My Beloved Land

The job of a dictator isn’t that easy.
So I write this to help you understand.
I have to be tough and kick skulls and slap hands
As my people ask for their universal rights.
I throw them dollars while taking pills.
But there is no food or water left to borrow or steal.

Four decades later what do I see.
Lots of delusional youth looking up at me.
Poisoned by their psychedelic pop.
Not knowing that I’m all they’ve got.
I hear this nonsense of a war going on
I see adoring fans in my beloved land.

Like so many dictators before me.
I will leave this world as I see.
No amount of reality may you tell
And I will go to paradise as well.
Surrounded by all I have created here.
For an eternity this ground will swell.

For all the oil milked and shipped away.
For all the blood spilt here today.

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