O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain;
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!

It must have seemed so true.
They must have told us that here, every thing would be okay.
We probably boarded the boats with hope on the horizon.
I bet it was as blue as our sadness had been when we realized we were tired of traveling from town to town.
Our feet were stained black with soil,
So we washed them with promises of liberty and freedom.

I bet when we got off the boats we were greeted with a shock to find that we weren't wanted.
Go back home that shout at me now,
But home disappeared, or was really never there.
My grandpa squatted on this land until they gave him an acre and an ox.
They call this the heartland now.

I think it's because it's littered with broken hearts.
It's covered with veins and arteries that are clogged with saddness and guilt.
There's heart disease in this heartland.