This issue is the tissue of America -
a cancerous growth that's taken the appearance of a limb.
We fear to cut it off, for fear of bleeding out,
but a terminal illness creeps up on a patient who impatiently deals with the symptoms,
rather than the root, of their illness.
The sickness creeps into the depths of their skin,
and disguises itself in their weakness...
And all along the rot flows through their lungs
'till their very own air smokes up their thoughts,
and the clear-eyed wise are unduly despised for the threatening illusions
that they are not.
So the cancer grows and grows,
and the growth never stops
the lungs are long gone and the strife
has grown on into the next, and last
moments of life.
So ye patient, ye poor man, ye countryman, ye realm,
Call out to your caretakers, and those who love you well,
those who see the good you could be,
and who can pull you out of this hell.
The true abyss is not to bleed over an illusion of normality -
it is the curse of confusion, and its fatality.
The symptoms of delusion are described as follows:
spite, scorn, blight, and never ending snags -
a sleeve caught in a zipper
and legislative drags.
But how to treat a tumor and postpone a certain death,
won't be to treat your coughing -
a cold may be chilling but it cannot freeze your breath.
The only way to free the pumping of air between your lungs,
is to breathe in deep and yell out - and expel the guileful bums.
Those chums who would argue that a cancer isn't worth treating,
and go on 'till they run themselves to the ground,
bleeding others hijacked blood and willfully deceiving.
America's body may not shiver,
and its symptoms may not glimmer,
in the same way the its other afflictions might -
But if you had a cancer - would you treat it as a cold,
our would you fight to your last breath,
for a chance to earn your life?