This tangled web we weave spans from Pine to Ruby Ridge   Back to Shay's defeat   On up to Gufstafsen   Now cue the ass parade of dittoheads and commisars and pricks   Drown out the faintest hint of commie faggot heretics      The nail that sticks up gets hammered down   The master's finest tools are found    Slack-jawed and placid   Amidst the cacophony   Of screaming billboards and Disney-fied history      Sometimes the ties that bind are strange   No justice shines upon the cemetary plots marked Hampton, Weaver, or Anna Mae   Where federal bureas and fraternal orders    Have cast their shadows   Permanent features build into these borders      But undercover of the   The customary gap we find between   History and truth   Founding fathers    Bask in the rockets blinding red glare   Bombs bursting in air      But the truth is   The back country learned of ratification   The people had a coffen painted black   And solemnly born in funeral procession   They buried it deep in the earth   An an emblem of their disillusion   Internment of their public liberty   Someday, somewhere   Today's empires, tomorrow's ashes