An empire on its death bed,
Dreaming sweet American dreams.
Haunted by a spectre;
Not all is as it seems.
Driven further into nightmares,
Where workers work to live to work.
The past has not passed;
With present danger does it lurk.
Dripping wet dreams of whips and chains;
Soaked right through from crimson rains.
All these lives with which they toy;
Won’t be long till I’ll be ‘boy’.