Lord's Prayer Of America

Our Fathers, whose Art's uneven,
Hallowed by thy Games,
Thy Kingdoms won and will be well-done
On Earth, which is a prison

Give us, your clay, our daily dread,
And point out our trespasses,
As we misinterpret who trespassed against us.

And lead us not into salvation,
For thine is the Tower, dark and hoary,
Forever.

(*Pardon me, I'm feeling a bit un-patriotic today.*)