America, America, so the songs go,
Once so great a country, we now leave lands destitute and sickly,
Our sticky fingers destroying families, and killing the innocent.
We sneak in under our false pretenses of protecting democracy,
And helping those in need,
These tales of heroism whispered to us by politicians with their sinister desires,
And yet those under our wings
Are forever stuck in the cross-hairs of CBS,
As we steal their oily candy from under their noses.
America, America, so the songs go,
A land built on the blood and tears of the stranger,
Of the newcomer,
Of the powerless,
Yet the hate of the foreign still persists,
The abuse of the impoverished lining the pockets of the suit,
Riddling holes in the melting pot
Of our land of the free, home of the brave.
Riddling holes in the melting pot. good poem. thanks. I invite you to read my poems and comment.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Oil candy under their noses, only an American could write with such a lovely phrase. Enjoyed your poem, as an Indian I am a great admirer of your country, America the Brave, yes indeed your land of the free, home of the brave.