America, America

things just never work out, here, in America the brave....

The ashes of my ruin serves as the sugar for their revenge,

my bones the foundation of their corruption,

my blood the sweet wine on their lips, and in the overflowing cups in their palms.

And,this my friend, is how America's freedoms transcend.

Bitter, I know,

the the taste of broken dreams,

but it covers their desserts like dyed whipcream,

Bitter, i know,

the taste of dashed hopes,

yet here in America, they sprinkle it on everything..

The End

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