Horns of plenty
it fills the coffers of this land
Where's it come from they don't say
A little sleight of hand
The good life
I can almost taste it
Pay the price
with my worst fears
Their touch is cold
Their touch is cold
Give Thanks
Give Thanks
Give Thanks
Give Thanks
See the children
Smiling faces
Clean white hands
How can I deny
the benefits of this blessed land
Comfort, warmth, and happiness
The promise of the light they shed
We must spread this to all people
Later on we can count the Dead

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