Oh, say can you see
I could sucker punch myself at any time.
At times of peace the warlike man attacks himself.
At times of war the peacelike man attacks the war.
My name is America.
I’ve stumbled out of the desert into an oasis of neon, like Oedipus into Vegas, neon so tantalizing, sparkling, it would blind me if I weren’t blind already.
Lincoln, setting a precedent that the Republicans never thought to follow, shooting his ideas in the back of the head.
Now we don’t sing God Bless America, but God Help America.
God help me, I’ve lost my history, I’ve lost my eyes, I’ve lost my mind. I forgot that my father fought against the Japanese.
I forgot why we dropped two nuclear bombs on their cities, but I know I’d do it again.
Bombs for peace.
Like flicking the yin/yang and seeing two colors bleed to one.
Blood is blue in the veins, red once spilt.
Peace is war when war is peace. Get a piece of the war to make the peace.
Bond yourself to one cause.
Attack to defend the homeland.
I’m a war president smilingly said. I spend more on promoting my cause than on the cause itself.
My name is America and I’m a waraholic.
Twelve steps to peace lead me through a thousand minefields and five battleground states self-destructing before I ever reach Washington, yet, I keep marching on.
Glory glory hallelujah the south has risen again.
Zombies to eat the flesh of the living.
Gory gory hallelujah.
Church and state intertwined like cross and serpent. The eye of God glaring through you through the satanic masonic symbol on every one dollar bill that transcends from your pocket to the seller’s pocket,
the karma of capital.
If only I could spin myself around to my roots and see the footing that set me on these steps to today. I was built on blood, sure, but wasn’t it honest blood? So what am I tasting now?
It tastes like pennies.
It doesn’t make sense.
The twilight’s last gleaming fading out like a Hollywood tragedy.