Looking at garage door springs
At the far end of the 14th row.
His wife stood there beside him
She was quiet and they both were proud,
I gave them room but was close enough
That I heard him when he said out loud:
This was my country,
This was my song,
Somewhere in the middle there
Though it started badly and it's ending wrong.
This was my country,
This frightful and this angry land,
But it's my right if the worst of it might
Still somehow make me a better man.
The melody is like a lullaby, a few simple, descending chords accompanying a tale of heroes and the rest of us plain men who thought, vainly, that one day we might be too.
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