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 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 builidings 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 rythmic 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 ploughed      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 own 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......