Sunday, May 26, 2013

preacher

he's good, people say, but we don't like him 'cause he's preaching
no-one wants to hear that shit, who is he to be teaching?
and reaching for some bullshit ideal form of art
what's whose art? art is dead, throw its corpse on the cart
wheel it out to the fire that we've set in the streets
while we dance around in circles in praise of the beats
we can't hear, we can't feel, 'cause none of this is real
through the crazed hazy daze of the drugs that we deal
these are drugs that replace other drugs that are bad
if we label them so, the government will be glad
to step on our feet, tie our hands behind our backs
thought police busting in, stopping us in our tracks
from figuring our way out of the cage that we've voted
by picking rich liars, who our taxes have toted
as capable men with our interests in mind
but what kind of a man, wise and caring and kind
could stand up and be counted in a nest full of vipers
play political games, while avoiding the snipers?
what we need is a piper, hamelin-style to assist us
he can rid us of the rats, who know only how to twist us
'cause there's no human being who knows just what to do
when the needs of the many outweigh those of the few
the have-nots only fight using words that they've learned
while the haves send them off as sacrifices to be burned
in those far-away lands where everyone's an enemy
so they're not humans beings, not like you or like me
there's a good, and an evil, and our leaders who define them
making up histories and the stories that will bind them
to our right here and now, these ghost stories taking shape
making us so damn scared we need a man in a cape
who will come forth to save us from these monsters we've made
but he's just a myth, he's no more than a shade
of the red, white and blue mind that first tied our hands
and focused our attentions on faraway lands
but the real horror's here, in our heart and our soul
which we've given up for freedoms that are loss of control

the preacher remains silent, seeing his work has been done
that the rabble's been roused, today's war's finally one
and he turns and he walks towards the setting of the sun
where he can cover more ground and make the most of his run

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