Inside all the high schools in the poor parts of town Recruiters greet students like travel agents What else could come from abandoned loose leaf But kindle for fire in the Pentagon's home Someone in a wheelchair hangs out everyday At the foot of the exit on Kimberly Road I wonder how they got there, did they go there by choice How does this become anyone's last resort I imagine the dreams of the president and those Elected officials who serve S.O.L Will one day pair loyalty with the world instead of The nations they serve and the dicks that they have I'm sorry to my grade school history teachers I'm sorry to Francis Fukuyama I'm sorry to you, Tommy Brokaw But patriotism is nothing but dead to me