The millions shot down when we strike?
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Where all is translucence (the light!)
(America never was America to me.)
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
with devices all around you
That the watered stuff my Lord
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
The millions shot down when we strike?
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Where all is translucence (the light!)
(America never was America to me.)
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
with devices all around you
That the watered stuff my Lord
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
Chuffing me off like a Jew.