In CoronaLand
Nothing is true
All debts are forgiven —
The storming of the Bastille
Was a looting operation
As the wind roars like a train
And sirens flood the street
A man fills up the stairwell
With howling — is joined by a dog
On the floor below
Their voices grow, and intertwine
Until they’re indistinct
Whatever may be happening
In April, they say, or May may
Be different come November
Like in 1917, in Petersburg
Remember
