The Yellow Walkie-Talkie

There's no shame in living in the red.
I'm not going to wait until it's overhead.
There's no such thing as a fair wage
and it's better to owe something to yourself than to own anything, anyday.

But when we think we're owed an explanation
as to how we arrived at this destination.
"Destiny" and "nation,"
each has nothing to do with the other's definition.

They treat us like the new kid in a school,
like our mantra's "do you dare me to be cool?"

But dare I say that it's okay,
or at least that it will be?
If it makes it easy, when you're feeling all alone,
you're feeling all alone with me.

Don't you see?

But oh, what fortune we were too young to remember
when first the umbilical cord was severed.
There are those of us not yet over that day
and that affliction is called "nationalism." Think about it this way:

You can scream out "fuck the poor!" and "God hates fags!"
or you can go into a street and burn a flag,
but only one of these is a crime.
Tell me who in his right mind really thinks that it's alright

to put a place before it's people?
Well, I guess that that's one form of sodomy that's never been illegal.

And if it's killing you, it kills me, too.
But somehow it's alright.
Did you get the invite? You're invited cordially
to feeling alone with me.

Because there's a bell with a crack in it ringing to deafened ears.
There's a "W" standing for "wrong" for four more years,
but he believes in a Jesus and that's all some people can hear
not the backwards grind of the gears.

But when they've made me feel like I'm all by myself,
it helps to just feel helpless with somebody else,
where I can let my heart bleed all over my sleeve.
I want to see change in my lifetime, is that so naive?
I want to see the old ways burn, is that so wrong of me?
I want to see an end to this New American Century.
I want to know that everyone feels alone like me.