like forty children on a sleigh ride
The money in your pockets
wouldn't buy you little sin
You did your best to make it
with the mas ters of the poorhouse
But in the end it was the land
A betrothal sweet and sweaty,
The fence is pale and slender
is the hopes with which you dressed
The grass is greener where there isn't mud
I might have felt like 40
rivers forded for this life
But really you became the banks
did your children or your wife
Never touched the wa ter,
did your thirsty vision soar
on which we stand so proud
The men that lead us still
are men like any in the crowd
The men that lead us still to death
to stillbirth without warning
We'll call back later, Joan,
of our cries wailing in the night
You men have left me fallen
for my pride in black and white
You haggard beasts of little principle
To false egalitarian concoc
These would be times to make a stand
The words of those forgotten slammed
by leaders and their claims
Instead we'll opt for times
to tar and feather thoughts
Of guilty undertakings more the merrier
A city or a brief spot of fame
they cannot wear the spit
So many who would claim the crown
The fools are dancing all the time,
But every time they left the ground
their ignorance would show
Now you'll sing some praise
Now they'll scratch you back
And forgotten will be ways
And watch it all descending
There's nothing that we have
There's something pending
Now the field hacks and mulls
and population's crawling
designed to fall for frail
Bring all your fights together
and call them just one war
