A Nation Of Immigrants lyrics

Dust storm is clearing, the old familiar dream I wave my seeing hand, asleep again on haunted land Rode in on iron horses, their hooves that crack the ground We water them in creeks of blood; no richer oil have we found Hear the ghosts of the west - they burn them traincars down As peddlers we trade in death; blood and gunpowder for a crooked crown A nation, on no man's land; no nation, on graves will stand A nation, will be thy end. No nation, for cursed men