Thus is America—so he said
with soul in his nodding head;
shot down, shot down, down,
nothing more, nothing less,
so run you bastards run! run!
from the odour of the gun—
just run, run with your pumping
hearts in hand—run with the
silent death surround—just run,
just run, for there is nothing
more to say but thus is America,
thus is the world, thus is the
grieving parents tears washed
up on the shining shore of god’s
bleeding promised land of hope.