Below, my first attempt at a Dylanesque or Neil Young-ish modern protest song (chords to follow… maybe). Blurted onto the page in about 20 minutes.
_Hindsight Is Hell_ (working title)
The hippy honcho now takes his orders
from the red-faced dwarf who closed the borders.
Seawater’s warm and the bees are dying,
But the green party fairies just waste their time crying…
While Sambo and Rambo both tapdance a tango
To the ratatat tunes of Mr. Bojangles.
I ain’t seen you, girl, since that night in the hills
When we worked it all out (except who’d pay the bills).
And it’s 2020 and hindsight is hell.
The past few decades ain’t gone so well.
I still sing for my supper, and business is good.
But I cant go back to my old neighborhood.
I kept up the fight, though my sword is dull.
Seems I just can’t get nothing thru Jonesy’s thick skull.
But Smith and Wesson, they’re doing just fine,
Though it’s ’cause of them Jonesy’s back doing time
For being wheel man to some bank-Robbing Nazis.
Now They’re all in a prison that feeds inmates matzoh.
Time travel’s a bitch. We can never get home.
It’s all gone now, like the fall of Rome.
I saw you last week on your way to church,
On Sunset and Vine, in that tangerine hearse
With Ontario plates –there’s a sight for sore eyes–
Then I followed you in, which was far from wise,
‘Cause you made my ears bleed with your Caterwaul Choir.
You used to get high, now you try to get higher.
But you crashed on the rocks, then rolled out of that joint.
I was still in the pew, but I’d lost the point.
Home is where the heart is,
But home is where it’s hardest. [Repeat last two lines, x3 to end]
inspired in part by Marc Maron’s podcast interviews with the black comedian Godfrey and with musician Neil Young