Two Hundred Fifty Summers

The description provided suggests a genre that blends atmospheric, dreamy elements with a strong

[Pre-Chorus]
'Cause way back in a hot July, some farmers and some clerks
signed their necks onto a sentence... and then left us all the work.

[Chorus]
Two hundred fifty summers, and the promise isn't done —
that we all get counted equal underneath the same old sun.
It was never that we're perfect; it's that we're allowed to mend,
and every single Fourth of July, we say we'll try again.
So light one for the dreamers, and light one for the dead,
and one for all the arguing — it's how the country's led.
Two hundred fifty summers, and the sky in red and blue —
it's a promise, not a trophy... and the promise includes you.

[Verse 2]
Now me, I wasn't born here — I was carried to this shore,
just a kid from somewhere colder, with no English, at four.
And it counted me American, like the ones who came before —
'cause the promise wasn't blood or soil. It was a wide-open door.

[Pre-Chorus]
So when the rockets hit the river, and the whole crowd goes to "ohh" —
I hear a sentence, still out working, twenty-five decades old.

[Bridge]
It's been kept by folks who plowed, and marched, and folks who crossed the sea,
by the ones who wrote the letters, and the ones who disagree.
It gets handed down unfinished — that's the genius of the thing:
an old declaration's only what the newest voices sing.

[Outro]
So the last of the fireworks is falling on the lake,
and the kids are half asleep now in the blankets, staying late.
Two hundred fifty summers... and if we tend it, there'll be more.
Happy birthday, old promise. Keep on opening that door.

2294/7500

[Verse 1] There's smoke off the grill and a ballgame on the drive, and the kids are chasing sparklers keeping golden ghosts alive. And the old folks in the lawn chairs, and the flag on the garage — it ain't much like a kingdom. That was always kind of the job. [Pre-Chorus] 'Cause way back in a hot July, some farmers and some clerks signed their necks onto a sentence... and then left us all the work. [Chorus] Two hundred fifty summers, and the promise isn't done — that we all get counted equal underneath the same old sun. It was never that we're perfect; it's that we're allowed to mend, and every single Fourth of July, we say we'll try again. So light one for the dreamers, and light one for the dead, and one for all the arguing — it's how the country's led. Two hundred fifty summers, and the sky in red and blue — it's a promise, not a trophy... and the promise includes you. [Verse 2] Now me, I wasn't born here — I was carried to this shore, just a kid from somewhere colder, with no English, at four. And it counted me American, like the ones who came before — 'cause the promise wasn't blood or soil. It was a wide-open door. [Pre-Chorus] So when the rockets hit the river, and the whole crowd goes to "ohh" — I hear a sentence, still out working, twenty-five decades old. [Chorus] Two hundred fifty summers, and the promise isn't done — that we all get counted equal underneath the same old sun. It was never that we're perfect; it's that we're allowed to mend, and every single Fourth of July, we say we'll try again. So light one for the dreamers, and light one for the dead, and one for all the arguing — it's how the country's led. Two hundred fifty summers, and the sky in red and blue — it's a promise, not a trophy... and the promise includes you. [Bridge] It's been kept by folks who plowed, and marched, and folks who crossed the sea, by the ones who wrote the letters, and the ones who disagree. It gets handed down unfinished — that's the genius of the thing: an old declaration's only what the newest voices sing. [Outro] So the last of the fireworks is falling on the lake, and the kids are half asleep now in the blankets, staying late. Two hundred fifty summers... and if we tend it, there'll be more. Happy birthday, old promise. Keep on opening that door.

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