I can try 2 understand
But there's no way I
Can relate to being in your shoes
Expectations are high, perhaps unrealistic
But despair is fatalistic
Where does hope fit in?

Some expecting a handout
Cradle to grave
Others fearing that their money
Will be taken away
Dispersed to the undeserving
Leaving those in between
Trying to achieve the American Dream...

Don't expect a miracle
Or internalize the sign
That the apocalypse is coming
Middle grounded needed yet
The beast is feeding ravenously
Off the kindness of the quiet heroes
Until they have nothing left to share
Expect commiserating in the misery
Of dead man walking
It is never too late to go home
Unless you have one to return to...

The fear, hate mongers run amok
Diagnosed with diarrhea of the mouth
Spreading propaganda that past associations
Predict policy decisions disastrous
When were these fools anointed saints
All of us have skeletons buried
And they have have the map
So, shut your trap
And be a good boy
Seen and not heard
Blind faith ain't gonna cure the blues...

There is plenty of room on the bus
Destinations vary by choice
One to salvation or to oblivion
The answer should be simple
But I've never been one to assume
Yet we have a chance
To believe in something special
Call it childishly naive
But I'm tired of living hand to mouth
And seeing the despair in others while
Feeling sadness in myself
The next 4 years let alone tomorrow
Can't be predicted
By the guilt of Edgar Cayce
But these wounds are self-inflicted
Everyone is responsible for
Initiating change, cause this ain't
The time to isolate, we must repair
The misfired synapses and thus heal the pain...

P-Nov 3, 4, 9th, 2008.