Our Mother mourns blood spilled but once a year,
yet never casts a single eye on her ravaged thirsty sons,
or the slaughter heard around the world.
Innocents without a drop of guilt,
crowd the rivers,
rotting in the streets on live television.
Our Mother spits on their shade of skin,
their ways of worship,
their ways of living.
Our fellow folk gorge at the local Mcdonalds
thinking terrorism at any "strange" looking stranger.
Aren't these blue jeans thrown together by a Chinese sweat shop child
American enough for?
Isn't this greased up slab of corpse screaming,
"America land of the free, home of the brave!"
Or when you look deep into that carbonated blood bath do you see the truth,
"America land of the freedom killers, home of the cowards."