Streampunk is for pussies,
Slavepunk is where it's at now.
I imagine a world where great airships which traverse the land powered by legions of enslaved men and women who throw them into the air, run a few feet, catch them, and throw them again. Where the filthy cobblestone streets are lit, not by electricity, nor by flickering gasslamps, but by the moon's reflection off pools of silver tears; tears shed by caged children. A world where the fires of industry are fueled by the shattered, broken, and shackled human spirit.
That's what I wear to the goth club. Bitches best not be offended.
They See Me Rollin
They Hatin' Patrollin' Tryin' to catch me ridin' Dirty