Let It Go

under the parasol, the magistrate sings the madrigal and shields his face

from the man who sells his madness by way of the gun -

outside the manner yard on the crippled street

young girls sell their bodies for bread to eat

stare the corner down and say so we meet again

but somewhere the people rise and break out in song

their voices are carrying them, and i would but the feet on my souls are

gone from the night they came in

they came in trucks with their iron wrath

driving this country to it's dying breath

but it's never enough for the tyrant and his cattle

let it go

and there he sits, the self-crowned-king, in his bird bath, just rearranging his things

when he hears the songs high over head

he glares at the sky in his disbelief

throws a fit and splashes the bath empty and orders his generals to aim higher

let it go