in a forest of stone underneath a corporate canopy where the sun rarely filters down the ground is not so soft it is not so soft they build buildings to house people making money or they build buildings to make money off of housing people it s true like a lot of things are true foraging from a phone booth on the forest floor that is not so soft i look up it looks like the buildings are burning but it s just the sun setting in the windows the solar system calling an end to another business day eternally circling signalling the rhythmic clicking on and off of computers the pulse of the american machine the pulse that draws death dancing out of anonymous side streets you know the ones that always get dumped on but never get plowed it draws death dancing out of little countries with funny languages where the ground is getting harder and it was not that soft before but those who call the shots are never in the line of fire why when there s life for hire out there if the flag of truth were raised we could watch every liar rise to wave it here we learn america like a script playright birthright same thing we bring ourselves to the role we re all rehearsing for the presidency i always wanted to be commander in chief of my one woman army but i can envision the mediocrity of my finest hour it s the failed america in me it s the fear that lives in a forest of stone underneath the corporate canopy where the sun rarely filters down and the ground is not so soft 