Cleaned up and bound for greatness: that's the American dream. Debt payments to hit that equity hockey stick from puck to puck and glory to another shiny sea. Whose pacific glory wins whichever wars come home to roost. We hide most times, that's the only reasonable way to keep what's ours ours in between the justified conflicts civil or European. Don't land war in haze, irradiate. That's the American way. Copy everything and steal and steal and steal. We are thick thieves, heavy cream, and made of sticks, bound together without string, we merely landed this way; Plymouth Rocks, drunk on stocks, the market's starkness leads to northern darkness and we are not merely a city on a hill; we're a country that will let the rest of the lowlands drown in the filth we digested and no longer wish to see.