(After 9-11)


They say I can't survive.
That our minds are better dead than alive.
And with a drop of blood
The troubles cease to be
When buildings burn in
My Country 'tis of thee.

The bullets drill large holes,
In the chests of foreign children
As they sit and eat gray dinners.
They strive to join the world in fire
With a vigil for us sinners.

All the images caught on tape,
To drag tears from our eyes,
As they drag babies from their homes,
And bomb our buildings with them,
As an evil surprise.

Another country hates our lives,
because the west-wind of change invades them.
They fear the way we talk of God,
While their own devils serenade them.

So,
I'm strapped to a steel chair.
Cold,
Without care.
This bomb I can't diffuse.
As it caused by twenty-three years
Of televised abuse.
Look into my eyes,
As my smile eases.
In their reflection
You'll see a world in pieces.