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The politicians smile down.
The merchants sell their wares.
A steady breeze extends the flag
while brokers trade their shares.
Your children giggle playfully,
your elders live secured.
Your golden age begins to dawn
through darkness you've endured.
America the beautiful,
what more could you attain?
Your soldiers march.
Your markets roar.
Perfection seems to reign.

The world's victim's turn to you;
the answer to a prayer.
Till once again your screaming jets
accept a monster's dare.
Spirits of the martyred saints,
of former genocide's,
they call to you from common graves
when tyranny presides.
"America!" they always say;
"Your time has come again!
Release your knights!
Come save us from
the curse of evil men!"

The ghosts of Roman emperors,
the screaming Mongol hoard,
the beasts of Human history,
all sing to your accord.
I see them at your nightly raids,
within your vengeful flame,
from long ago they come to watch,
to praise your mighty name.
"America!" I hear them say.
"We raise our cup to you!
From gods of war,
from cruel men;
a salutation due!"

Victims stand with tyrants now,
ghosts of love and hate,
they speak of you in unison,
together as a mate.
The victims speak of sympathy.
The tyrants praise your war.
Compassion guides your violence
as opposites keep score.
"America!" I hear them say.
"Your strange duality.
Such cruelty,
such sympathy,
such moral savagery."

- MadGerman


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