Flock of Birds darken sky
foreboding thoughts, and I ask why.
I raise my eyes, find darkness bleak,
This country ours, has grown quite weak.
I wonder when we'll make a stand,
wrest our land from silver-spoon hand.
I wonder if again truth shall reign,
silver-spoon-fed-folk feel not our pain.
Corrupt ones rule this land we loved,
into corner common folk shoved;
for oil black our young men die,
illusions fed us, for them we cry;
for loot they strive, and fight for Power,
while in fine Mansion's our leaders cower.
The rich get richer, while strive we must,
and Politician's ours make fools of us.
It's not too late to make a stand,
wrest power from corrupt one's hand;
as did founding Father's in days of old,
let's take a stand, we must be bold;
'gainst English Tyrant Forefather's strived,
their blood, spilled, countless brave men died.
We stand not for blood revolt,
for freedom gained, we can not halt;
Bold boys' blood in Iraq is spilled,
far too many ours have been killed;
for reasons, vain, not noble 't'all,
riddle me that, you stop the fall.