Can a country be under a curse,
A few words of malignant verse
Chanted inside a racing hearse?
To hell with superstition!
No man, crowd, or institution
Has turned our nation sour.
The Mind has forgotten the hour
Can grow late
Growing hate,
Like an ocean filling with plastic,
Leaving life crippled and spastic.
The curse is proliferating thought
That the future can be bought
And as quickly taken away —
Only the loudest given a say.
Will the worst curse have its day?
