Back when the New World was still that,
And most men couldn’t even afford a hat.
Running from kings who were mad,
not even realizing they were equally bad.
Spreading across now-claimed land,
drawing borders with their blood-stained hands.
Starting industries along the river,
where poor men needing money would come hither.
The American dream would be in vain,
If blood couldn’t just be washed by rain.
At times we hide our monsters inside,
Until it seems war shall tide.
Then we’ll all be up in arm,
Forgetting we’ve all caused so much harm.
Even today we’d put others in toil,
Just to get at their crude oil,
To fuel our dreams and cars,
As we try to reach for the stars.
But never have we looked down,
And noticed we’re on a dead man mound.