American depression

This land is our land, 

With bodies and minds we have fought to shape it true. 

Given our all, as beasts laboured long in dirt. 

Before mornings first rays to the sputtering oil lamps' final gasp, 

our blood gave succour to this barren soil. 

Emotions consumed by hardened earth, fear and frustration were our seeds,

hunger and desperation our crops. 

We the people, a more perfect union strive, a promise bare three generations past. 

But all is not equal in the home of the brave, the land of the free. 

For chains need not be iron to keep us bound in servitude.

Ten cents on the dollar they gave, 

At least in silver Judas was paid

What good the price of freedom 

to watch our children wither and fade. 

Another crop reaped before fruition. 

As corn and peas in the field our hopes and dreams dared stand tall. 

But the politics of dust and wind have scoured clean all. 

Where stands justice, liberty, and welfare,

but as three wise monkeys to our plight

Ask what common defence did our union fight? 

Wind burnt, sun browned, the lines on our faces drawn 

aged before our time, with broken backs we fall, 

For in our once proud land, for ten cents on the dollar,

to the banks went all.