in a forest of stone underneath a corporate canopy

where the sun rarely filters down

the ground is not so soft

it is not so soft



they build buildings to house people making money

or they build buildings to make money housing people

it's true, like a lot of things are true



foraging from a phone booth on the forest floor

that is not so soft

i look up, it looks like the builidings are burning

but it's just the sun, setting in the windows

the solar system calling an end to another business day

eternally circling, signalling the rythmic clicking on and off

of computers



the pulse .. of the american machine

the pulse .. that draws death dancing

out of anonymous side streets

you know, the ones that always get dumped on

but never get ploughed



it draws death dancing out of little countries

with funny languages

where the ground is getting harder and it was

not that soft before



but those who call the shots

are never in the line of fire

why

when there's life for hire out there

if the flag of truth were raised

we could watch every liar rise to wave it

here we learn america like a script

playright, birthright - same thing

we bring ourselves to the role

we're all rehearsing for the presidency

i always wanted to be commander in chief

of my own one woman army



but i can envision the mediocrity of my finest hour

it's the failed america in me

it's the fear that lives

in a forest of stone, underneath the corporate canopy

where the sun rarely filters down

and the ground

is not so soft