Set Free To Be Slaves

Hundreds of men dressed in uniforms,
the sound of drums marching on,
the trumpets blowing out that awful sound,
and faces of those who sit and watch on,
the parade on T.V.

You see this program only twice a year,
when we celebrate our supposed achievements,
the gunfire and the flute we hear,
a group of dancers suddenly appear.

The faces of the dead are seen again,
their names and souls are revoked again,
its been two hours and the parade still goes on,
out in the streets you can still hear,
that strange and known song,
the anthem that doesn't make any difference any more.

Set free to become slaves,
of our own desires, greed,
taught to serve the servants,
shouldn't we be proud,
to be Indians,
or should the dead be ashamed,
for wasting their lives for a cause that is already dead.