The city streets stand empty

the long shadows of evening play

across the apartment towers

here at end of day


From the vespers of the elderly

to Virgin Mary tenderly

the guttering candle wick sees

hopes of healing for the sick


The fears that still endure

from the homes of those who’re sure

their desperate need for peace of mind

is something they may not find


The White House sings its song

far too loud and far too long

with crazed crescendos

pouring out of open windows


Verses reneging on promises of change

offering estimates out of range

peddling lies and selling death

until the singer runs out of breath


And turns on those with vengeful wrath

who open doors to find the path

to save us from exile

to save us from the forced smile


The robotic response to sadness

following a world of madness

of piles of corpses moved in the dark

to be buried in the park


Where lyrical birds sleep in their nest

in the tall trees they earn their rest

for the morning brings sweet song

to the many now dead and gone.