One last chance is all we get.
To smile, to laugh, but don’t forget.
The times your cried, the time of pain.
The chain of sorrow is still the same.
Children go hungry, and they cry, too.
But, I don’t listen, and neither do you.
We’re all to blame for their distress.
We’ve caused it all, this whole damn mess.
After a while we cannot breathe.
The pollution we’ve caused will soon spread free.
It will enter our bodies and take our life.
It will cut our throats just like a knife.
If pollution doesn’t kill us, the drug scene will.
We’ll soon be buried at the foot of a hill.
Writing about it won’t set us free.
But to reach one heart is enough for me.
Some people know the danger we face.
Some don’t care, but they’ll want a place.
For when things close in, they’ll scream they’ll cry.
But the ones who worked, will just wave good-bye.
They’re over there now, the boys who fight.
They work, they slave, to make things right.
We sit at home and wonder why.
Then a mother gets word that her boy has died.
Her tears are bitter, she strikes out in fear.
She prays for her son, her child so dear.
But now he has died, in some foreign place.
But the mother knows, no more pain he will face.
( I wrote this oddly enough, years ago, but it kinda rings true at this point in time, so I thought I’d post it.)
Midnight.