In America

by Origami Sun

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lyrics

Morning in northern America,
evening in east Taipei.
Rats in the subways are turning in
& workers are on their way.
The garbage trucks in America
clock in at 4am.
Cups, pizza crusts, eggs & coffee grounds
over & again.

Some work is worth it, America.
Means justify their ends.
Some workers sweat through their uniforms
& still can’t pay their rent.
Coal miner’s daughters, America,
hustling at Mickey D’s.
No black lung, pop,
but McMuffins will plug your arteries.

Brown coffee stains in America,
you take it light & sweet.
More carpool lanes for America,
more room to pick up speed.
American muscle is idling,
straight from the factory
in some east Asian state
where the labor is unregulated & cheap.

Oh entertain us, America,
with heroes in rubber suits.
Butter your popcorn, America.
The sequel’s coming soon.
Radio waves in America
pass through the FCC.
Some words you say in America
& some you’d better leave.

Rock gods have paved you, America.
Stadiums of clapping hands.
Play me the hits, Ms. America.
Felt markers signing tits.
Keep buying records, America.
Preserve your rock n roll.
It’s fat & balding, America
& clinically droll.

Jazz cats in graves through America,
Harlem to New Orleans.
I was born in Sharon, Connecticut
to white skin & bright blue jeans.
But I’ve heard them playing, America.
I’ve seen them trading eights.
You bent with those blue notes, America
but never set their plates.

Dinner is served in America.
White bread & Walmart steaks.
Ma fills pa's cup up with soda pop
& pa watches the news at eight.
Sis spits her meal into napkins
& no-one hears her belly groan.
Bro chews his meat like a man
& then gives the dog his bone.

Newsrooms sell gloom to America.
More police homicides,
drone strikes & piplines, America
all brought to you by
Lockheed-Martin & Pfizer corp
Boeing & BAE
Koch brother, Northrop & Raytheon
Starbucks, KFC.

Veteran’s Day in America.
Oh say, can you see?
She lost her legs for America
& now she eats at Denny’s free.
Oh, sweet medical professionals.
Oh, PTSD.
Grandad won’t go to the beach with us,
it stirs up memories.

All roads they weave through America,
the world in its ditch.
Aleppo’s screaming, America.
Your finger’s on the switch.
The day is nearing, America.
I feel it coming soon.
The great monuments there in Washington
will be a Roman ruin.

The sun sets on your west coast, America.
Fort Clatsop hoists a flag.
Pacific waters, America
an ocean of plastic bags.
When will you say that enough’s enough?
How much will it take?
You best get a move on, America,
you’ve got a funeral to make.

credits

released November 13, 2016
Andhi O'Neill - guitar, harmonica, vocals

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Origami Sun New York

Andhi O'Neill & friends make music.

CONTACT: origamisun@gmail.com

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