Anne Applebaum: Planning for a Techno-Oligarchic Regime

2541.147 - 2622.249

It's a new world, babe. I can't behave as if I know what to do. Cause I belong to an older song. It's a feeling I'm relenting. We'll be right back. Your birth inspired spontaneous choirs, angels heralding you. The psychic's vision came to pass, and the critics all withdrew. The palm leaves laid for you to play on, they sway as you come to. And all this new happiness makes it all the more uncool.