A Firestorm Consuming Indianapolis

[ELIOT, spoken]
One one-way ticket to Indianapolis, please.

(sung)
Out the window of this bus—
The lowest flattest land I’ve ever seen
An endless, dry expanse of brown and green
And in the distance lies the city Indianapolis
Indianapolis
Out the window of this bus—
Are trailer parks of trailers rusting red
Forgotten dwellings, rotting, still and dead,
Extending all the way to Indianapolis
Indianapolis
Indianapolis
In 1861
My great grandfather Noah
Was handed by his dad, a pioneer,
Six hundred acres not too far from here
He founded factories
For making saws
And so he’d not be at the mercy of
Steelmakers, he bought a steel mill—
And so he’d not be at the mercy of
Coal miners, he bought a coal mine—
And so he’d not be at the mercy of
Moneymen, he bought a bank.
In 1881
My great grandfather married
He found a woman who had very big ones—
About four hundred thousand very big ones—
Begat they Samuel
Who entered politics
And Sam, the front-pager
The major republican
Purchased a granary
And Sam, the front-pager
The major republican
Purchased a newspaper
And Sam, the front-pager
The major republican
Often encouraged
Local militias to shoot into crowds
Of striking workers.
In 1899
My grandad, unrepentant,
And heedless of the charming things he’d done
Decided he would bless us with a son—
Begat he father
The worthy senator
Begat he me
Who marched to war,
Who marched to Germany
In nineteen forty-four

(spoken)
Bavaria. A clarinet factory, supposedly infested by a hedgehog of SS troops. They’re in there, men! I’ll toss the grenade in the window and climb in first, you follow. I step over a body, I fall over another body. Smoke. I can’t see. I’m face to face with a German in a gas mask. I do what I’ve been taught. I jam my knee into the man’s groin, drive my bayonet into his throat. Smash his jaw with my rifle butt. And then I hear an American sergeant. 'Cease fire,' he’s yelling. 'Hold your fire, you guys.' Jesus Christ, these aren’t soldiers. They’re firemen. I’d killed three unarmed firemen. And the one I’d bayonetted, when they got his gas mask off. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen years old. My God, I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to. Not me. Not me.

(sung)
But it was me
Yes, it was me
And out the window
Of this bus
I think I see
I do... I see...
A firestorm, consuming Indianapolis
Igniting everything—the holiday inn
The hotdog stands and dodges,
Gas stations, motor lodges,
The day that couldn’t be
Has finally been.
A firestorm consuming Indianapolis
And every one of us
Is gonna burn!
My great grandfather Noah
My dear grandfather Samuel
God watched us do our worst
Now it’s his turn

(spoken)
Stop the bus... Please... Stop the bus...
Stop the bus... Please... Stop the bus...
Stop the bus... Stop the bus... Stop the bus...