yeah, the beat goes on, all day long into the night, til you feel beat deep down inside. the beat goes on in obamaland without obomba, hard by his ghost tower, see the trees tremble. make the ghosts hungry. make the swamp sing, the bones chant, dance, over and above the trembling trees, into the bone root below. the music is alright, it'll make his white ghost tower pulse and quake — can't you see it quaking?