The Skeletons That Line Our Streets

Free, free, free 

They all want to be

But what is the cost?

We bleed red, white and blue, but crimson runs the thickest and disppears in one swig 

Death by hunger, death by war, death by the pig 

But where do they go?

Flooding to America, the streets are paved with gold

That is until your job fleets and Washington takes its hold

But how can women complain?

Sitting on the street black dress red lipstick in hand

I know what you thought, but she was just going out to see a band

Why is it like this?




This poem is about: 
My country


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