Border Village Songtext

von Melora Creager

In the Alpine village of Boïens, bare-chested and wearing amulets, 300 machete wielding peasants (the 300 inhabitants) heard the noises made when icebergs crack. It's quite an eerie sound to hear the earth breaking apart like that. In a village close to the border, demonstrations and rioting can occur with little or no warning. Cheering and youthful pilgrims roam the streets by the millions under command from her majesty to order our national flowers, or virgins, to converge at the Lutizini(?) palace on Sunday so that they can drop their woolen tassels on Monday. Beyond a backdrop of banditry and armed rivalry ingeniously barbaric machete wielding peasants perform victory jigs and idolatry.

Three sailors were drowned in a lake when they became entangled in underwater vegetation creating a murky plume that stretched for miles to a makeshift morgue. “Farwell cousin, because here we're frozen,” said Hans Flutie, a successful Swiss corn broker. Adel was swept away by a swollen torrent overnight; he used to dance at the souvenir shop.

Between two errant strips of cloth, media critic David Shaw dies alone at 62.