America is bleeding,
her streets are running red.
They're running out of places
to pile up all the dead.
Uncle Sam is smoking,
pockets fat with oil and gas;
when will Lady Liberty
hold that flame under his ***?

America is bleeding,
a badge stuck in her chest,
can't defend a head wound
behind a kevlar vest.
And Justice wears a blindfold,
but it works kinda funny.
She can see right through it
if you have the money.

America is bleeding,
and now her children see
right on through the smokescreens
into her hypocrisy.
While high atop the flagpole
Old Glory's Stars stained red.
If we don't stop the bleeding,
We're gonna end up dead.

A county and a world from here,
an hour on the highway,
a barren, level plot of land
marks where we used to stay.
Though close enough to share the rain,
when skies are turned to gray,
I've found that home to ever be
a million miles away.

The echoes of much simpler times
could ever lead the way,
to look upon that gravel road,
where I learned to work and play,
back before the hands of God
pulled you out of the fray,
and set you on some golden street
a million miles away.

I used to visit all the time,
the place where you now lay,
with roses and whatever words
I felt the need to say.
But chiseled marble memories
are not the ones that stay;
the you I miss is ever more
a million miles away.

If fate shall see the faithless sort
like me to judgment day,
forgive my selfish doubt and bile
and beckon me to stay,
I'll seek your precious company,
I'll have so much to say;
wait for me, and I'll find you there
a million miles away.

But life has seen me shun such hope,
forgetting how to pray.
I wear an air of certain doubt
I can't help but display.
Blessings come, and blessings go,
so very few will stay.
And most, once lost, will ever seem
a million miles away.

We are of one song,
but the verses ever change,
and no two of us are the same.
One chorus, in billions of keys,
and it doesn't always rhyme.

In a perfect verse,
we're born and we grow,
find love and a happily ever after,
then when we're old and gray
silently slip away in our sleep.

But the song is more often
melancholy than melodic,
less rhythm, more blues,
and we struggle to keep time,
and it doesn't always rhyme.

But SING!
Sing for all you're worth,
sing out of tune,
sing the wrong words,
sing at the top of your lungs
because it's YOUR verse,
YOUR voice,
YOUR efforts that make
the song worth singing
for those around you.
Find harmony in our
lack of melody,
find comfort in
our cacophonous refrain,
find yourself
in the words of the song,
and remember,
it doesn't always rhyme,
but you're never singing alone.

I fell in love with candlelight-
in my darkness, she shone so bright.
She danced the breeze, lit up the night,
her glow consumed my very sight.

But wax and wick both burn away,
and candlelight just cannot stay.
As sure as night turns into day,
that fickle flame will go astray.

But for a moment, through the storm,
she lit my world, she kept me warm,
then flickered out, as is the norm
for candlelight, its fleeting form.

I fell in love with candlelight,
for but a moment, all was right.
Her glow, her dance, consumed my sight,
and faded out at end of night.

Today another human
was buried in the dirt,
and other humans gathered round,
and cried because it hurt.
And nothing in the time that he
had spent upon this earth,
could, in those tear-filled mourners' eyes,
diminish that man's worth.

No label he had ever worn
could sway their human hearts.
With no conditions, they loved him,
the sum of all his parts.
Now under six cold feet of ground,
he lies before his time.
And other humans wonder if
the sentence fit the crime.

Another human was his mom,
another was his dad.
Some others still had been his friends
since he was just a lad.
They had laughed and cried with him,
been true through thick and thin.
Now they've thrown handfuls on the box
they buried the man in.

Now the streets are burning-
other humans, filled with rage,
lash out at OTHER humans,
with the city as their stage.
Man and woman, boy and girl,
bear witness what you're seeing-
the aftermath of the wrongful death
of another human being.

What's at the end of the rainbow?
I tell you my brother, I know.
I saw one across the meadow,
and I knew that I had to go.

I went with a heart of wonder,
bright as the arc I was under,
I marveled at fading thunder,
clouds as they drifted asunder.

My spirit was lighter than air,
my mind had but only one care,
to follow that colorful glare,
to what's at the end of it, there.

The closer I got, I would sing,
my steps would pick up a fresh spring,
when I get there, my heart takes wing,
as I find there...


Not a ****** thing.