250 Years (We The People)

progressive deathcore, technical death metal

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Four score and ten times more,
Two hundred fifty years since the shot heard at Concord.
Let the record show what we did with it.

Seventeen seventy-six, ink still wet on the page
Franklin's hand steady, Jefferson's fever, Adams' rage
A continent declared before it was ever won
Six years of powder smoke before the war was done

Eighty-seven, Philadelphia, the compromise carved in stone
Three-fifths of a man written into the marrow and the bone
We the people, but not all of us, not yet, not then
A union built on a debt it wouldn't pay again

Manifest, the word they used to justify the miles
Trail of Tears cut west through a thousand burning trials

Jackson signed it, Washington marched
The flag doesn't flinch when the history's dark

Sixty-one, a house divided cannot stand
Six hundred thousand dead across a broken land
Emancipation, a proclamation, not the end
Gettysburg field where the government of the people had to defend

Iron rails, coal smoke, the Gilded Age machine
Tenement windows, robber barons, the gap between
Nineteen-seventeen, over there and back again
Nineteen twenty-nine, the market breaks, the New Deal mends

Forty-one, Pearl Harbor, the whole world catching fire
Forty-five, the bomb, the birth of the atomic wire
Sixty-three, Dealey Plaza, a motorcade cut short
One thousand days, the riff drops out, the record can't be caught

March on Washington. Selma bridge. A dream deferred, a dream declared.
"I have a dream" still echoing through everything we've dared.

Two hundred fifty years of fire
Two hundred fifty years of debt we never paid in full
We the people, still unfinished
We the people, still the pull

Vietnam. Watergate. The wall came down in '89
Two thousand one, September, the towers left behind
Twenty-twenty, a plague and a reckoning both at once
We keep writing the sequel that the founders never wrote

Two hundred fifty years since we declared it out loud
Not perfect, never was, but we're still standing in the crowd
Every grave, every gain, every debt still coming due
This union isn't finished. This union isn't through.

Let the record show.
Let the record show.
Two-fifty.
And counting.

2145/7500

Four score and ten times more, Two hundred fifty years since the shot heard at Concord. Let the record show what we did with it. Seventeen seventy-six, ink still wet on the page Franklin's hand steady, Jefferson's fever, Adams' rage A continent declared before it was ever won Six years of powder smoke before the war was done Eighty-seven, Philadelphia, the compromise carved in stone Three-fifths of a man written into the marrow and the bone We the people, but not all of us, not yet, not then A union built on a debt it wouldn't pay again Manifest, the word they used to justify the miles Trail of Tears cut west through a thousand burning trials Jackson signed it, Washington marched The flag doesn't flinch when the history's dark Sixty-one, a house divided cannot stand Six hundred thousand dead across a broken land Emancipation, a proclamation, not the end Gettysburg field where the government of the people had to defend Iron rails, coal smoke, the Gilded Age machine Tenement windows, robber barons, the gap between Nineteen-seventeen, over there and back again Nineteen twenty-nine, the market breaks, the New Deal mends Forty-one, Pearl Harbor, the whole world catching fire Forty-five, the bomb, the birth of the atomic wire Sixty-three, Dealey Plaza, a motorcade cut short One thousand days, the riff drops out, the record can't be caught March on Washington. Selma bridge. A dream deferred, a dream declared. "I have a dream" still echoing through everything we've dared. Two hundred fifty years of fire Two hundred fifty years of debt we never paid in full We the people, still unfinished We the people, still the pull Vietnam. Watergate. The wall came down in '89 Two thousand one, September, the towers left behind Twenty-twenty, a plague and a reckoning both at once We keep writing the sequel that the founders never wrote Two hundred fifty years since we declared it out loud Not perfect, never was, but we're still standing in the crowd Every grave, every gain, every debt still coming due This union isn't finished. This union isn't through. Let the record show. Let the record show. Two-fifty. And counting.

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