Quantity Is Job 1

Something stirring in the air, a victory?
A time-bomb ticking to explode,
Something passive, something not.
Billy clubs out, call the S.W.A.T.
Rabid dogs without a leash,
is this how you keep the peace?
You want riots? Wear your riot gear.
You want violence?
Then shoot some tear gas in the air.

It is written on your badge,
'To serve and protect',
it seemed you only served yourselves,
protecting your own neck.
Controlling with fear, menacing and threatening.
You want my respect?
You better start respecting me.

Go and get your riotgear,
swing your girlie all around,
we'll be dancing on the cinders,
as the town is burning down.
Swing her around, burn it all down.

Something smelled of power tripping,
crowd control was rank.
Tear gas everyone downtown,
what you did really stank.
Legislation, never made you judge and jury.
Marshal law now,
beat the kids down with no worries.

When I go out
I play in the street
I get hit by cars
I make mashed potatoes
I get hit by cars

In a field of yellow flowers,
underneath the sun,
bluest eyes that spark with lightning,
boy with shoes undone.
He is young, so full of hope,
reveling in tiny dreams,
filling up, his arms with flowers,
right for giving any queen.

Running to her beaming bright,
while cradling his prize.
A flickering of yellow light,
within his mother's eyes.
She holds them to her heart,
keeping them where they'll be safe,
clasped within her very marrow,
dandelions in a vase.

She sees love, where anyone else would see weeds.
all hope is found.
Here is everything he needs.

Fathomless your endless mercy,
weight I could not lift.
Where do I fit in this puzzle,
what good are these gifts?
Not a martyr, or a saint,
scarcely can I struggle through.
All that I have ever wanted,
was to give my best to you.

Lord, search my heart,
create in me something clean.
Dandelions
you see flowers in these weeds.

Gently lifting hands to heaven,
softened by the sweetest hush,
a Father sings over his children,
loving them so very much.
More than words could warrant,
deeper than the darkest blue,
more than sacrifice could merit,
Lord, I give my heart to you.

Here lies the old myth,
breaking the mold with,
truth to take away the trickery.
Twenty centuries of progress,
suffer slowly as we regress,
losing headway to ourselves.
Behold the covers, the sisters, the mothers,
the daughters, and spouses, on the magazines.
Truth has been abused.
How could she fill those shoes?
Propaganda meant to fuel their schemes.

She is strong but never silent,
sure of where her truth/strength comes from.,
one day, one girl army will overcome.
Treading the current, issues at hand,
Shifting, we sway, from justice and then back again.
What we once broke, He has made right,
lifting her up, giving birth to Jesus Christ.

Here is the tale, it's spoken word-for-word,
it may be abominable, but, yes it must be heard.
Nauseating at first, you can expect the worst,
so listen closely, as the plot unfolds...

I might stretch the truth, may be a little lie,
there was a boy named Brad,
he played trumpet, and he died.
Too young for him to cease,
Why? We haven't got a clue,
It's on the internet, so then it must be true.

The untimely death of Brad,
how sad it must have been.
If you see him anywhere,
remember to console him.

I curse the day, I ever met the boy,
Only the good die young, they say.
The details of his death are vague
unbelievable it seems,
as if his passing was only a dream.
Catastrophe, calamity,
what will we tell his mother now?
Cataclysmic, a tragic mishap,
I just heard that their band is breaking up.
I hear his trumpet, his voice rings in my ears,
it sometimes seems he's standing very near.
I don't believe in ghosts,
I've never seen one,
but isn't the trumpet playing haunting on this album?

A day that lives in infamy,
in horror we behold, his passing,
his memory, but the truth must be told.