The Streets Of America

Bad Religion

desolate and without purpose

radiating from so many septic sources

forming the fabric of a wayward people

disappearing as the vestiges of our past

scratched like tartan into virgin soil

a substrate for progress and disarray

a spreading network of broken dreams

searching for a thoroughfare to take us away

just a little tale from the streets of America (say a little prayer)

sparkled promises paved with pathos and hysteria

trenchant, weary native sons

step back

and see the damage done

meander to the horizon (shoot straight to the horizon)

the streets of America

black, tarred concrete

pine for me

lying domant

for you and country

hardened surface

cracked within

catch the sweat

from off the chin

of men and women

senior and child

who look to you

and your sterile miles

and in their stares

is bald dismay

for what you promised

led them astray

hard-cracked, daunting, lifeless veins

false hope corridors to greener pastures is all that remains

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