American Pageant

They call me Abel Baker, I am father for the gods
I hang banners on the engines as they move off to the wars
And then they go creeping in red and blue and silver
Small from a distance, up close they look much bigger

I saw the lonely pauper, he was marching up the hill
Of petrol tanks and microwaves, paradise in pills
Crawling down the microphone to interrupt the game
And pointing in all directions but from where this trouble came

Green tiger teeth on rusty iron, trying to keep the score
Call me Abel Baker, just like it was before
We scared you bastards shitless, we went from house to house
With a drum roll on the bathtub, we threw the baby out

Now I hear voices telling me that I should do my duty
Every day at half past three until my head is spinning
Hide away another day down in the deep and winding
Anyone who hears this song may gladly come and find me

I look for something beautiful, I look for something pure
I wallowed in the carcasses to slap the moon here
Screaming down the microphones to interrupt the game
And pointing in all directions but from where this trouble came
This trouble came, this trouble came
And another game!