Rain scours the heartland of America clean, and the tides swallow the coast. The harvest season is past -- now is the time to raze the field-stubble, for this rain is comprised of missiles, and this tide of foreign armies. Burn away this America-that-was, that Firstborn of Earth! That America has uprooted what he did not plant, and planted that which never belonged: Into the rich native unowned soil of shalom peoples he staked genocide and called it destiny. He saw young Equality as a weed-like threat against his harvest and declared war upon her ebony-sheathed saplings with torch and axe. He penetrated his virgin hills with strip-mine and pipeline, polluting her clear waters and black earth with his emission. The soil America claimed, he has husbanded into rot and barrenness, so he demands concubines from across the sea to slake his appetite; the meager harvests of starving nations are consumed in his maw. And now that the bastard harvest is ripe, long ago poisoned from within, king America smokes what he can of his crop, selling the toxic remainder to those who slaved to tend it. He has sown the wind, and he will reap the whirlwind. Let the rains fall heavy! Flood the croplands; fell the rotted forests! Sow the rolling plains with unquenchable salt, and with brimstone that will not be sated. Let new growth sprout greenly from the dusty carcass of the America-that-was, Firstborn of Earth.