[female
vocals] (
Acoustic
guitar
strumming,
steady
rhythmic
pulse) (
Deep,
rhythmic
bass
enters)
Listen
close,
the
sound
of
the
gavel
falls.
Another
piece
of
the
horizon,
gone.
The
country
is
on
the
block,
step
right
up
and
bid.
Come
on,
dear
merchant,
show
us
what
you
hid.
Open
up
your
vaults,
let
the
gold
reflect
the
light,
We
chose
these
leaders,
now
they
hide
from
sight.
They
took
the
dreams
we
wove
with
hands
so
worn,
Left
us
with
the
tattered
fabric,
jagged
and
torn.
In
the
theater
of
elections,
we
planted
thorns
in
rows,
Now
we
reap
the
bitter
fruit
that
every
sorrow
sows.
The
country
is
on
the
block,
hear
the
auctioneer
call,
Selling
off
the
spirit,
watching
empires
fall.
Step
right
up,
merchant,
the
doors
are
open
wide,
There’
s
nowhere
left
for
the
common
heart
to
hide.
The
country
is
on
the
block,
hear
the
auctioneer
call.
They
sold
the
resources,
every
river,
every
tree,
The
public
servants
feast
on
what
was
meant
for
you
and
me.
Now
the
hands
of
the
people
hold
nothing
but
a
bowl,
While
they
trade
our
dignity
to
keep
control.
If
you
are
still
breathing,
if
your
pulse
is
running
true,
Search
inside
your
conscience,
see
what
you’
re
going
to
do.
The
country
is
on
the
block,
hear
the
auctioneer
call.
The
country
is
on
the
block,
hear
the
auctioneer
call,
Selling
off
the
spirit,
watching
empires
fall.
Step
right
up,
merchant,
the
doors
are
open
wide,
There’
s
nowhere
left
for
the
common
heart
to
hide.
The
country
is
on
the
block,
hear
the
auctioneer
call.
The
bids
are
getting
higher,
the
integrity
is
sold,
Forget
about
the
people,
even
gods
are
bought
with
gold.
Those
who
were
once
beggars,
now
counting
up
the
millions,
Building
up
their
kingdoms
on
the
backs
of
the
civilians.
It’
s
a
quiet
transaction
in
the
middle
of
the
night,
Replacing
all
the
justice
with
a
synthetic
light.
But
we
are
the
memory,
we
are
the
living
flame,
And
we
remember
every
single
face,
and
every
single
name.
We
aren't
just
the
products
on
your
dusty
shelf,
We
are
the
nation
waking
up
to
find
itself.
The
country
is
on
the
block,
hear
the
auctioneer
call,
Selling
off
the
spirit,
watching
empires
fall.
Step
right
up,
merchant,
the
doors
are
open
wide,
There’
s
nowhere
left
for
the
common
heart
to
hide.
The
country
is
on
the
block,
hear
the
auctioneer
call.
Come
on,
merchant,
open
the
safe
wide.
The
gavel
is
waiting.
We
are
watching. (
Fade
out
with
steady
percussion)