Grant Tarbard is for hope, unity and all borders being seen for what they are; manmade constructs.
Snare
You heard little men crowing empire with a throat of rot.
You heard little men’s snares that beguiled.
You heard little men flaunting bedraggled wares,
dogs that can’t scratch, frustrated, yelping for attention.
You heard little men whistle nation, nation, nation;
a mockery of a true and hardy tongue.
You heard little men’s harps of past,
a slaughterhouse of good deed, flesh behind flesh,
kicking at the fallen petals of light.
Now suffer your voice, caught like a hare in a trap.
The Fat Damsel 