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thiis is my voice..
FEFF
This is my voice, there are many like it, but this one is mine. And it's a fine line
when you're tryin' to define the words of politics. Politics mean a latin word
"poly" meaning many and "tics" meaning blood sucking butt lumps.
But too many live in countries where it's bullets instead of ballads where gavels
fall like mallets when held in the hands of those who's judgments can be bought
as easily as children can be taught to covet and the only one's willing to speak
up are forced to live so far beneath the radar that the underground is concidered
above it. This is for the Ho Chi Minh's and the Michael Collins'. The Marquis de
Sade's, the muted Gods. This is my voice, there are many like it, but this one is
mine and this time it's for the Son's and Daughter's who watch Mother's and Father's
drown in shallow waters when panning for the American dream in a polluted creek
called mainstream. This is for the homeless people sleeping on steam vents making
make shift tents out of cardboard and old trash, trying to forty winks in between the
crash of car wrecks risking the next by surviving another day so they can starve. So
that famine can carve their body into a corpse before their heart stops beating. So that
men in a boardroom meeting can make it harder for people on welfare health care to
the one who will pawn off their own wheelchair, and every time I walk by I cant help
but feel that fault. That maybe I didn't search myself hard enough for the Ctrl Alt S
so I could, save the world. Or at least this little girl curled up into a ball I've spent most
of my life throwing compassion back like fish that's too small. I've got to cash in
my reality cheque's. Drop her some spare fantasy's cause I've got three sepereate
degrees from different universities but the most valuable thing I ever learned was to
believe people when they say "please".
So don't tell me there are no heroes, this is for them, the women and the men.
For Helen Keller who against all odds found a voice. For the choice Veronica
Guerin made. For Martin Luther King who stayed just long enough to share
a dream with us. This is for the day on the bus for sister Rosa Parks
This for the Joan of Arcs who believe even in the face of sparks becoming flame
The political game that Louis Riel refused to play. This is for the day the Dalai
Lama finally goes home. For Dr. Jeffrey Wigand who alone stared down big tobacco
For Nelson Mandela who continues to go the extra mile. This is for the trial
that finally found a man guilty of shooting Medger Evers dead. This is for
everything Malcolm X said. Remembered by athletes who left the Olympics
double-fisted. For Arthur Miller, blacklisted for calling a witchhunt what it was
For Galileo locked up because he said the earth was round. For the Two Live
crew who found the sound that got them banned in the USA and imagine if we
could still hear John Lennon play. This is for the someone who stood up today
and said, "No!" For Edward R. Murrow who shut down McCarthy.
For Salmon Rushdie, Mahatma Ghandi, You, me, this city, this country.
We will always have a choice. When you stand up to be counted.
Tell the word, "This is my voice, there are many like it, but this one is mine"
FEFF
This is my voice, there are many like it, but this one is mine. And it's a fine line
when you're tryin' to define the words of politics. Politics mean a latin word
"poly" meaning many and "tics" meaning blood sucking butt lumps.
But too many live in countries where it's bullets instead of ballads where gavels
fall like mallets when held in the hands of those who's judgments can be bought
as easily as children can be taught to covet and the only one's willing to speak
up are forced to live so far beneath the radar that the underground is concidered
above it. This is for the Ho Chi Minh's and the Michael Collins'. The Marquis de
Sade's, the muted Gods. This is my voice, there are many like it, but this one is
mine and this time it's for the Son's and Daughter's who watch Mother's and Father's
drown in shallow waters when panning for the American dream in a polluted creek
called mainstream. This is for the homeless people sleeping on steam vents making
make shift tents out of cardboard and old trash, trying to forty winks in between the
crash of car wrecks risking the next by surviving another day so they can starve. So
that famine can carve their body into a corpse before their heart stops beating. So that
men in a boardroom meeting can make it harder for people on welfare health care to
the one who will pawn off their own wheelchair, and every time I walk by I cant help
but feel that fault. That maybe I didn't search myself hard enough for the Ctrl Alt S
so I could, save the world. Or at least this little girl curled up into a ball I've spent most
of my life throwing compassion back like fish that's too small. I've got to cash in
my reality cheque's. Drop her some spare fantasy's cause I've got three sepereate
degrees from different universities but the most valuable thing I ever learned was to
believe people when they say "please".
So don't tell me there are no heroes, this is for them, the women and the men.
For Helen Keller who against all odds found a voice. For the choice Veronica
Guerin made. For Martin Luther King who stayed just long enough to share
a dream with us. This is for the day on the bus for sister Rosa Parks
This for the Joan of Arcs who believe even in the face of sparks becoming flame
The political game that Louis Riel refused to play. This is for the day the Dalai
Lama finally goes home. For Dr. Jeffrey Wigand who alone stared down big tobacco
For Nelson Mandela who continues to go the extra mile. This is for the trial
that finally found a man guilty of shooting Medger Evers dead. This is for
everything Malcolm X said. Remembered by athletes who left the Olympics
double-fisted. For Arthur Miller, blacklisted for calling a witchhunt what it was
For Galileo locked up because he said the earth was round. For the Two Live
crew who found the sound that got them banned in the USA and imagine if we
could still hear John Lennon play. This is for the someone who stood up today
and said, "No!" For Edward R. Murrow who shut down McCarthy.
For Salmon Rushdie, Mahatma Ghandi, You, me, this city, this country.
We will always have a choice. When you stand up to be counted.
Tell the word, "This is my voice, there are many like it, but this one is mine"