FLAT ON HER BACK

INTRO: Gmaj7 D/E Em7 C D
Gmaj7 D/E Em7 C D
A: G Em7 C D
G Em7 G Bm Am
C Am Bm C Cm :|| B
B: Em G Bm Am C
Em G Bm Am C G D
C: G F C/E D
G F E G/D
G F E G/D
Am G D7 G

Across the border indiana is hazy
A breath of sun on the landscape escapes lazily
A radio is crackling and slowly fades into the hum of the tires
As he drags a trash bag into the well
Watches it fall and scrawks a farewell
And when it splashes down at the bottom, he’s single again

A motel six in the sticks the TV is blaring
A shirtless boy, unemployed, gun smoking, is staring
The lady on HBO is moaning, but he doesn’t know the scramble code
So he closes the blinds and goes for the phone
Dials a 900 number he knows
Climbs on his former girlfriend and lets it all out

That’s america: flat on her back
Under a mantle of blood-stained parking lots
Above the towers of the land of the free, I mean
You wouldn’t believe it 
As the smoke is clearing
The stars are disappearing

The man with the shed has a secret friend on the blacktop
He watches her walk and draw with chalk at the bus stop
Somedays he’ll come out and give her candy, just to watch her lick a lollypop
Then one day she never comes home
Mommy and step-dad wait by the phone
When they dig her up in his backyard, are we surprised?
How could this have ever happend here?
Here in the land of pizza and beer.
Well “evil” has no standard of living after all

That’s america: flat on her back 
Under a mantle of blood stained parking lots
Behind the curtain in the land of the free, brother
You wouldn’t believe it,
There’s a man in a turban
He’s driving a suburban

He wants you to pray 
As old gory waves
(admit it) anything is possible here

Words and music by michael johnson
© 2006 zubsongs, lt