The modern world creaks to a halt.
The sun, frozen, leans toward darkness.
Apocalypse, now a presumption, a former abstraction,
demands a reaction, and the people must vote it down.
Across the oceans, our enemies amass.
They must be placed in words and categories.
Survival is dependent on proper identification.
Secret police walk amongst us and good friends may be spies.
All laws are subject to change. Outlaws cannot prevail.
We are the wild west and time is our jail.
In the old saloon, marshals and sheriffs fight off doom.
The riderless horse on Main Street is just a burning Escalade.