Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

My father has seen the seasons.
He now comes to curse this needless war
He rails against all the President's men
He protests the sacrifice of our children
On a bloodstained altar, like tithe or tax
We the people, in order to build a more
perfect bottom line, a noble campaign
Almighty God of gain write our slogan
High-minded speech of freedom
We go, enslaved by linguistics

My father now curses a legacy of lies
Built on false pride and senseless waste
He sees through it now, enough is enough
mass murder for profit, death of a race

Later I find him asleep in his chair
War Channel on televison, volume on high...
Ritual tales of a bottomless courage
Sanitized agony, honor and purpose
Suicide, like the seasons,
an endless loop.

True story.