S&M

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’.