It isn’t melody or melancholy, Dread or a draped dungeon to flee When we state our pledge, ‘Tis of Thee Our Country, hillside beacon, brave, free
When our faces, pigments, surnames strain Our limited, luxurious vocabulary When our ancestors, wars, treasons, failures Enslave our surfeit motility, evict, evince retreat When greed gropes our hopes and renders them Randian folly
There comes a time for prayer, for grace and glory To penetrate the fog of flag-flung hypocrisy Hosannas to a nation shedding disgraced prejudice For a bright, young, industrious dreamer To set us free, let the past sink and heave For tomorrow will greet our ideals in destiny
Let us welcome reds and blues bearing white as our neutral plea Let us gut the neo-madness, the vested venture of false promises Of wealth to the many, syphoning a nation’s coffers Into black gold undirigibility.
There comes a time for grace and glory So, my Obama, ’tis of thee that we hail Hosannas, hosannas laced in victory.
Bedros Afeyan 11-5-08 Pleasanton, CA