(Dismantle the fort,
Cut down the fleet—
Battle no more shall be!
While the fields for fight in æons to come
Congeal beneath the sea.)
“If I haven’t heard a word in ten years, assume you’re dead
Or guest of the Feds
Or cultivated a better class of friends
Not mad, tip the hat, fingers don’t touch the brim
Lid don’t touch my naps
Andy Capp, go ’head, pencil him in
Last one standin’, what he scream in the wind
At the end, at-at the end”
billy woods | “checkpoints”