Horns of plenty It fills the coffers of this land Where's it come from they don't say A little sleight of hand The good life I can almost taste it Pay the price With my worst fears Their touch is cold Their touch is cold Give Thanks Give Thanks Give Thanks Give Thanks See the children Smiling faces Clean white hands How can I deny The benefits of this blessed land Comfort, warmth, and happiness The promise of the light they shed We must spread this to all people Later on we can count the Dead