you’re the plague on the western bank, i’m a nine to five compliant war machine. your motherland’s in bed with israel, from five to nine let’s dissemble it.
you’ll be alone. we are the blind united noose.
you’ll be unknown. we’ll set you free with words and stone.
are you a clock or just a cog in lingering guilt?
sweet magdalene, crying low beneath the tree where did you go? why did they take your lovers life? get to the car let’s make this right. the jim crow south, apartheid past in present tense. this strip of land, you speak of it like it’s your right, sweet magdalene’s alone tonight…
but that doesn’t mean i don’t feel a thing that doesn’t mean it’s enough to choose a side on the pacific sun or feel awed by the greatness of the sea or shudder at what we’ve become…
that doesn’t mean i’m a cog, i’ll never be. i don’t feel a thing. without a cause i’d fade away. it’s not to enough to choose a side when you’re the cause.