Is where high falls fall,
And Sam Patch was elevated higher by the crowd,
He wasn't the only to test the river,
A "mourning war" Iroquois defiantly lept,
A 17 year old crack dealer running from the blues
followed,
Million year old fish took pieces of them
And swam, flew to the great lake,
Possibly the ocean,
And It was beautiful, and they are beautiful,
They live on
And the boys returned from war,
They traded their machine guns for
Camera lenses and punch cards,
They worked their jobs,
They smoked luckys, drank tar, read the morning gossip,
And when they tired,
Their sons stepped in,
They worked the same,
They drank, mowed lawns, told jokes, kissed wives
And mortgaged homes on the outskirts of the city,
Far from the river,
The falls still fall and the river is murky as ever,
The son's sons look up to smokeless smoke stacks
And empty buildings quivering at the sight of a wrecking ball,
The crowd cheers, cries as the old foundation crumbles,
And It's beautiful, and they are beautiful,
They live on
 

 (c) 2009 will bates