and Naoru:

Four in the morning. For an hour as the neighbors from the bottom rub the sludge, and loudly so, half-house hears.
He took two of his Soviet wonders (columns under a meter high), twisted a fifty-watt, also Soviet, amplifier to the maximum... A banal land like Merlin Manson and other wild stones passed by. The mind went further: took the vocal microphone, grabbed it through the mixer into the FL, hanging a guitar overload, a dilution and a compressor.
The question is what to say to humanity.

Now imagine it. Four in the morning. The music center is swallowed under the stream of sound. Between the houses, the joyful, monotonous and screaming voice of the leader of the alien invaders is spread:

I am a cowboy,
I walk on the hill,
The sharp roots,
The thin feet,
In the Magi-
with ears,
and the tongue,
The cannabis tail.
As soon as I jump, I binge!

And silence... I can only hear the wind blowing between flying leaves...