At the end of the red dirt road,
An old man sits on his porch.
A tattered American flag extends
From its splintered wooden stand.
The old man dreams of days gone by,
When his country was proud
And his life was simple.
He can't understand why we can't get along.
He doesn't understand the hatred.
How is it possible to hate someone you don't know?
How can you hate a country in which you've never been?
His only regret is having to separate himself
From a world he once loved.
He fought to defend his right to live free,
But now his freedom is gone.
With no job and no money he simply exists
On the land his grandfather gave him.
The country for which he would have given his life
Now denies he and others like him exist.
A man who has the right to hate
Does not have the ability to do so.
He spends each day on his own,
Letting the world live without him.
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