Visions in the Flag

On the brink of war
But past the brink of eye sore
I am comfortable America
Eye one "I"
Panoptic lie
On the brink of war
Preparing many to die
For the symbol of an eagle
That should be a fly
The size of a man
With the face of a spy
All hail our ability to fly
And cling
Where only the lost
Echo of freedom
Grimly rings
For whom the bell tolls
And doll-drums sing
Of starvation and genetically
Altered things
All hail our ability to fly
At impressive speeds
Humming as we go
Breeding millions of
What we think we know
Throwing up our mucus
On everything we touch
And land upon
Now landing
Perching
Puking
Licking
Our little tendril things
That support us
On the brink of war

War executed by a power I depict
As no more than maggot
And no less than shit.