The buttons big and small are polished for glory,
waiting for the megalomania to commence
Guided missiles awaken Gabriel for his song
His song can be heard in Philadelphia and Pyongyang
By men of the alley, carrying their cardboard crosses
crying “ Novus Ordo Seclorum”
The redwood trees will outlast this troubled empire,
waiting for Mother Nature to reclaim what’s hers
Wall Street invests in their own survival,
mars is waiting for their conquest
If I bury my melodies in the ground,
will they dig them up as artifacts?
While under the shade of palm trees America panics,
waiting for the rockets to fire
A false alarm will help you realize,
how much of a shithole your country really is
It makes you think about things,
and who you love