Fabric of America

Built to rise into the skies.
Never looking back,
into the workman's eyes.

City's streets bustling below.
True to the glory times,
Manifest destiny did sow.

Young generations took hold.
Chose to make easy,
the hard money made fold.

Our days and dollars stretching thin.
Remember the heyday,
we outlawed scotch and gin.

Now, the great depression reigns.
Catching the weary,
dreaming of quick silver, food chains.

The dream is here successfully correct.
It just can't be covered,
by our child's inheritance check.

Written: 10/15/2013 at 22:00