Optimistic Racist Timetravel

swashbuckling swatstikas fight it off to a jazz number
fronted by a red-head in christmas, but christ missed the
show, and the stage gave way to the city below, the big
band in freefall continues to play, but a different song,
the soundtrack to a stomping parade of glistening skinheads
with glowing fuzzy scarfs, and every thud makes you
sick to the stomach. the image fades, we're nearing the
end of the plummit.

the band lands safely and have forgotten their previous lives,
i suppose the crowd will have to do the same, they'll mutter
random colours in vain, scraping at their own skin and wondering
just what it was they forgot. "boy, this new world sure is hot!" says
the saxaphonist, as his fellow band mates look in horror at
a sigil in flames, in the middle savanna-land,
with a mute red head flailing in pain impaled at the top,
trying to scream, but only imbedding her face on the
saxaphonists memory to the end of his days.

He looks at his hands to see they are brown on one side, as does
the rest of the band. they don't know any different, but are still
suprised to see it. far off they notice dust rising, and hear light
rumbling, which gets louder and louder. the band see an army of
grey men on all fours galloping towards them, crying unknown
chants of hate and rebel. the band try to run, leaving their instruments
behind, but the grey men plow straight through the instruments,
creating a dischordant crash that momentarily and comically stops
the band in their tracks, expressions of amazement on their faces.

frail old snake charmers, one in each corner of this planet,
come together to share the things they've seen in the snakes eyes.
but they all agreed that a static image cut to nostalgia on a lazy day time
tv show, full of captured suns, was the right way to calm their nations,
to unify this earth in peace.