Home of the Brave

Oh say can you see,

Over the blinding light,

That through rockets red glare,

We’ve been chosen to fight,

Can’t get any sleep, from the planes over head,

Not like I could anyway, for my eyes know bloodshed.

Plus the scent is still full,

All the soot and burnt flesh,

Getting airtime all day from an overly obsessed press.

In this time of distress what am I to do,

Get drafted, go to war, and get killed just like you.

Well you know I’m down for that.

To save this land of values,

Where else can I get stereotyped and racially,

Where you can cheat your way into office,

And be seen as fake and rude,

And not only screw the nation, but the interns too.

Where we can pass by the homeless to buy a pair of shoes,

On the way the pay for wrestling that we saw on Pay Per View.

Who am I not to rave at the chance to save the day,

For a nation who long ago would have had me be a slave.

I mean it is my blood and my pulse that pave the way,

To the streets and the railroads and how they are today.

But hey, that’s ok, for everyone shall meet their grave,

For the land o’ the free, and the home of the brave.


I wrote this piece in late 2001. It hurts my heart that for many of us it is still so incredibly relevant.

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