Cleaned up and bound for greatness:
that's the American dream.
Debt payments to hit that equity
hockey stick
from puck to puck and glory to
another shiny sea.
Whose pacific glory
wins whichever wars come home to roost.
We hide most times, that's the only reasonable
way to keep what's ours ours
in between the justified conflicts
civil or European.
Don't land war in haze,
irradiate.
That's the American way.
Copy everything and steal and steal and steal.
We are thick thieves,
heavy cream,
and made of sticks,
bound together without string,
we merely landed this way;
Plymouth Rocks, drunk on stocks,
the market's starkness
leads to northern darkness
and we are not merely a city on a hill;
we're a country that will let
the rest of the lowlands
drown in the filth we digested
and no longer wish to see.
Roman Ryan 