| We are the great society (bound to the American | | | | régime,there were no snow white blossoms |
| way)we fight and die for countries, insanely, and end | | | | ever seen, not forso many years, only blood, blood and |
| upwith piled high bodies...like stacks of hay. | | | | more bloodshed, how can you sleep, and not weep, all |
| Even with the shortage of gas we invade, buy | | | | this bloodin the name of good. America, the last |
| yachts,and skyscrapers, homes on beaches in Costa | | | | havenfor God's people, what have we done? |
| Rica. | | | | Has not Vietnam, my war, taught us anything? Strange |
| We are no longer nesters, rather, birds eating | | | | Worlds may not wish to reach our shores, to eat |
| seaweedor dope, booze, anything for a quick high. | | | | ourturkeys and drink our whiskey, and sing our songs. |
| We run our lawnmowers, dance in the rain, hang | | | | Butwe cry "Remember the Alamo," as if it is ourduty |
| froma trapeze, playing the wrestler games; a society in | | | | to incorporate them, the world at our hands. |
| abubble, living like kings; evangelists stealing everything. | | | | Washington, the court of the Black Angels,where |
| Presidents and Congress, murdering, while | | | | sugar and cars and milk and drinking waterand dead |
| everyonegoes to the movie theaters, sit in a gaze, a | | | | solders, and armies are reviewed, from thetop of |
| trance,as if in coffins, hibernating the winter's away. | | | | trees, like honey bees. War and silence, that isthe |
| The darkness has not lifted yet, for Iraq; the war | | | | name of the game (keep it under surveillance,behind |
| continuesin the back streets of Baghdad, and | | | | hidden eyes, keep the people guessing,walking in |
| throughout the country'sheated sands. The soldiers | | | | opposite directions), keep a balancewith the negro, and |
| psychological profiles are piled high,they are dying in the | | | | the same with the Mexican, or makethem |
| soil bleeding for America: yellow,brown, black and | | | | bleed-steadily. |
| white, with broken spirits; reporterslying and dying, and | | | | We are nothing but cows in a barn, being milked,while |
| all in bitter fatigue, so sad. | | | | being flattered with flowers thrown overhead,and the |
| How strange it must be, to awake in a city that | | | | poor soldiers die, as if they are someone's enemy,yet |
| bleedsand adult men, shooting at each other, night and | | | | they know nothing of the countries they defend,and |
| day! | | | | such countries are really not our friends. |
| And somewhere in the sands, are groups of | | | | No rich man's son will die today, just beyond the |
| exhaustedsoldiers digging muddy gravels. Boiling | | | | edgethe edge of the sands, where the ground |
| temperatures,voices white from fright! But we still kill | | | | explodesterror and death lurk and linger, here |
| and fight, bleedfor America, under a flag that says: | | | | helicoptersand boys will be left, heads blown off, |
| might is right...! | | | | opened chests,guts laying exposed on their torsos, and |
| Bush, Bush, Bush, you will be out of office, soon, thank | | | | those that go home,so starts the sufferings all over |
| God,and I voted for you, like a hungry dog, while | | | | again, a stringy line ofquivering animals trying to get |
| amongthose around me, whispers were saying, | | | | help at the VA-hospitals. |
| "Don't,he's going to shed more blood." During your | | | | It is all so immense, that at the end, we die for nothing. |