America, America, far below Mysterious circles in desert and snow Forest and mountain, concrete and crow Shadow of cloud moving silent and low Scatter like veins, connected, entwined Rivers and lakes run like dark charcoal mine Become albumen prints in the plates of the spine Powder-wigged mortal meets gaze of divine Spiritual America Spiritual America Driven and callous, immune to the small Exquisitely bows to the war of the wall Welcomes the faithful to its crass altar-call Turns a blind eye to the fragile who fall Spiritual America Spiritual America All the good you we have done Could have done for everyone Is this the land of the setting sun? Have we forgotten who we were And why we came here anyway? So pick up the reins and kick the spur Shackled and shamed and stripped of its voice Left in a corner to suffer the noise Made by corporate thugs and their fat city boys Being sick on their wealth like they hadn't a choice Spiritual America Spiritual America