In the New America, everything is a poor reflection of its former self - a faded photograph, in a memory box, covered in dust and dropping in neglect. Every revolutionary pillar of our state, felled like so many concrete Saddams; only to be replaced with meaningless mantras and illustrious illusions. Everyone knows this, they just don't realize that whipping the scapegoats only entices the wolves. Ideals vs. Reality, round 1,033, somehow it won't end in self-destruction and dehumanization this time...some how...
We all know the truth but speak in lies to prop up this lead balloon that's already breaking our backs. Will you still call it freedom when you're cowering in your home, wishing you had stood for something; wishing you weren't responsible for the Hellscape that will be all your descendants will ever know?