What good are the "spacious skies,"

what good are the "amber waves,"

what good is the "purple mountain majesty"

when we cannot enjoy them,

when we are impounded, confined

in the Prison of Capital?

"The fruited plain" is molten waste

if we are kept as inmates.

America! America!

You won't imprison me!

I'll make a molotov cocktail

So that you will not be!