Trying To Take A Stand

Where we're going as a country, I can't believe. I can't conceive of it anymore, and in that unknowing I feel alone with my telephone on the tile floor. I've got cold hands, stateside; the blood circulates at a pace which I don't prefer, and believe me, I've tried to articulate this.

Meanwhile I wait with my ill-thought words, written out with a broken pen, soon to be revised again near the door of a steakhouse. 'Cause I still believe that all these records in their sleeves, they won't do nothing for the folks outside our little world.

Hey girl, did I hear you say that you've got a protest song to play? Well, girl, don't keep it locked away. Go pull out your toy piano.

I'm a good choice to speak about feeling doubt in my innovation, but while my tongue's moist I forget my excuse for the use of procrastination. I'm a fella who finds it easy to hide and abide 'til a sunny day. But then my umbrella, it broke in half yet I laughed — I was on my way down to the feeder march, stomach filled with starch, jacket coated by the rain.

But I would never claim that I've got a handle on the game. I'm just another helpless human trying to take a stand. Hey man, did you cut to the chase and draw a sign to state your case? Well, here, come on and take my place and I'll walk behind you, never knowing if we're changing anything.

But in the end we'll know we tried. And at least we'll have our pride — and the sunset, walking home.