Miss America

She lay dying in an upstairs bedroom, w/the look of a child in her eyes
And a rattle of valium and 12 yr old scotch as a consolation prize
And the mirrors were covered w/yesterday's papers as she becomes old news
W/her henchmen and handmaidens left w/little else to choose
Than the panicking of animals, the reflex of the riot
The more time spent commiting crime, the less time to deny it
W/a handgun and a half understanding of the republic for which it stands
She's running out the doomsday clock w/not enough time on her hands
And she's left her children w/a ransom note and a list of her demands
Call in the forensic accountants to quantify the fires
That burn in the hearts of the patriots and the priests and the poets and liars
That burn in the words of the faithful that echo the mistakes of the past
That burn in the minds of a generation forced to grow up too fast
Left stranded by their history and washed up on the beach
Washed up by the wave of the future that's still just this far out of reach
And who carried the water for sick old men w/empire in their veins
Who dreamed of a brand new Eden, who dreamed like Jesse James
Of a murderous justice built on the cult of the outlaw and human remains
Sack all the heathen cathedrals they said, tear down the protestant walls
Rewire their enemy hearts and minds w/fixed elections and robocalls
Take all the good out of what we might do, betray what we could have become
Were it not for the glare of the idiot mind that killed all her daughters and sons
Were it not for the abandonment of what was a fine idea at the time
That shining city upon a hill that turned out to be too steep to climb
And now we'll miss America who, much to her surprise
Lay dying in an upstairs bedroom w/the look of a child in her eyes.

(from the forthcoming CD "The Panicking of Animals")