Thursday, 3 July 2014


Like in The Puppet Masters where aliens clung
To the hapless backs of the darling young,
Forestalling the force which pity forbids,
So America succumbs to an army of kids.

The guns and swords that vanquished Santa Anna
Can't stop the heirs of Quetzalcoatl,
La Raza is suddenly top banana,
Its magic bullet in a baby bottle.

Lay down your arms, gringo, upon the ground,
By your own heartstrings your hands are bound;
Resistance is futile, the enemy too great,
Your open borders have sealed your fate.

Bowie and Crocket went to the wall,
They sleep forever in hallowed earth;
But could they see your present thrall,
Would they not ask what it was all worth?

Those lands your forbears won at such cost,
By the greedy and lax will soon be lost;
Too late you learned what Jefferson knew:
Merchants have no country, and neither have you.

They crossed the heavens' outer reaches,
But couldn't stop others crossing their beaches;
Mars and Pluto are mere child's play,
To keeping barefoot kids at bay.

Tell me, America, what does it profit a land,
To win some stardust and lose its sand?

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