| Well i thought we’d arrived at a tract in our history
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| Where we’d fought every endeavor we could fight
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| Yet i shuddered with grim preconception
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| As the cannonade erupted into light
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| And my ocular gaze lay dehiscent
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| It seemed that i could not look away
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| And every god fearing son was a patriot
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| And victory remained elusive
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| Just one bomb away
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| Oh yeah one bomb away
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| And they say that customs will reconcile people
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| To any atrocity — (George Bernard Shaw)
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| From dachau to belfast to baghdad
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| From sea to shining sea
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| And they say that when fascism crosses our borders
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| It’ll be wrapped up in a shroud
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| Glowing red, white, and blue
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| And our rectors they say will explain it away
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| As the ravings of a passionate few
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| Well i happened to visit a slaughterhouse
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| Where cessation’s redolence rose to the sky
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| And propitious creatures await a most virulent fate
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| Which their pacific demeanor belies
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| It was a place i don’t care to return to
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| Whose chambers compassion would not recognize
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| Where slaughter is sanctification
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| And humanity covers it’s eyes
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| Covers it’s eyes
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| My country 'tis of thee
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| Sweet land of liberty
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| Of thee i sing of thee i sing
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| I don’t want to be a patriot
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| If being a patriot means being like you |