The Streets Are Dead, Mr. President

"In the beginning of a change, the Patriot is a scarce man, Brave, Hated and Scorned. When his cause succeeds however, the timid join him, for then it costs nothing to be a Patriot." - Mark Twain

The streets are completely bare;
I walk down them in silence,
Blending in with what I hear.
Not a soul passes by me,
Not a dash of wind cools me.
The streets are dead,
It's been a long time.

The reasons are familiar;
The smell of burnt wood
Tells the story better than I.
World War III it was,
Right here on these active streets.
The streets are dead now,
And so are the people.

Voices once rang out here;
Whether they were laughing
Or they were yelling,
They were here once.
But the streets are dead,
And those voices are silent.

These people were never heard;
'We the people' had no say.
We wanted to do something,
But no one saw the signs,
And took it too far.
And the streets are dead,
From the battle of the bombs.

Everyone wanted revenge;
That was not a secret.
Many different ideas for it,
The best shooshed away.
No one stands by and takes it.
The streets are dead,
But you shouldn't take it.

The president won't listen;
The people mean nothing.
They all saw it coming,
He did, too, but didn't care.
He did it how he wanted
Instead of doing it right.
And now our streets are dead.

Copyright 2001