The Funeral

The church bell rings
The people gather
Old, young, rich, poor
For the funeral of a nation.

Our money fills the casket
Depression fills our hearts
Saddness fills ouf faces.

The coffin closes
The piano plays
A sad, sad song.

Our veterans carry the casket
Our children shovel the dirt
Our government sets the stone.

The people plant a rose,
White as a dove,
And Uncle Sam waters it with tears.
The funeral's over.

We walk back without hope.
People hang from the rafters,
Children starve without soup.

The rose planted whithers.
A dove lands
On the grave, from the funeral,
Of a great nation.