Out here among the litter and trash
Ring the forgotten words
Of bitter men,
The cold and heartless,
Malakoff-cocktails and signs in hand.
Out here we are lost.
Lost as if on the plains of burning Atlanta,
Ashes swelling in our eyes
Watching the narrow-blue
Dance around broken glass
As fires flash.
Out here they are chanting words
That the narrow-eyed-ears
Out in TV land, have often heard,
Listening as the skinny lady's news cast
Complements them on the tasteful tune
Of their hidden agenda,
Never knowing, that it was paid for thoughts
That rode their minds, like water buffalo
Running rough-shod through the jungle.
Out here the smoke rises thick and black
In heavy clouds that come crashing
Into the heartland's dreams,
And we watch as it all comes tumbling down,
Rolling over the unsuspecting crowed
Crushed into the streets, like turkeys
Crushed into their turkey houses
A week before Thanksgiving.
Out here the shadowy eyes flash
With judgments of red vengeance, a vengeance
Pointed, like a broken finger and
Overflowing with the thinning dreams
Of finally getting even with the crimes
Of someone's long forgotten ancestor.
Out here, within the streets
Of someplace else,
That's what they sale
With their clever tongues and rattling teeth,
Those who were bought and paid for back east
Who have come to sound themselves
In the rhythm of the loathsome dance.
Yes, it's out here they come,
Like eager little growers of anger
Planting their seeds of abhorrence
In this one little place,
But not the others, not Chicago,
But this garden of fate,
Edging people on with bitter words,
Their eyes growing wild within the hope
That more loathing and revulsion will grow
Into another pay day
For those who trade in hate.
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