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Heal Yourself America
you walk in a river of blood America,
the blooded air you breathe cloys in your lungs & you can taste 'that' taste in
the land everywhere is a mass of piled up bodies,
everywhere is death at your hands,
everywhere bone dust fragments of the dead to remind you of the curse you give
to the world,
it runs through 'your' great land like a weeping sore,
America when was the first drop spilled?
America why do you feel the need to shape everything to your view of what this
world should be?
and America why do you still treat those whose right to be on 'your' great land
holds more right
than the laws & paper & the lies you spin,
unjustly in the name of all that is inner truth,
and the America that preaches freedom,
why buried in your past present future future present past is there so much that
shows to the
America How can you be so great?
America I can't see your 'land of the free' some part of me can't quite believe
why do you continue your campaign of spilt blood?
will you not be satisfied until all this world is covered in the blood of man
and woman by your hands?
Heal yourself America
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