Nation

What kind of a mean nation
Treats their children like that
Pope went unconscious
Wine spilled over the floor
And the ponds are full of fish
Anglers catch them
In moments of rest
And relaxation
Stars and stripes
Hang on a wall in my asylum
Music plays
A poet trends to death
What kind of a mean nation
Treats their children like that
Pope went unconscious
Wine spilled over the floor