Propagandhi – Dear Coachs Corner (Guitar)

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Dear, Ron MacLean

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I'm writing in order

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For someone to explain

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To my niece, the distinction

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Between these mandatory pre-game group rites of submission

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And the rallies at Nuremburg

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Specifically the function

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The ritual serves in conjunction

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With what everybody knows

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Is in the end a kid's game

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I'm just appealing to your sense of fair play

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When I say

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She's puzzled by

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This incessant pressure

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For her to not defy

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Collective will

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Yellow-ribboned lapels

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As the soldiers inexplicably rappel

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Down from the arena rafters

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If not so insane

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Would be grounds for screaming laughter

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Dear, Ron MacLean

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I wouldn't bother with these questions

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If I didn't sense some spiritual connection

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We may not be the same

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But it's not like we're from different planets

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we both love this game so much

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we can hardly fucking stand it

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Alberta-born, prairie-raised

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Ain't a sheet of ice north of Fargo I ain't played

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From Penhold to the Gatineau

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Every fond memory of childhood that I know

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Is somehow connected

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To the culture of this game, I can't just let it go

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I guess it comes down to

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What kind of world you want

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To live in

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If diversity is disagreement

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Disagreement is treason

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Well, don't be surprised if we find ourselves reaping

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A strange and bitter fruit

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That sad old man beside you

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Keeps feeding to young minds as virtue

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It takes a village to raise a child

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A flag to raze the children

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'Til they're nothing more than ballast for fulfilling

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A madman's dream

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Of a paradise

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Complexity reduced to black and white

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How do I

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Protect her from

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This cult of death?