When I die advancing on the enemy

slashing ice tires like merchant class penchant elephant stokers
never afraid to die or have a stroke in the streets of revolution
though the shopping carts in the streets might be the last I see
I will live on to monitor the welting continuation of the battle
from the afterlife I will dominate the drums in the background
the sound and my being at once an ontological puzzle, blessed
and witnessing for better praise my national neighbors take down
the flags, the borderlines, the protracted easyspeak voices of alt
claiming authority, there will be none, no leadership, no crown