Born In The USA


There is a home on an american hill
with rooms for silence and dust to fill,
and gold in the mountains off to the west,
and a people there who cannot rest.

In every town, in every word,
the Indian swears his name is heard.
It keeps him up; he eyes the stars.
Far off he sees headlights from cars,

casinos stretched up to the sky
like tombstones, and they wonder why
he lost all hope and will to live
with what we took and will not give.