They Have Stolen Our Country And Left Us To Die
Shadowy backrooms backslaps handshakes withering smiles
Informed lips slip conformed lies
Fears grow faster than kudzu vines
Refugees (thieves?) drown at the breadlines
"Tomorrow help's a comin!"
And tomorrow comes and goes
And yesterday was the fourth day that tomorrow never rose.
RISE UP!
Your country has been stolen and you have been left to die!
While backroom handshakes seal the deal
The other hand rifles through the till
Mock sorrow escapes their lips, with breath musty and rank
While hundred-dollar bills are carted from the bank
The public trust is empty
And promises are made
But tomorrow never comes
Returned to sender,
never paid.