Let us go then, you and I,

While the trees hold up the sky

Like green cards propped up by meek brown hands,

Let us shove our bodies through figures half awake.

The weeping eyes

Of dreamless sleep in a cold airport terminal

And food smuggled through suitcases and muddied boots

Children that stare with innocent curiosity

Let us go and make our visit.

Into white halls and clinics

Where bodies are probed and dissected for crime not yet committed

 

In their country,

A metal ghost that dances through some city

A metal ghost kisses necks and heads of children

It Flies apart in city squares on picnic days.

It has spiraled through bodies tearing at flesh, muscle, and bone

Let the bodies fall blanket by their tears and blood

It slipped into the kitchen to brew poisoned food

And seeing that it was mid may with few showers,

It chucked in the field guzzling bud light.

 

But there will be hope

though the metal spirit slides among the trees

Rubbing napalm and gasoline on children

There will be hope, there must be

For the women packing homes and books into suitcases

There must be hope for sullen eyes and holy graces

And hope for the girl in a fallen palace or brothel

Who has seen her country torn by a war she didn’t create,

Tried to escape to the world that didn’t want her.

 

Oh, there must be hope,

For the lamp beside our golden door,

Is dimming, the huddled masses left in the storm

There must be hope

To make our country love,