tojo. It was McKinley. It was Mauser & Gatling & Arisaka & three hundred years of brands & chalices. It was rain & the collarbones of women bloomed by heat & miscegenation. It was shoes. It was corrugated iron. It was homegrown & inequitable. It was nephews, friends of friends, the good life that wanted to keep on keeping. It was smokeless. It was capital. It was the logic of the emerging global market. It was ramping up. Bleeding. The prepared for guest called away across the water. It was called across the water but still it was not American. It followed this form: a. wandering b. acceptance c. cast out again It was hungry. It went to meetings. It spent a tenth of a day's wages to dance with Riot & Exclusion. It was not American. It learned how to swim but could still remember not knowing how to swim & drowned. It was evening. It sat at the bottom of the Pacific & listened to its eyes being eaten.