After fighting all day, the soldiers go play
In the sandbox where castles they form.
They remain for a stay, but are carried away
By the bluebirds that ride on the storm.

Johnny looks to the years, but an echo he hears
Of the apples that fell last November.
The sound rings in his ears, and he fights back the tears
As he waits for the lighting and thunder.

The windows are bare, so blankly they stare
As the masses march on to the West Coast.
With rolling of drums, and laughter he comes
"Hang the last of America's ghosts!"

A star grows in the East, but a seven head beast
Lifts his head and devours it roaring.
The people look on, but they see nothing wrong
Because fireworks rarely are boring.

Johnny woke the next day and went out to play
With two rounds in the back of his head
He skipped along humming, "Freedom is coming!"
While failing to see he was dead.