Lyrics VI - Buried Inside

VI

All that is solid melts into air
Yesterday’s snow-job is today’s sermon
A grab-bag of causal narratives and teleological refrains
Welcome to the promised land: Athens without slaves
But it doesn’t wash, and it never will
Well-rehearsed conclusions can’t remediate the end
When the World Bank serves unilaterally, the burden of mythmaking is to clothe
each flaccid turn
To hammer each loose nail
To collect each roadkill
Sovereignty delivered on a plate
As a pillion passenger to southern deregulation
A shining example of neoliberal salvation
Which fashioned the axe for rate-of return (and cross-subsidization)
The gentle hand of economic renewal
The cruel hoax of the information commons
Between the poles of access and control, there is no third wave