My Country Tis of Thy People You're Dying

now that your eyes have finally opened
are you wondering how they must feel?
those who you’ve called colorful, noble and proud
in your school propaganda books and spoken aloud
you never learned how they were starved in their splendor
you asked for my comment, here I will render

now that the long-houses breed superstition
you force us to send our children away
to schools where they’re taught to despise their traditions
you forbid them their languages, then further you say

that American history really began
When Europe set sail, then stress
that the nation of leeches that conquered this land
are the ones more civilized than all of the rest

and yet where in your history books is the tale
of the genocide basic to this country’s birth
of the preachers who lied, how the bill of rights failed
how a nation of patriots returned to their earth?

hear how the bargain was made for the west:
children dying of exposure in zero degrees
blankets for your land, so the treaties attest
blankets for land is a bargain indeed

and yet a few of the conquered have somehow survived
their blood runs the redder though genes have paled
from the Grand Canyon’s caverns to craven sad hills
the wounded, the losers,the robbed sing their tale

the past it just crumbled, the future just threatens
our life blood shut up in your chemical tanks
and now here you come, bill of sale in your hands
and surprise in your eyes that we’re lacking in thanks

for the blessings of civilization you’ve brought us
the lessons you’ve taught us,the ruins that you’ve wrought us --
see what our trust in America’s brought us

my country ‘tis of thy people you’re dying

the pride of the sires receives charity
we’re harmless and safe behind their laws
my life’s to be known as your “heritage”
even the graves have been robbed
our own chosen way is a novelty
hands on our hearts
we salute your victory
choke on your blue, white and scarlet hypocrisy
blind, ignorant nations is all that we see

that the eagles of war
whose wings lent you glory
they were never no more
than carrion crows
they pushed the wrens from their nests
and stole their eggs
a historical whitewash-- re-writing their story

the mockingbird sings it, it’s all that he knows
“what can I do?” say a powerless few
with a lump in your throat and a tear in your eye
their destruction is profiting you
their poverty’s profiting you