The storm is to blame for the price going up
Although no fault of its own
We stand around and point at the chump
Only to bitch and moan
He waves Old Glory in our face
And fingers us unpatriotic
But the money pours out at an alarming pace
While the world spins chaotic
Brave children of ours go marching to war
Without a letter that says greetings
While the conductors of greed direct from afar
Postering time in meetings
I never thought in a million years
That I would see such pilfering supported
While we all accept the lies and the fears
Of the cowboy whose favors they courted
So as I watch it rise beyond sight
I can help but wonder
Are we immature moths searching for the light
As the powers that be, loot and plunder
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