There’s a school bell rustin’ in the morning rain,
Backpacks on the floor, still smellin’ like yesterday.
Mama says a prayer, ties a ribbon tight,
Hopes the world is gentle for her child tonight.

But the flags wave loud and the silence screams,
Another candle flickers on the evening news screen.
We keep sayin’ “thoughts”, we keep sayin’ “pray”,
While the same old ghosts keep comin’ back to stay.

They call it the land of the free,
But freedom’s buried six feet deep.
Under chalk lines, under names,
Under children who never grew up to complain.
If this is liberty, tell me please—
Why does it cost so many lives to believe?

There’s a badge in the mirror, a gun in the hand,
Orders on the radio no one dares to understand.
“Just comply,” they say, “just don’t ask why,”
As justice bleeds out on the courthouse tile.

Lady Justice dropped her scales in the dirt,
Blindfold soaked through with somebody else’s hurt.
When power fears people more than the truth,
The law becomes a weapon, not a proof.

They call it the land of the free,
But freedom don’t look like this to me.
Boots on necks and cameras down,
Another soul erased without a sound.
If this is order, tell me please—
Why does it look so much like tyranny?

It ain’t red or blue, it ain’t left or right,
It’s blood on the pavement every goddamn night.
While a man in a golden tower counts his gain,
Selling fear like oil, pourin’ gas on the flame.
He don’t serve the land, he don’t feel the pain,
Just lines his pockets while the country breaks.

You couldn’t save the kids from the madmen’s aim,
Now you turn the guns on the people you blame.
Uniformed rage, legalized fear,
Call it “security” while freedom disappears.

The anthem still plays, but it sounds out of tune,
Like a promise that died way too soon.
You preach about God, you preach about might,
But you lost your soul somewhere in the fight.

Don’t call it the land of the free,
Not while the graveyards grow endlessly.
Not while the rich stay clean and dry,
And the poor just learn how to comply.
This ain’t freedom, this is control,
A broken nation with a bullet for a soul.

One day the history books will say it plain,
How a country sold its heart for power and fame.
And the saddest truth carved in the stone:
It didn’t fall from the outside—
It died at home.