Marchin', I hear marchin'
Outside my window in the rain
I play checkers, I'm sick of checkers
I'm sick of pain

Marchin', I hear marchin'
Outside my window in the rain
I play checkers, I'm sick of checkers
I'm sick of pain, I'm sick of pain

Mondays, every Monday, sees my hollow eyes
I liked Hank Williams, he died, Hank Williams
I'm still alive, I'm still alive

Blood red and blue, your flags on view
Ticker tape rains on Fifth Avenue
Some colored kid will shine your shoes
Some orphan screams in a chow line queue

For the whitewash and the tar brush don't lie
Hey lucky, you to be born on the fourth of July

Callin' storm, warnings callin'
From Calvary to Bunker Hill
Pontius Pilate turned the tarot
And the reaper killed and the reaper killed

Glory wave, old glory
Sand Creek to Gettysburgh
From Andrew Jackson to Richard Nixon
For the brave new world, for the brave new world

It's last request for protest time
Some long haired kid on the subway line
With a beaten guitar and a lot of time
We shall overcome, well we never shall

It's flags on lapels and faded decals
Max Yasga and puka shells
Dungarees and dying causes
Body bags and pregnant pauses

Day glow poster of Joan Baez
Meditating, dating, yoga and EST
Bells and flowers and beads of incense
Well, none of that nuts makes any sense

For the whitewash and the tar brush don't lie
Hey lucky, you to be born on the fourth of July