the manifestion of a dying dynasty

Eight years and Eleven Scores Since The Manifestion of a Dying Dynasty:
The Curse of the Bambino.
[ANd They each have two-hundred and twenty-eight jars of peanut butter behind there bunker walls,no honey; so the bears leave them and the bees don't sting them, they will never fall]

the've bought roger clemens fast ball cutters,
leaving yankee clippings from the papers falling on the avenue streets;
leave your loyalites be as you fly, they say:
we are strangers, not bound to the bond of friendship

metal turned to pretzels,
where have all the venders gone?
the honest have been, covered,
from dust to dust, smuthered
by one million corporate agreements which fade in the rain
and aol disks useless rust.
both cover their tarkets in the morning to
install a mark upon the heads that says:

An olive brach is a green eyed struggle
and a declaration, we don't need you anymore:
said populaion pressure was robbing them of there pleasures
during evenings as a falling sun marks shadows spun by home
from enjoying a ball game alone

they have green now they want red to complete
there branch bank executive picnic t-shirt colours
our blood is mearly dye, and our skin made to stitch profits
into jerseys for there softball teams

at there branch bank executive picnic they all
took boats not seeking
because
they have bought every thing they want
all the vessels tied to the pylons
pull like a moon on the dock -
it was evening
and
there're taking everything with them to sea as they go
to escape on vacation but never to learn; of the hurt they cause

we the players are bound to the fabric where the seems are torn

the numbers
they mean nothing to them
and are draged from the shore

now i have struck out over one thousand batters
bats shattered
i have tricked the cleaverst of managers

now i have killed one thousand soldiers
faces splattered
i have tricked the cleaverst of generals

but your corporate agreements
say we can't be friends
corporate arangemnts pulling me from the shore
to decay in the bottom of a boston bay

they'll say its my age
but then again the numbers only mean to them:
lost chances and clever glances they write under two lines
profit to be made
how much further, they can't ever wait
to leave the cities
always leavin' in a hurry to secure what can only be theres for a little while.
they do not seek, so they will never grow
that is why they try to take anything that can be bought and sold
everything with them as they go
everything but their soul

the players, though far from home, are destined to win the war
the battle is won because there heart is their sword
upon their sleve it is worn, ragged, but never torn