Patriot, comrade in arms,
Looking for an army,
The cold steel bumps against my thigh, a pulse for evey step he takes,
Where are the patriots, the bombs bursting in mid air?
The flag makes a good blanket to keep us warm in the cold of justice,
White wash the american dream picket fence, lazily drift down the Mississippi.
Open plains of purple majesties, hops,grains and cured tobacco,
The kings of beers is the ruler of my taste buds.
Here is the end, the hope is here, still the end marches along.
I march to the war drum, the beat is all my own,
Self reliance, production, innovation,
They have all died out.
Service, servitude, debitors and creditors,
The name of the game, the nightmare, where has the dream woken us up too?