Solace in the Time of Assassins
I used to try to believe in you, crying out
In the building on fire, flames eating the river of love as
The amateur assassins gather in the basement of my dreams,
But you’ve turned your back on me and begin to joke
About the difficulty of raising good army without sufficient funds.
Nothing is pure anymore, nothing untouched,
We have seen so much crumble in our hands and in our eyes.
I just want to go somewhere else and talk my woman practically to death.
Instead I keep going back inside that burning building,
Unable to escape the gun that follows me around.
There’s a crowd of fools tittering down below,
Amused at the opportunities all of this presents.
I hope no one dies within my purview, under my watch.
Made me want to give your enemies your whereabouts.
Instead I’m going to go see my woman
On her bed of leaves and reeds.
But that’s just solace when the building collapses
On the post office. Nothing is well-executed.
The postman can’t find the door now, the nurse shakes with fear,
The cop’s distracted by the journalist combing her hair.
The trees shudder, turning away, drought dry.
The president is our most dogged sightseer.
The fireman basks in his moment if glory
Standing in the crowd while his pocket is picked.
The assassins leave the basement for the trucks.
I don’t care, really, I’m just looking for my woman.
And now the muffled weeping starts again
Wafted to us over the ocean. The politicians
Only understand the anger and the bankers understand the numbers.
We’ve got to band together, you say, but what you mean is
You need a good show of wallets to make this thing work.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ll take anyone’s money if offered,
But nothing is untainted now, nothing is the same,
I’m leaving here to go share my disgust with my woman
Whose image appears on all the coins I use in my dreams
To enter utopia, so far far away from here.