Daily Archives: February 22, 2007

Stale Yellow

This morning my country’s on orange alert;
or maybe stale yellow, if you feel perverse:
the color of bullies, who’re cowards, in fact,
who put down in others convictions they lack.

The war is on terror, they’ll loudly proclaim;
but killing is killing, no matter the name.
Nobody learns nothing by point of a gun,
‘cept when to stay hidden, and which way to run.

Freedom’s a journey, not some point in time
when your way of living is the same as mine.
Truth is an ocean and peace is a verb;
How we each get there shows what we deserve.

This morning my country’s enmeshed in a war
financed by the rich, fought by the young and poor
who trust in their leaders and will pay the cost
regardless of who we say has won or lost.

The war is for freedom, those leaders will say;
the world is our oyster, let’s keep it that way.
But force just accelerates, it won’t evolve;
making more problems than it ever solves.

Freedom’s a journey, not some future point
when who we like has the run of the joint.
Truth is an ocean and peace is a verb;
How we each get there proves what we deserve.

This morning my country’s on orange alert;
or maybe stale yellow, which may be much worse.

22 FEB 2007

Stale Yellow (demo)

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What Really Matters

Could be bitter; what’s the point?
Each generation must anoint
its own legion of heroes to cut down.

Complaining they did not pick me
this time around seems to be
another way of sinking in the ground.

Between the cracks sometimes you fall;
you’re lucky to be seen at all.
So many live and die without a sound.

So what that no one knows my name,
that somehow I’ve eluded fame?
despite all that could be I’m still around.

What really matters, after all?
You get right up after you fall
without expecting some reward each time you do.

What really matters, in the end?
You find some truth, maybe a friend,
because the only thing left to become is you.

Could be bitter; what’s the use?
The world needs pointless self-abuse
like it needs one more song about the rain.

Insisting some conspiracy
must be to blame, and woe is me,
just sounds like an excuse for being lame.

Between the headlines that you read,
you find the news you really need
or else you don’t learn anything at all.

So what that no one sings my praise
then tires of it, in a few days?
The headlines make the other print so small.

What really matters, after all?
You get right up after you fall
without expecting some reward each time you do.

What really matters, in the end?
You find some truth, maybe a friend,
because the only thing left to become is you.

22 FEB 2007

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