Back in '83 a man came to me and he told me:
"son, our way of life is done"
But I was only young

With an eye to the fields speculators and yields rotten to the core
Monoculture whores
Entered the bidding wars from distant shores

I don't wanna be
In the land known as destitute and free
With the grains of wrath blazing a path from sea to shining sea

Oh the sinuous trails of concrete and rails and exhausted roars
Population wars setting our future course

Is profit and greed the only conceit on a scale between
Mere prosperity and inhumanity? It may well be but