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Independence Day (An Angry Lament)

 'Twas the Fourth of July when the thunder rolled in, 


Not from heaven above but from bombers and men.

The flags still hung proudly from porches and rails,

But the smoke hid the sun and the screams drowned the bells.


The papers all told us there'd be nothing to fear,

That the gunfire was distant, not something we'd hear.

But the rent had come due on the farms and the towns,

And the men who had sold us had skipped out of town.


Oh the mountains they trembled,

And the rivers ran red,

While the ghosts of old soldiers

Turned uneasy in death.

For the country they'd fought for

Wasn't dying in war

It had been sold out for profit

Less than two years before.


Well the leader appeared on the television screen,

With his practiced cold smile and his old face scrubbed clean.

He said, "It's a hoax," and he boarded his plane,

But a bullet soon settled what remained of his reign.


Then the columns came marching through valley and field,

With their rifles held high and no thought left to yield.

And the people learned quickly what "offensive" might mean,

When it wasn't a headline but a boot on the street.


Oh the mountains they trembled,

And the rivers ran red,

While the ghosts of old soldiers

Turned uneasy in death.

For the country they'd fought for

Wasn't dying in war

It had been sold out for profit

Less than two years before.


The boys in the navy sailed out to their graves,

And the boys in the air crossed the ocean in waves.

The boys on the ground dug their heels in the clay,

Knowing none of them likely would see another day.


The world watched in silence from shores far away,

No ally came calling, no fleet saved the day.

Trust once burned is a hard thing to mend,

And old promises die hard when they're needed again.


Then the darkness fell heavy and the bombing grew near,

And the whole of the nation sat frozen in fear.

Yet somewhere a town held to custom and pride,

And the fireworks rose through the smoke in the sky.


The children looked upward,

But none gave a cheer.

Their mothers stood weeping,

Their fathers shed a tear.

And the lights from the rockets

Lit faces drawn pale,

Like mourners attending

a final farewell.


Then the loudspeakers echoed in language and steel:

Bow your heads and submit, or discover what's real.

There were some who surrendered, and some who stood fast,

And some who kept praying the nightmare would pass.


But the rockets burned out and the smoke drifted low,

And the truth settled in with the night's final glow.

The bands all fell silent, the flags hung like cloth,

And the old myth of freedom was finally lost.


Oh the mountains lay silent,

And the rivers ran red,

While the ghosts of old soldiers

Kept watch with the dead.

And the last thing remembered,

When the morning light came,

Was the Fourth of July

And the loss of our name.


'Twas the Fourth of July when the thunder rolled in,

Not from heaven above but from bombers and men.

And whenever they ask how the old nation died,

I'll remember the fireworks that lit up the sky.



copyright notice © 2026 Michael C. Metzger


Simmer down...it's fiction. Plenty more where that came from. 

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