It's not the heat. It's the inhumanity. Plugged into the sweat of a summer street. Machine gun images pass. Like malice through the looking glass. . The slack jaw gaze.
Ooh, there's no bread, let them eat cake. There's no end to what they'll take. Flaunt the fruits of noble birth. Wash the salt into the earth. . But they're marching to Bastille Day.