Arteries full of cars pump blood into the American Dream
feeding and fueled by desires, be they wholesome or obscene.
You are head down, brown nose to the grindstone,
responsible, patriotic and dutiful.
You are the hungry, eager masochistic workforce of
America the Beautiful.
Once again you drive to work.
Once again your boss - the jerk.
Once again the traffic sucks.
You’re feeling fucked.
No time to eat.
You’re short on sleep.
Once again you’re bored -
so you listen to that morning radio show
designed to get you to laugh your gloomy ass off
all the way to the gallows.
You do this for me.
You do this, you see
because I am your Statue of Liberty.
I am your America.
This is the daily grind
grinding your mind down to a nub,
that is assuming you ever had a mind to grind.
Whatever visions you once had
have been crushed beneath the weight
of the concrete walls that surround you every day,
have been smashed flat
against the artificial ground you walk on.
Your nights are lit up like synthetic days.
You’re cooped up and boxed in,
but it is a really, really nice cage
where you overindulged to the point of bursting
on food, drugs and alcohol.
Overwrought mothers,
emasculated fathers
neglect their children
or slam them up against the wall.
Young mamas stuff their new babies into black plastic bags and
throw them away.
You have an addictive,
self-destructive,
homicidal,
suicidal proclivity.
It’s just like the bizarre behavior of other animals in captivity.
The pressure makes you strange.
The pressure has changed your soul.
Your toxic cage has swallowed you,
swallowed you whole.
Now you even have trouble
just staying in love -
Maybe that’s just because you have too much stuff -
so much stuff you can hardly see each other through it.
That’s okay,
You can still see me and I’ll take care of ya,
I am the patron saint of consumers.
I am your America.
If you say that you hate me,
I call you a liar.
You are the silk-draped and feasting citizens
at the height of the Roman Empire.
Don’t you forget,
unlike your third world cousins,
all your needs are met.
Comfort - not hurt.
Carpets - not dirt.
Are you thirsty tonight?
Or - are you sipping on something cold?
Would you trade places with those huddled masses?
Oh, baby, don’t bother telling me
how you hate it here,
Shedding that angry tear -
Raging little bird in a gilded cage.
I am your home,
the only arms you’ve ever known and . . .
we have a deal.
You give me all you’ve got,
I give you what you need.
You love me.
I know you love me
When I perform financial fellatio upon you.
You love me.
I know you love me
When I suck you,
When I suck you dry.