with blood in the eye

the marines are coming

the marines are coming

the guardians of freedom are running

with guns drawn, they are shooting

the people of the land in the name of freedom

they're squelching dissenters

lest fear trap the loyal in movement and care

rallying 'round god cloaked in red, white and blue

they capture strange folk skinned in black and brown

as their children kill friends near the cottage gate

for blood has moistened their eyes

and their hands are red from weeping

the land must be defended in the time of crisis

though we be the crisis whose time has come

Flee the gods that whip you.

Flee the gods of Desire.

Mouth open, fly 'cross the fields

fly and don't look back.

Run on the edge of death.

You need not be a whippping child.

All gods are passing-powers

fragile as their bended knees, pursuing.

Ready yourself for laughter.

Their fall is at hand

for other gods pursue as well 

amd these will be made the less

for all giants fall and bow to Death

have an end you know full well.

So, flee the gods that whip you.

You need not be a whipping child.

Flee the god within you,

the one with whip in hand.

There's always someone smarter than you in some way.