Propagandhi Purina Hall of Fame Lyrics:
Sleeping masters roused to burning homes from
beds. Steeping toddlers plucked from their watery
deaths: ribbons, plaques and soft-soap are the
ephemeral rewards paid to the slaves whose
selfless acts accord a higher value to their
masters, while parting gifts (bolt pistols)
console the rest. The remainder. Too bad the
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tributes paid to lives that relegate these thrones
to lives spent valuing the runners-up, are known
to be neither fleeting nor desirable. But nothing
surprises me these days. I just sit and watch the
box-cars roll by and wait. Patient. Unattended. A
package under a terminal bench. A short fuse to
scatter steady hands if I forget to remember that
better lives have been lived in the margins,
locked in the prisons and lost on the gallows than
have ever been enshrined in palaces.
Lyrics: Purina Hall of Fame, Propagandhi [end]