A Nation of Immigrants
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Lyrics
Dust storm is clearing, the old familiar dream. I wave my seeing hand, asleep again on haunted land. Rode in on iron horses, their hooves that crack the ground. We water them in creeks of blood; no richer oil have we found. Hear the ghosts of the west - they burn them traincars down. As peddlers we trade in death; blood and gunpowder for a crooked crown. A nation, on no man's land; no nation, on graves will stand. A nation, will be thy end. No nation, for cursed men.
Audio Features
Song Details
- Duration
- 05:05
- Key
- 8
- Tempo
- 88 BPM