"Lobby, pray and hashtag the pain away!"
That's what the policy wankers and the pastors and the celebrities say.
Bring out your Bibles and iPhones - opiates of the masses.
P. Diddy says "Vote or Die" even though we're already dead.
But the old forgotten willows, the ones who have been here since before our time, do not weep for our suffering
As we wreak havoc on every two and four-legged creature
From Vietnam to the Gulf Shore, Little Rock to the Amazon, Aghanistan and Rwanda..
The willows only sway their branchlets silently like my father's head,
Another patient he couldn't save.
"World War Three", you say, "Grandpa is rolling in his grave".
So I say "Fuck it" and roll molly like the rest of the lumpen youth,
Brought up on Disney fairytales and betrayed by American dreams.
We light up vigil candles for the dead brown boy next door, miles away corporations light up another forest.
But our candles forget how to burn and my favorite protest sign, the one I made for you on May Day,
Begins to curl and fade.
Old age.
Underneath the last willow left in the park, we talk why's, how's, what if's
And talk pluses and deltas.
Strategies and tactics.
Dialectics.
Wondering maybe this is why they call it 'the human condition'.
Longing and fighting for power, love, and contentedness in a world once ruled not by leaders and country borders,
But by the beauty of the forgotten willows.
That's what the policy wankers and the pastors and the celebrities say.
Bring out your Bibles and iPhones - opiates of the masses.
P. Diddy says "Vote or Die" even though we're already dead.
But the old forgotten willows, the ones who have been here since before our time, do not weep for our suffering
As we wreak havoc on every two and four-legged creature
From Vietnam to the Gulf Shore, Little Rock to the Amazon, Aghanistan and Rwanda..
The willows only sway their branchlets silently like my father's head,
Another patient he couldn't save.
"World War Three", you say, "Grandpa is rolling in his grave".
So I say "Fuck it" and roll molly like the rest of the lumpen youth,
Brought up on Disney fairytales and betrayed by American dreams.
We light up vigil candles for the dead brown boy next door, miles away corporations light up another forest.
But our candles forget how to burn and my favorite protest sign, the one I made for you on May Day,
Begins to curl and fade.
Old age.
Underneath the last willow left in the park, we talk why's, how's, what if's
And talk pluses and deltas.
Strategies and tactics.
Dialectics.
Wondering maybe this is why they call it 'the human condition'.
Longing and fighting for power, love, and contentedness in a world once ruled not by leaders and country borders,
But by the beauty of the forgotten willows.