Oblivious to the life and times, Reggie learns what it means to bleed.

Hey stranger! How you been, besides lost since 17? I hear you failed your dad and your mom’s not here to see her last-born’s dreams descending to schedule six dependence. Reggie, there are far worse things than these months of atrophy. Hold but a light up to the places that you’ll never see. Let go of all the shadows that ever promised sympathy. Seizures, false solace and the small white pills could never say quite how it feels inside now that Christine’s gone away.

I lost my heart on the M1-South. From the Table to the Ponte, dance-riots clothe the streets. Democracy’s beloved, wide-eyed in disbelief. And here, the guilty sleep. Dreamless and down six feet. I’m the oldest kind of threat with the newest ways to not concede. I’d burn this city to the ground for just another chance to give oncoming trucks a saviour of a second glance. I’d pull this trigger long before I have the guts to say, that in spite of guardian angels, Christine died today.

I lost my heart on the M1-South.

A whiskey for the demons and a red room for the thoughts. The lot of them go on as though they saw her neck give way – and someone took the pictures down. Clearly, home won’t always be what you need it to be. “A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over will be poured into your lap.” I fucking hate it here.

Let the shadows of the house come and get me. Let the shadows of my mind have me too. Let the shadows in my heart tear the emptiness apart. Lord, I’m coming home to you.

The Longmin game runs rampant. Nkandla won’t stop growing. Malema’s seven shades of twat and the blue-collars swallow it whole. Red berets are on the up. Tata’s heart monitor sat down. I’m sure we’ll all be okay. Just bombs and cancer and cake. Here’s to you.

Come all ye faithful, all the hopeless and the hungry. No time to waste, come acclimate to change. Preferably in single-file, hands tightly bound, from shanty towns to laurel crowns – a vengeful majority in a post-prejudicial age. Sing “hey, hallelujah!” We’ll get our two-thirds arsenal through you and then see just how much you’ll take.

Reason, show them – we’re on a road to nowhere. This city is insecure. The arsonists and terrorists are heroes are to the deaf and dumb, because if the Union Building is burning down – how is fire the cure?

I pledge allegiance to the congress, I pledge allegiance to the flag. Sounds the call to come unconscious, united we won’t stand. Let us live and strive for freedom, well, the version they command. Keep us silent and confused, in Nowhereville, our land. Sing “hey, hallelujah!” We’ll get our two-thirds arsenal through you and then see just how much you’ll take.

Reason, show them – we’re on a road to nowhere. This city is insecure. The arsonists and terrorists are heroes are to the deaf and dumb, because if the Union Building is burning down – how is fire the cure?

So as long we raise our hands to heaven, sing songs of AK-47’s, we’ll not realize that all our fathers made were sons who bow to hand grenades. The farm murders aren’t understood. Our icons go to sleep for good. Realize that all our fathers made were sons who bow to hand grenades.

A little less significant. The hunger pangs have me wearing thin and there isn’t space out here for dreaming. A lot more give than take. Show them your heart can’t break and maybe they’ll stop trying. And Liberty has nightmares still, since he called her in against her will. Now, she bows her head, smokes cigarettes and takes the morning after pill.

Hier skryf en skree ons nou om teen die sterflikheid te probeer verskans. En ons vir jou, nooit weer nie.

Nowhereville is burning down. The Union Building’s burning down. Everything is burning down, burning down all around me. Christine, can you hear me now that you’re far away? I can’t feel you shaking. You’d leave me if only you could see me thinking of myself again.

I lost my heart on the M1-South.