The hair of a bigwig
Fly away like wings of an American eagle
While his words, they hawk emotions
Like a native Indian war cry
And the right and left, foxed, they look at
A bald eagle and a meat packer called Uncle Sam
Searching for the beauty of ambidexterity
Forgetting it is one mighty heart
That pumps blood to the right, left and middle.
And the soul of America
Sobs like a black widow near a tombstone
Looking for an escape to the grief
And Uncle Sam wears away to an
Auto immune disease, Rheumatoid Arthritis.
His own cells attacking his bones,
Disintegrating like a house of cards.
The patriots line up the streets
Holding miniature stars and stripes
A Don Henley song echoes in the heartland
Searching for Reagen’s ghost
And the question is, is it too late now?
The great white hope, looks bigger than Moby Dick
And still there are no snake charmers
Or antidotes to a lost cause. The fangs
Look mightier than Mount Rushmore,
And greed, like the venom, crippling
Everything alive. The underdog, just
Like a street dog, looks for a lonely bone
To bite. One bone of freedom,
From a lone Dinosaur carcass.
