This is not the Bohemian Nation I once knew.

Banjos, guitars, barren skin naked under the polished moon.

God gives us rejoice to B. Some nation under Satanic bloom.

With tornado skies and the lightning eyes this B. nation
comes soon.

This is not the Bohemian Nation I once knew.

My brethen sister and brothers in political arms in the ring of fire
standing before the death squad that will soon say “Fire!!”

God turns us into movie stars, kings, or virgin queens. This B. nation
becoming a grand tune.

With pitchfork knives and preacher eyes there upon the hill, this nation
falls rabid still to dogs in heat.

Groping, fondling, wet kisses, the rapid bullets shedding blood at
your feet.

Mother never had a dress that I didn’t like,…sometimes I wanted to
take her from behind.

Father did not mind.

This is not the Bohemian Nation I once knew.

Jesus Christ can already see He has still a lot of work to do.
I will gather hammer and nails. I will bring those ragged brothers to
bear witness.

There are unkind beasts. The children are now holding guns shooting off
their feet. Teeth like chesire cats the world is seething with
hypocrital seats.

This not what I once knew.

God is far and few. I will die watching the T.V tube. I losing my face,
my cause, my grace, the revolution slow to move as aging sets in.

This is not what I knew. This B. nation are blasted fools. They love to
love and love to kill. The latter, I fear is their will.

Not what I knew.

But what I knew. And still this dream plays me through and through.

Help.

This nation….knew.