this land of ours

pish-posh the thoughts are tossed the mind is lost
  only at the unbearable cost-independence,
plotting,plundering land gone since whence
  stolen from one sold to another-no common cents,
at one time bold to make a stand-the mighty ameri-can
  only to grow lazy and judgemental to rest on the mexi-tan,
                  the workers of this once fine land,
sit now locked into the stairing box
         remotes in hand steadily cocked,
only wanting or believing in the task of pushing buttons
  popping pills to stay hard-chasing our own cousins,
I want it now or this way our new battle cry
  what happened to doing it yourself-why not give it a try,
        for our descent has been written
others in bigger boxes are delivering the bite-
                  noone seeing that we all have been bitten.