And the coal trucks come a-runnin'

With their bellies full of coal

And their big wheels a-hummin'

Down this road that lies open like the soul of a woman

Who hid the spies who were lookin'

For the land of the milk and the honey

And this road she is a woman

She was made from a rib

Cut from the sides of these mountains

Oh these great sleeping Adams

Who are lonely even here in paradise

Lonely for somebody to kiss them

and I'll sing my song, and I'll sing my song

In the land of my sojourn



And the lady in the harbor

She still holds her torch out

To those huddled masses who are

Yearning for a freedom that still eludes them

The immigrant's children see their brightest dreams shattered

Here on the New Jersey shoreline in the

Greed and the glitter of those high-tech casinos

But some mendicants wander off into a cathedral

And they stoop in the silence

And there their prayers are still whispered

And I'll sing their song, and I'll sing their song

In the land of my sojourn



Nobody tells you when you get born here

How much you'll come to love it

And how you'll never belong here

So I call you my country

And I'll be lonely for my home

And I wish that I could take you there with me



And down the brown brick spine of some dirty blind alley

All those drain pipes are drippin' out the last Sons Of Thunder

While off in the distance the smoke stacks

Were belching back this city's best answer



And the countryside was pocked

With all of those mail pouch posters

Thrown up on the rotting sideboards of

These rundown stables like the one that Christ was born in

When the old world started dying -aca