From the towns of the nation, we’d like to do a song for you about the larger picture.

There’s only one season lately.

There used to be an agreement between the seasons that they would all come and stay for three months, and then go the way the seasons go when they’re not where we are.

Lately there has been no spring, no summer, and no fall.

Politically, and philosophically, and psychologically there has only been the season of ice.

It a season of frozen dreams and frozen nightmares,
A scene of frozen progress, and frozen ideas,
frozen aspirations and inspirations.

They call the season winter; we call the song Winter in America:

From the Indians,
Who welcomed the Pilgrims
And to the buffalos ,
Who once ruled the plain
Like the vultures
Circling beneath the Dark Clouds
Looking for the Rain
Looking for the Rain

Just like the cities,
That stagger on the coastline
In a nation,
That just can’t stand much more
Like the forests,
Buried beneath the highway,
Never had a chance to grow
Never had a chance to grow

And now it’s Winter
Winter in America
Yes, and all of the healers
Have been killed,
Or sent away
But the people know,
The people know,
It’s winter,
Winter in America.
And aint nobody fighting cause,
Nobody knows what to save.
Save your soul,
Lord knows, from Winter in America..

The Constitution,
A nobel piece of a paper.
With free society,
They struggled but they died in vain.
And now democracy,
Is rag time on the corner,
Hoping for some rain.
It looks like its hoping for some rain.

And I see the robins,
Perched on distant tree tops,
They’re watching last-ditch races,
March across the floor.
But just like the peace sign,
That vanished in our dreams,
Never had a chance to grow,
Never had a chance to grow.

And now its winter,
Winter in America.
And all of the healers,
Have been killed,
Our betrayed.

But the people know,
The people know,

It’s winter,
Lord knows, its Winter in America.
And aint’ nobody fighting, cause,
Nobody knows what to save.
Save your soul,
From winter in America.

-Gil Scott Heron