Tonight, the lights of the colleseum dim.
The darkness is pocked with flashes of a neon ribbon
Glowing with Red, White and Blue.
But those aren’t my colors tonight.
Those aren’t your colors tonight, dear brother,
Although we came from a similar pedigree.
You with your cracked bells of liberty.
Me with my white hot steel of industry.
My land has been cut by the rivers.
Yours has been stabbed by the sea.
And we likely share the lineage
of vikings and slaves; the destitute and demure.
You are relative to me, yet in this moment
I share no common yolk with you.
We shant plow the sod, nor break bread.
Instead, I’d sneak a bit of hemlock
In your Labatt Blue Light,
Watch your eyes swirl and dull,
And laugh as I hear the siren sing
While my tribe holds their hands aloft.
In too many ways we are the same.
Both our Colors are bright and bold.
Your’s orange and black.
and mine black and gold.
We should find common ground.
We should at least act civil.
But I don’t want you to join my party.
I don’t want you to assimilate with my Igloo.
I want you to bow to me; plead for mercy.
Thank me and love me for letting you live.
This is the NHL Playoffs. This is the nature of hate.