At every Boston subway station hangs a U.S. flag,
with fifty stars and thirteen stripes, its colors red, white, blue,
and every time I see that proudly-mounted canvas rag,
I think of how I miss the pride I used to have in you.
America, my heart, am I a fool, believing when you said
“All men created equal”, heedless of the grip
With which your other hand was curled around your cursed slaver’s whip?
Those words, are they just passing thoughts from men long dead?
You didn’t mean them then, two hundred fifty years ago;
“These truths we hold self-evident,” you lied with ink and quill.
But truth remains the truth, no matter if you think it’s so,
And to this day those words live on – we dream of freedom still.
America, my heart, am I a fool to let your promise stand?
To keep the Declaration, throw away the whip,
To one by one replace the boards and beams of Theseus’s ship,
And hope for freedom’s dawn across this stolen land?
Or are the fools the ones who see the whip with greedy eyes,
Who think that some are born to serve and others born to lead?
Is folly made from guns and walls and libraries of lies,
Because the truth is not a thing we let our children read?
America, my heart, I know that I’m a fool to love you still,
But I don’t know what happens after you are gone,
So here I am, a foolish girl with both hands barely clinging on,
A stubborn part of “We, the People,” come what will.
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