Everybody is at war with something, And sometimes that war can even be directed toward you.

It was only an 'opeless fancy, It passed lika an Ipril dye, But a look an' a word an' the dreams they stirred They 'ave stolen my 'eart awye!'  They sye that time 'eals all things, They sye you can always forget; But the smiles an' the tears across the years They twist my 'eart-strings yet!

And up until quite recently, that has held up as the grand bargain of the carbon age: the people reaping the bulk of the benefits of extractivism pretend not to see the costs of that comfort so long as the sacrifice zones are kept safely out of view.

Written By Chandan Manocha

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