I hear demolition in the city and it forces me
to think of a donkey dawdling down waving streets
in summer, with its passenger along side him.
His face is timeless, inestimable how many times
he’s walked this road. He is manila with cement mixer
or dove hair. A rosary hangs like shingles in the storm from
wrists that sit above rough hands. His eyes are dark
and innocent. He looks through me at the road ahead.
He is immutable.
Oh I’ll find my place with the working man,
I’ll build my home with my own two hand
in the USA! Oh yes in the USA!
Give me few dollars and a couple cents
I’ll find a nice wife and a picket fence
in the USA! Yeah I’m in the USA!
Send me to fight in your defense
I’ll give my life as recompense
for the USA! I’m for the USA!
Just lend me a helping hand
bring me to the promise land!
I love the USA! I love the USA!
The song rumbles like Laredo and echoes
to Cologne. Pay close attention to the demolition
and listen for him droning:
I’m on my way to the USA
left my life to join the great
On the way to USA!
I hope it’s what they say!