I write America with the blood that we spill
Filled up my canister and gently dipped my quill
Dreadful is the font of the names that we've killed
A stack of novels I've written all ending "to be continued" and still...
Writing America; the bones, the glory, the whole thrill
I write America so it won't write my will
I write America with the tears that rain
Precipitating off the kids with robbed memory's, replaced with pain
Overflowing is my bucket, the buildup is insane
Soaked up my sponge, then wiped off the bedraggled pane
Clearly on the wall stained is an unforgettable name
"Mr. Uncle Send All Men", a tear won't help him reframe
Flooding on the boarders and no intension for change
Just shoot to kill, and that's the name of the game
I write America for those who've been constantly drained
I write America, for a dream and a quarter
For the old man who for months hasn’t seen his daughter
For the wife who sweats a stream not knowing if he will call her
And the life that seemed to be impermeable just sunk shy of the boarder
And now that I write out of syntax and they scream I'm out of order
But I just write from my heart and hope my scope relates to them kind of, sort of
I write America, because we don't have to be in the same boat, to float in the same water
I Write America!
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