I have stopped writing songs, you know;
This cistern has run dry.
Nobody cares to hear me, and
I’ve no desire to try.
The groups that I believed in...
Would’ve bet my life upon,
Don’t know a thing about me.
They don’t even know I’m gone.
The dollar’s been devalued, there’s not much that we can buy:
I can’t afford a doctor and I can’t afford to die.
It’s no use to think that things will ever change at all.
We thought we were so special, but pride goes before a fall.
The things that I was sure of
Just a dozen years ago
Have crumbled into nothing
So that I no longer know
Which crooked politicians
I should even try to trust.
Their promises have crumbled,
Lying empty in the dust.
Our battles end in failure,
Yet we feel we have to fight
Lest enemies should bomb us
While we lie in bed at night.
How can I write a poem?
How can I sing a song,
When everything in this old world
Has gone so awfully wrong?
.
