War (I.J. Rosenblatt)

You try to create things with meaning I hope
But in the end all you offer are words
Who’ll listen to what you’ve put out there again
Songs that only a mother could love
Boxes of records line your shelf
Histories against a wall
Did you think your meandering measures of sound
Would be heard by anyone

Then you look around and see what you’ve done
There are pieces of your soul lying all over the floor
But you can’t fight this war with a gun
You can’t fight this war with a gun

You work as a doctor, teacher and mother
You treat, you teach, you feed
You offer better conditions for most
Yet you’re carelessly dismissed casually

Lines of people you’ve helped out and some
That have benefited along the way
Scores of others directly improved
Not one thanks, not one thanks yet again


Wandering around in the midnight
Recalling too much of the day
About words that were said that should stay in your head
You revisit again and again and again

Of the people you should have called on 
Ashamed and alone in your bed
For the terrible ways that you all parted ways
Searing a hole in your head in your head

Of the mornings you woke up with headaches
Caused by your miserable state
Of the credit not taken or work that’s forsaken
You revisit again and again and again

For the people you should have thought of
Or those that owe you more
For the time well wasted sitting there bastedYou stew and you brood all alone all alone


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