Columbia

Hang your head, dear
for the flag has touched the dust

And all the dirt and grime and slime and things that it mustn’t

Hang your head lower, dear
Discovered we have
That all good things have sweetless ends

And few escape the grime and slime and touch the things we mustn’t

Let your hair drag through the mud, dear
For didn’t we notice as we shook the dust loose

How many stood
When all the while the colors ran in blood
Made up of all the slime and dust and grime

While we cheered for the crown
Our feet have trodden people down
And this flag has meant to them always
What is meant to us this day