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’.

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