Uncle Sam's cheeks are spotty and red
Drunk all the time from consumption of oil
And his skin is scabbed over with strip malls
Freeways run like varicose veins
And one hundred thousand seat boils
Yet still he attempts to stand
Tall at his bully pulpit
Unaware, perhaps, that he's grown hunched
From the weight of landfills and junkyards
That his hair is falling out
From the collective stress of our national debt
His son the dollar on life support
Wise old man, look in the mirror
You were once an idealist
Don't let the fact that your dreams
Are still more candlelight than brushfire
Turn you into a facist
Don't peddle your a*s on the corner
To the mouth breathing thugs of international business
For a Euro
Or a Yen
With which to sharpen your sword
With which to get one more fix
Uncle Sam those who urge you to war
Are a cancer
But you are not mortal
You can will your own remission
If you do what is right
Conquer your lusts and your vice
Use some of my strength
There is no shame in making a crutch
Of the just
So that you might stand tall
We may be single cells
But we orbit near the heart
And within us you just might find
That noble vision you once professed
Before slavery and reservations
Those various indescretions of youth
Led you to become
That ragged old miser
Standing there in front of the mirror
Ready to fall