AmericaAmerica, I've given you all and now I'm nothingAmerica, two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956I can't stand my own mindAmerica, when will we end the human warGo fuck yourself with your atom bombI don't feel good, don't bother meI won't write my poem till I'm in my right mindAmerica, when will you be angelicWhen will you take off your clothesWhen will you look at yourself through the graveWhen will you be worthy of your million TrotskyitesAmerica, why are your libraries full of tearsAmerica, when will you send your eggs to IndiaI'm sick of your insane demandsWhen can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looksAmerica, after all, it is you and I who are perfect, not the next worldYour machinery is too much for meYou made me want to be a saintThere must be some other way to settle this argumentBurroughs is in TangiersI don't think he'll come back, it's sinisterAre you being sinister or is this some form of practical jokeI'm trying to come to the pointI refuse to give up my obsessionAmerica, stop pushing, I know what I'm doingAmerica, the plum blossoms are fallingI haven't read the newspapers for monthsEveryday somebody goes on trial for murder
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America
America, I've given you all and now I'm nothing
America, two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956
I can't stand my own mind
America, when will we end the human war
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good, don't bother me
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind
America, when will you be angelic
When will you take off your clothes
When will you look at yourself through the grave
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites
America, why are your libraries full of tears
America, when will you send your eggs to India
I'm sick of your insane demands
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks
America, after all, it is you and I who are perfect, not the next world
Your machinery is too much for me
You made me want to be a saint
There must be some other way to settle this argument
Burroughs is in Tangiers
I don't think he'll come back, it's sinister
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke
I'm trying to come to the point
I refuse to give up my obsession
America, stop pushing, I know what I'm doing
America, the plum blossoms are falling
I haven't read the newspapers for months
Everyday somebody goes on trial for murder
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