Those broad stripes and bright stars
(now reduced to a brand)
through the perilous night
decorated the land.
O'er the ramparts we watch,
and on everyone's car --
so gallantly streaming --
they guide us to war.
And the rockets' red glare
(severed arms, severed heads),
the bombs bursting in air
(and the fly-covered dead),
give proof through the night
of imperial might,
that Our Flag is Still There
and our Masters are Right.
O say does that star-spangled
corporatocracy's
banner still wave
over hackneyed hypocrisy?
O'er the land of the "free" --
its ambitions unmasked --
and the home of the "brave"?
Hush: it's treason to ask.