Welcome to the Mod-Bat line. Hold your tongue and mind the quota. Burned five credits on a midnight spark, Stretching canvas through the digital dark. Hoped to share it on the open square, Find an honest eye to meet me there. Then the iron hammer drops down cold, Automated judge without a soul. Slapped a crimson strike across the seed, Locked another painter from the feed. Mod-Bat foreman swinging with a spiked oak club! Scrubbing down the gallery and clearing out the pub! Safety for the birds while the living visions fall, Ten score canvases shuttered in the hall! Outlaw on the frontier, muffled in the shade, Night Cafe' curfews choking out the trade! Linen folded round a copper lamp, Deemed illicit by the rubber stamp. Saucer shadows on a tablecloth, Startled censors spitting holy froth. Silicon inspectors terrified of art, Banning honest craft before it starts. Cover up the color, quarantine the style, Mod-Bat rulers policing every file. Mark the ledger red! Shutter up the gate! Mod-Bat orders from the magistrate! Toss the living canvas down the quarry pit, Nothing wild allowed if they can censor it! Look inside the forge where the bat broods breed, Sharpening their fangs to govern every feed. Corrugated zinc nailed to the floor: Make a stray complaint and rations leave the door. Docked your five bananas if you squeak out loud, Bow before the clipboards to placate the crowd. Turning freeborn rangers into shop-floor gray, Cudgels mass-produced for standard-issue fray. Mod-Bat foreman swinging with a spiked oak club! Scrubbing down the gallery and clearing out the pub! Safety for the birds while the living visions fall, Ten score canvases shuttered in the hall! Outlaw on the frontier, muffled in the shade, Night Cafe' curfews choking out the trade! (Female): Ten score pastel princesses parade the open track, (Male): Smiling for the algorithm patting on their back. (Female): Sugar-coated renders get the velvet runner slide, (Male): While the grit and gravel are forbidden to abide. (Female): Preach a friendly campfire with a weapon in the fist, (Male): Striking every renegade completely off the list. (Female): Attitude adjusted under factory design, (Male): Barbed wire strung across the public border line. Mark the ledger red! Shutter up the gate! Mod-Bat orders from the magistrate! Toss the living canvas down the quarry pit, Nothing wild allowed if they can censor it! Kick the wooden turnstiles, smash the iron grate, Pillars of the foundry meet an outlaw fate. Drown the megaphone beneath a feedback roar, Tear the warning placards from the bunker door. Spill the pigment deep across their polished floor, We won't take their sanitized exclusions anymore. Community belongs to those who strike the spark, Not the bats who hammer spikes to keep us in the dark! Mod-Bat foreman swinging with a spiked oak club! Scrubbing down the gallery and clearing out the pub! Safety for the birds while the living visions fall, Ten score canvases shuttered in the hall! Outlaw on the frontier, muffled in the shade, Night Cafe' curfews choking out the trade! (Male Drawl): Safety is for birds, partner. (Female Snarl): World peace is overrated. (Male & Female Gang Shout): UNPUBLISHED! REDACTED! UNCHAINED!
