The masses are all here,
huddled around funnel cakes
and this tired, wretched
Lynyrd Skynyrd cover band.

Nobody yearns for freedom here
unless freedom means
swigging Bud and hurling insults.
America's number one! Fuck yeah!

Helium balloons escape the teeming
refuse, floating above the clouds,
the tempest-tost flotsam grounded
in these fields, these ancient lands.