you say i failed
but in the gold rush of 49
i was the one who took all
the gold for me and mine
so many thieves at my tail
they were looking so pail
but it’s fine wine and dine
from here on out
until the end of time
America has fallen from grace.
Anarchy will take her place.
The collapse of the imperial state.
America is buckling under her own weight.
They say this is the greatest country on this Earth.
But it is built on the blood of a hundred million hearths.
Built on the blood and the tears of the poor, the slave, and the native.
The bourgeoisie shall be plative.
As their end is drawn near.
It is the end of this grand sneer.
The costumes change, but the plot remains the same.
New faces, old problems.
Nothing under the sun is new.
I met a traveler from a far away land.
He said that therein lies an ancient monument.
Upon it, there sits a plaque that reads thusly:
“Don’t let our mistakes be your end.”