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.