THIRD LAMENT
I'm eighty cents short of a dollar
The usual pay for a scholar
All the days of my soul
I'm going broke.
An artist;s life isn't Heaven
Without business connections
In the U.S. of A.
I'm not o.k.
It's been one lie after another
In the name of the Washington dokkar
And the lady in gold
This statue so cold
Though she says differently
Holds no hope.
And the shield at the U.N. read
"We will beat their weapons into plowshares"
When will this promise occur?
Not while one renegade President
Stands and tries to take command
Of everyone in every land
While his own people
Cannot stand?
I am not here as their shield
Nor to protect these egotists
I would rather I be dead
Than to deter
The reapers price for
What they have earned.
Regine.
