Was there ever a time when our country was happy about itself?
Gershwin called it the national pep, the metropolitan madness
Have we failed to master the kettle of culture and patriotic hue?
Oh we have tried, yes, we have, but is our child only sadness?
Or is it the anger of the marginalized spirit, put down by normalcy?
For whom were the good old days actually good for?
Those who write the history books, laden with joy and pride
Or those who write about past evil of which men now roar?
Is it possible for a nation of different cultures can honor one another
When all we think about is paying for dinner without selling a chair
Who to blame when so many of our youth have lost their hope
And instead of the glory if invention we instead live in the victims lair
Would it be easier if we had not past, no today, only a future
Where would we start, spreading the money like a carpet
Across the plain and tell everyone go get what you can
Because money does not care about color or what you forget
Can a rhapsody change from blue to green in an instant?
Will the triumph of the gold ore in our hand stir the ***
Simmering, smoking, filling the room with joy of coming feasts
That we can all share as it’s aroma smothers what was dead rot
And as we pass the plate and the smokes we begin to speak
Do we want war and violence in a land of love and peace?
Who would say yes to such a thing in front of the children
Only a man who cannot be blessed with an equal piece
He said, let me speak, let me speak, I know how it works
We will tire of the same things and the numbness of it all
I don’t want more, I want the best that can be for mankind
And being paid for my work so better then of destiny’s call
What selfless can live on a broken box spring while saving the planet?
What if I need help, will the hordes gather bringing their own sheets?
Are we so gracious and giving that nothing matters of ourselves?
I can’t demand that you live that way or that I also live in the streets
Have thoughts of noble poverty and demonic wealth paralyzed your mind?
We all were given the same and how long would it really last?
We scattered for the meadows and oceans thinking of no duress
And what did we find but the memory that we did have a past
Did it crush our spirit as the legacy of fallen men reflected in the mirror
What becomes of our own freedom if we ignore what some cannot believe?
What discarded lessons learned could solve the problem of emptiness
When all a rich man can say is he gave and a poor man received?
What is left of this turn of events except that tomorrow has become today
And if all the flowers have been picked to fill the prettiest girl’s cup
What can the this world say to that when another man who wanted more
Decided his destiny was to say, "I’m a genius and it’s up to you to keep up"