My pen and paper ‘gainst your sword and shield
We both draw blood on the same battlefield
It’s a war of ideas, and some of them proud
None of them dare speak their motives out loud
My own revolution turned out to be small
And sometimes, I wonder on the sense of it all
It’s a trial and burden, this conscience of mine
It keeps me from thinking everything is just fine
Some old friends surrendered themselves to the void
Got themselves mortgaged and gainful employed
It’s a non-ending struggle, to have and to hold
And the graveyards are filled with the wild and the bold
Some fought for their country, and some fought against
the barbed wire that keeps us on this side of the fence
It’s a constant reminder that what makes us sane
Is the same thing that drives us to lash out in pain
My own revolution is smaller, it seems
It keeps me from dying, and keeps me in dreams
It’s a lifelong ambition, to strike with a chord
To the heart of the matter with ink, not a sword.
07 SEP 2003
