The Ghosts of Alexandria

No chance for hope in a land of servitude
And now the ghosts of Alexandria
Hang in the halls like the boys on the oak
To remind us that we’re only 13 knots away
From repeating our mistakes
No one can see on the inside
No one can hear on the outside
No one will speak the name to blame
The dead sing: «It's not over.»
She was the poster child of ritual
She was in love with the U.S.A
She was from some place but she could not tell us where
And now the ghosts of Alexandria
Labor the field like amber waves of grain
To remind us that we are only a minimum wage away
A bowl of rice a day
From repeating our mistakes
It’s not over
No one can see on the inside
No one can hear on the outside
No one will speak the name to blame
The dead sing
And we watched the summer turn to the autumn of glory