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Morning in America,
A sunny haze burns into the Street.
Full of cracks, full of crack.
I feel weeds growing up
All around my feet.

I can taste the bitterness of Freedom starvation.
I can see the path of
The old mens' destination.
I can hear the voice of a
New lost generation.
The sound of a thousand children left behind.

Midday in America and
The wind begins to blow a Heavy rain.
Plasma, plasma flows
From the depths of another
Desperate poor man's vein.

I can taste the bitterness...
The sound of a million Children left behind.

Used to take a village
To raise the child.
Nowadays I walk around the village and I see the children
Running wild.

Night time in America
And the darkness makes it
Hard to see.
Seventh generation,
I hope there's one for the Sake of humanity.

I can taste the biterness...
The sound of a billion Children left behind.