Spiritual America - Duke Special

America, America, far below

Mysterious circles in desert and snow

Forest and mountain, concrete and crow

Shadow of cloud moving silent and low

Scatter like veins, connected, entwined

Rivers and lakes run like dark charcoal mine

Become albumen prints in the plates of the spine

Powder-wigged mortal meets gaze of divine

Spiritual America

Spiritual America

Driven and callous, immune to the small

Exquisitely bows to the war of the wall

Welcomes the faithful to its crass altar-call

Turns a blind eye to the fragile who fall

Spiritual America

Spiritual America

All the good you we have done

Could have done for everyone

Is this the land of the setting sun?

Have we forgotten who we were

And why we came here anyway?

So pick up the reins and kick the spur

Shackled and shamed and stripped of its voice

Left in a corner to suffer the noise

Made by corporate thugs and their fat city boys

Being sick on their wealth like they hadn’t a choice

Spiritual America

Spiritual America