I saw Monticello
A foggy Appalachia
And learned that day
Thomas Jefferson owned slaves

Those angered spirits
Hallowed howling souls
From within the worm-torn earth
Left low-vocalized debt-cords
Tied around a guilty frame

Two centuries ensconced in brick
A time fondly forgotten
When the radicals sung their starling songs
To a land of gin and cotton

There will probably not be another Whisky Rebellion
With the **** beat out of Dixieland
Instead
Watch the T.V dinner-pan out
A Social security check
to every Pioneer.

Down go the statues and mountains
There will be no old memoriam here
It’s time to return these borrowed things to earth
Now that their end draws near.