Am I not your poor your weak?
Your wretched refuge from a teeming shore?
Do you not still hold the lamp?
Before me at the golden door?
Who is able to decide..
Who is the free and the brave?
The ones who sit back and enjoy?
The wealth gained day by day?
The ones who never had to prove
Or be alone against the struggle
The ones who never faced the storm
Never even touched a shovel?
Is this not the land I'm told..
That is free and for the masses?
And position is not imposed
Or subjected just as assets
As an American I have to ask
What was the point of all this war?
When we are simply going back..
To all that we were before?
The belief that one was equal to all
The terrible government crippled us all
And beneath the rubble did they not crawl?
To fight back against this demonic brawl?
In the end all I have to say
Is we did not give millions of lives away..
To keep waging war or giving labels..
Just give me one reason how you are able?...
To decide who deserves to be free..
Who decides where serenity is allowed?
To say that to be an immigrant..
Has simply overflowed the crowd?
Is America not for the free?
For the ones who fight every day?
The ones that lay awake and pray
For poverty to go to grave?
Is this the land not for the brave?
Not for the ones who battled their way?
The ones who fought every night and day?
Does the lamp still not guide their way?