[Intro](Spasmodic, eerie synth drone. A gritty acoustic dobro starts picking a slow, minor-key blues riff. Suddenly, a heavy, muffled 4-on-the-floor house kick thumps in, filtering upward. A trippy pedal steel swells in the background like smoke.)[Verse 1]Two hundred and fifty years of smoke and clay,Diggin’ for gold, just to wash it away.We built these highways on old ghost trails,Screamin' at the lightning, ridin' on the rails.I got a pocket full of freedom and a heavy chest,Staring down the horizon, looking for the West.They tell me I’m a citizen, they tell me I’m blessed,But a restless spirit never gets no rest.[Pre-Chorus](The kick drum stops. Gritty dobro chords strike sharply on the beat. A low, buzzing warehouse synth-bassline begins to growl beneath the vocals.)Born under a shadow, raised in the sun,Two centuries of running from the smoking gun.Hold up your glass to the beautiful scar,Looking at the sky for a missing star...[Chorus / The Drop](Boom! The full house beat drops heavy. Gritty acoustic dobro cuts through a thick, pulsing sub-bass. Piercing 90s rave stabs hit on the off-beats, trading bars with a weeping, psychedelic pedal steel.)Oh, America, you dark, sweet dream!Splitting at the stitches, tearing at the seam!Quarter of a millennium, we’re still holding tight,Lighting up the fireworks in the middle of the night!Yeah, we dance in the fire, we dance in the stone,Two hundred and fifty years of trying to get home.(Rave stabs echo: "Trying to get home... trying to get home...")[Verse 2](The bassline stays heavy, but the house drums strip back to just a sharp hi-hat and snare. Hypnotic bluegrass flatpicking drives the rhythm forward.)Red, white, and blue bleeding into the dirt,We know the cost of the freedom and the hurt.Barbecue smoke mixing with the warehouse steam,We’re the neon survivors of a pioneer dream.Look at my hands, yeah, they’re calloused and tough,Being an American means hitting the rough.We celebrate the glory, we carry the weight,Standing at the crossroads of a midnight state.[Pre-Chorus](Drums drop out again. The dark, emotional male vocals get intimate and raw, layered with a haunting vocal echo.)Born under a shadow, raised in the sun,Two centuries of running from the smoking gun.Hold up your glass to the beautiful scar,We’ve come so far... yeah, we’ve come so far.[Chorus / The Second Drop](The warehouse bassline mutates into a rolling, hypnotic groove. The dobro plays an aggressive, driving bluegrass rhythm over the top. Rave stabs intensify.)Oh, America, you dark, sweet dream!Splitting at the stitches, tearing at the seam!Quarter of a millennium, we’re still holding tight,Lighting up the fireworks in the middle of the night!Yeah, we dance in the fire, we dance in the stone,Two hundred and fifty years of trying to get home.[Bridge] Quarter of a thousand... look what we made.A beautiful mess that refuse to fade.It’s heavy, it’s wild, it’s a phantom train...But we sing through the structural damage and pain.
GrizzlyJones
