It is always the same.
Right and evil, fair and tricks;
power and weakness.
A poor man looking down,
bare head, fingers around a crumpled cap.
A woman on her knees,
wrinkled forehead,
cleaning up other's dirt.
A teacher speaks a forbidden tongue,
A man sings a song and waves and old flag,
someone says that privilege has no ground,
freedom is in our hearts.
It is always the shame,
the rage and the fury,
the pain in the night,
just at the end of no one's day.
And those who raise their heads,
and those who say "no"
and those few who are able to see
the world that could be,
and the fewest who, without hope,
still know that to bring the light
well deserves the sweat and the fight,
the fools' hate and maybe,
life's end and the dark.
