The birds are in the bush
Hiding to be free,
Pretending not to notice
The danger we all see.
A blood red sun hangs
low in the dust filled sky,
A boy running with a gun
Pretending he can fly.
In the People’s House,
Where Lincoln proclaimed men free,
Truth is just a useless word
And fear the new reality.
The sickness seals us in,
A depression in our souls,
We grow weary in mind and body
Asking only to be whole.
So to what vision of glory
Will the future patriots sing,
As we shoot each other in the streets
And bow before the King?