(inspired by the wtc disaster)Yes,Us people are just poemsWe're 90% metaphorWith a leanness of meaningApproaching hyper-distillationAnd once upon a timeWe were moonshineRushing down the throat of a giraffeYes, rushing down the long hallwayDespite what the P. A. Announcement saysYes, rushing down the long stairsWith the whiskey of eternityFermented and distilledTo eighteen minutesBurning down our throatsDown the hallDown the stairsIn a building so tallThat it will always be thereYes, it's part of a pairThere on the bow of Noah's arkThe most prestigious coupleJust kickin back parkedAgainst a perfectly blue skyOn a morning beatificIn it's Indian summer breezeOn the day that AmericaFell to it's kneesAfter strutting around for a centuryWithout saying thank youOr pleaseAnd the shock was subsonicAnd the smoke was deafeningBetween the setup and the punch lineCuz we were all on time for work that dayWe all boarded that plane for to flyAnd then while the fires were ragingWe all climbed up on the windowsillAnd then we all held handsAnd jumped into the skyAnd every borough looked up when it heard the first blastAnd then every dumb action movie was summarily surpassedAnd the exodus uptown by foot and motorcarLooked more like war than anything I've seen so farSo farSo farSo fierce and ingeniousA poetic specter so far goneThat every jackass newscaster was struck dumb and stumblingOver 'oh my god' and 'this is unbelievable' and on and onAnd I'll tell you what, while we're at itYou can keep the pentagonKeep the propagandaKeep each and every tvThat's been trying to convince meTo participateIn some prep school punk's plan to perpetuate retributionPerpetuate retributionEven as the blue toxic smoke of our lesson in retributionIs still hanging in the airAnd there's ash on our shoesAnd there's ash in our hairAnd there's a fine silt on every mantleFrom hell's kitchen to BrooklynAnd the streets are full of storiesSudden twists and near missesAnd soon every open bar is crammed to the raftersWith tales of narrowly averted disastersAnd the whiskey is flowinLike never beforeAs all over the countryFolks just shake their headsAnd pourSo here's a toast to all the folks who live in PalestineAfghanistanIraqEl SalvadorHere's a toast to the folks living on the pine ridge reservationUnder the stone cold gaze of mt. RushmoreHere's a toast to all those nurses and doctorsWho daily provide women with a choiceWho stand down a threat the size of Oklahoma CityJust to listen to a young woman's voiceHere's a toast to all the folks on death row right nowAwaiting the executioner's guillotineWho are shackled there with dread and can only escape into their headsTo find peace in the form of a dreamCuz take away our playstationsAnd we are a third world nationUnder the thumb of some blue blood royal sonWho stole the oval office and that phony electionI meanIt don't take a weathermanTo look around and see the weatherJeb said he'd deliver Florida, folksAnd boy did he everAnd we hold these truths to be self evident:#1 George W. Bush is not president#2 America is not a true democracy#3 the media is not fooling meCuz I am a poem heeding hyper-distillationI've got no room for a lie so verboseI'm looking out over my whole human familyAnd I'm raising my glass in a toastHere's to our last drink of fossil fuelsLet us vow to get off of this sauceShoo away the swarms of commuter planesAnd find that train ticket we lostCuz once upon a time the line followed the riverAnd peeked into all the backyardsAnd the laundry was wavingThe graffiti was teasing usFrom brick walls and bridgesWe were rolling over ridgesThrough valleysUnder starsI dream of touring like Duke EllingtonIn my own railroad carI dream of waiting on the tall blonde wooden benchesIn a grand station aglow with graceAnd then standing out on the platformAnd feeling the air on my faceGive back the night it's distant whistleGive the darkness back it's soulGive the big oil companies the finger finallyAnd relearn how to rock-n-rollYes, the lessons are all around us and a change is waiting thereSo it's time to pick through the rubble, clean the streetsAnd clear the airGet our government to pull it's big dick out of the sandOf someone else's desertPut it back in it's pantsAnd quit the hypocritical chants ofFreedom foreverCuz when one lone phone rangIn two thousand and oneAt ten after nineOn nine one oneWhich is the number we all calledWhen that lone phone rang right off the wallRight off our desk and down the long hallDown the long stairsIn a building so tallThat the whole world turnedJust to watch it fallAnd while we're at itRemember the first time around?The bomb?The Ryder truck?The parking garage?The princess that didn't even feel the pea?Remember joking around in our apartment on avenue D?Can you imagine how many paper coffee cups would have to change their designFollowing a fantastical reversal of the New York skyline?!It was a joke, of courseIt was a jokeAt the timeAnd that was just a few years agoSo let the record showThat the fbi was all over that caseThat the plot was obvious and in everybody's faceAnd scoping that sceneReligiouslyThe ciaOr is it kgb?Committing countless crimes against humanityWith this kind of eventualityAs it's excuseFor abuse after expensive abuseAnd it didn't have a clueLook, another window to see throughWay up hereOn the 104th floorLookAnother keyAnother door10% literal90% metaphor3000 some poems disguised as peopleOn an almost too perfect dayMust be more than poemsIn some asshole's passion playSo now it's your jobAnd it's my jobTo make it that wayTo make sure they didn't die in vainSshhhhhh....Baby listenHear the train?
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