Talking heads on the screen sue for peace, but in time the sleighted hand tips to reveal the Queen of Hearts. The coiled tongue strikes, injecting paranoia, sweet succor for the mildly informed. Two halves becoming whole. Together, they solder shut the mouths screaming for sanity, diverting reason for fear of the other. Pallets, planes, and powder. Shipped off, across the globe, rigging the world to blast. The cadenced tramp of GI boots stamp on to eternity, red ribbons on the chests of slack-jawed bleeding hearts with beaming eyes and stained souls. They are marching, marching our children to war.