That new age moon drink sips itself, really
I am thirsty. I reach for the last chemical outpourings from a cola can.
Hard a-bopping to the American Great Backyard, we look over our neighbours
And into Washington’s newspeak imagery
Kiss a can of cola to observe its viscous dreamland
Beg at the altar of fruits and veg, rotting as they be
Eat a goat and wash it down with knowledge of the other,
The prized condiment forbids itself by name,
The underground ferries onto soil,
Soil becomes the soul of America
God bless the past,
And please mention the undertows.