Propagandhi Dear Coach's Corner Lyrics

Dear Ron MacLean,
Dear Coach's Corner,
I'm writing in order...

For someone to explain
To my niece the distinction
Between these mandatory pre-game group rites of submission...

And the rallies at Nuremberg,
Specifically the function
The ritual serves in conjunction...

With what everybody knows
Is in the end a kid's game.
I'm just appealing to your sense of fair play...

When I say she's puzzled by
This incessant pressure for her to not defy
Collective will and yellow-ribboned lapels,
As the soldiers inexplicably repel...

Down from the arena rafters.
If it not so insane,
They'll be grounds for screaming laughter.

Dear Ron MacLean,
I wouldn't bother with these questions
If I didn't sense some spiritual connection.

We may not be the same,
But it's not like we're from different planets.
We both love this game so much we can hardly f*cking stand it. Alberta-born and Prairie-raised,
Ain't a sheet of ice north of Fargo I ain't played.
Penhold to the Gatineau,
Every fond memory of childhood that I know...

Is somehow connected
To the culture of
This game; I just can't let it go.

I guess it comes down to
What kind of world you want to live in.
If diversity is disagreement,
Disagreement is treason.

Well, you'll be surprised if we find ourselves reaping...

A strange and bitter fruit
That sad old man beside you
Keeps feeding to young minds as virtue.

It takes a village to raise a child,
A flag to raze the children,
Till they're nothing more than ballasts for fulfilling...

A madman's dream
Of a paradise.
Complexity,
Reduced to black and white.

How do I
Protect her from
This cult of death?

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