I put on that old-school jazz, and, doing
So, absolve myself of all the evil that my
Nation's undertaken from Arbenz,
Perhaps Moseddegh. No Viet Nam,
No Iraq, no Chile, no Grenada, Congo,
Nicaragua, Cuba, Venezuela, Greece;
Who knows where else? The Harvard,-
Educated shits, who missed the war
To end all wars, weren't ready yet
To squander all the good will that
Their older brothers built up breaking
Down the gates of Bergen-Belsen,
And of Auschwitz. We'd been good
Guys for a moment. Memories
Of whippings on plantations, lynchings,
Trails of tears, internment camps,
Almost had been forgotten, but we
Forged ahead, determined to avoid
A confrontation with our halfway
Friends, the communists, who'd
Suffered most to win that war to end
All wars, but had no use for private wealth.
The Harvard boys set out to undermine
Those they called enemies, and, in
The process, made it clear to everyone
That, far from being liberators, we were
Just the latest wave of ugly, pallid
Conquerors. The good will that we'd
Won was lost, but, when that old-school
Jazz is playing, I can let it let me dream
That, in the decades following, our nation

Displayed good intentions, that
The Harvard boys were safely kept in
Entry-level jobs.