this country it festers it's teeming with filth i give it my best words in an effort to build but the structure is sinking as if constructed on sand and i can't help thinking well isn't this grand this robinson caruso country all crammed inside this one tree and though the limbs are weary from the weight of oh so many some toss caution to the wind not a thought about the chances they trust these rotten limbs and shimmy out on branches would the weakened limbs support us was there safety in this forest does it got the ring of truth or just the hollow ping of raindrops on a hot tin roof should we try to be content then with the little that they've given us hold in our resentment and try to look oblivious how long could we continue this charade before the wind blows in the rain that puts an end to our parade