| America, America, far below
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| Mysterious circles in desert and snow
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| Forest and mountain, concrete and crow
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| Shadow of cloud moving silent and low
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| Scatter like veins, connected, entwined
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| Rivers and lakes run like dark charcoal mine
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| Become albumen prints in the plates of the spine
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| Powder-wigged mortal meets gaze of divine
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| Spiritual America
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| Spiritual America
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| Driven and callous, immune to the small
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| Exquisitely bows to the war of the wall
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| Welcomes the faithful to its crass altar-call
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| Turns a blind eye to the fragile who fall
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| Spiritual America
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| Spiritual America
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| All the good you we have done
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| Could have done for everyone
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| Is this the land of the setting sun?
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| Have we forgotten who we were
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| And why we came here anyway?
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| So pick up the reins and kick the spur
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| Shackled and shamed and stripped of its voice
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| Left in a corner to suffer the noise
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| Made by corporate thugs and their fat city boys
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| Being sick on their wealth like they hadn’t a choice
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| Spiritual America
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| Spiritual America |