“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses — yearning to breathe free.”
Your pearly gates are barbed wire fences
Your angel guards are packing heat
Your Garden of Eden, rife with horrors
Yet, you sit so mighty on that golden seat.
Your wieldy god refused forgiveness
Your cohorts scream “then so should we!”
Your sinful apples — worth more than lives
So, you’ve set the highest price on free.
Your liberty welcomes the tired, poor
Your doctrines promise swift reprieve
Your Eden keeps families apart
And you’re blaming us for all your thieve.
Your fairytale will end in trial
Your cohorts will not want to play
Your Garden will be someone else’s
We hope that it will sprout from grey.