Mask Off America

The streets aren’t paved with gold

They’re lined with rubber-coated lead

Mask off, America

The tears of George Stinney weren’t enough to quench our thirst

Everything we own is dripping with blood

Everything we’ve earned was pried from another’s grip

And now we spend the rest of our waking life

Fending off those who might try to take it

Is freedom supposed to feel like choking

On the stress of hoarding the most objects?

And the pain in my gut when I start to wonder if this is all there really is won’t go away

But this empty feeling is still better than the despair of those who still dream that someday, if they work very hard, they too will have countless unsatisfying things