The Wonderful America
In my dreams I see
A forlorn figure stalking me.
Whispering things I don't want to hear.
Warning me about faces that I sould fear.
This figure sometimes screams at me
And pounds on the inside of my head.
And sometimes he brings peacefulness until
I feel the tranquility drowning me.
Why do I run so?
Why do I shiver and shake - and yet -
Know that he's my guardian, my friend?
Holding my hand and guiding me,
Oh, now I truly, truly see.