Feeling Lost..


Where have all the young men gone?
Shot down in their prime every one.
Bullets flying everywhere, gun smoke still lingering in the air.
When will we ever learn?
Mothers left with babies all alone,
Young fathers dead under a cold grave stone.

Good old our republic. To you it’s a way of life to protect and serve,
You believe it’s your right.
Now we want to do the same;
When you  speaks we follow in shame.

It’s not about black and white; now it’ a gun
When it used to be a fist fight.
At least before you could walk away,
Live to fight another day.

But the rules have suddenly changed; a gun comes out
In the middle of rage.
Now you know you’ve won the fight
When you’re the last man standing
Alive at the end of the night.

Blood is flowing in down town’s streets.
Another funeral is being arranged next week.
Another mother has lost her son;
Now his brother picks up the gun

Some say it’s about respect or money owed,
Another a lost bet. One thing is for sure:
The gun is not an accessory to look cool.
The gun is an instrument that takes away life –
Remember that next time you pull it out in a fight.

Where have all the young men gone?
Lost to the bullet every one.
Because in large cities the famous truthsalready had been plumbed and debated,

the metaphysicians of South Jersey lowered

as getting to the heart of things demanded.

At the Hamilton Mall they blended

with the bargain-hunters and the feckless.

the last hour of a county fair,

blueberry fields covered with mist.

They sought the approximate weight of sadness,

its measure and coloration. But they liked

a good ball game too, well pitched, lots of zeros

on the scoreboard. exhausted and enthralled, their spouses knew

Come breakfast, as always, the metaphysicians

 

 

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