Will you come feed me when I’m hungry?

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Will you come feed me when I’m hungry
it’s not my belly I’m in pain
surrender all my fears and worry
and give me shelter from my shame
the taste is bitter disappointment
the tears keep rolling off my cheek
will you come feed me when I’m hungry
will you come hold me when I’m weak

Will you come clothe me when I’m naked
it’s not my body that’s exposed
so many different jobs I’ve asked for
and still I’m walking down the road
the shirts are hanging in my closet
my pants are worn around the knees
will you come clothe me when I’m naked
will you come hold me when I’m weak

Will you admit me if its early
I’m giving up and letting go
please Lord forgive me for my question
but I feel lost and so alone
so many faces won’t accept me
I’ve fallen down upon my knees
will you come feed me cause I’m hungry
Lord come and hold me now I’m weak ©

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Independence Day

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A long long time ago
on a July Indiana night
while the guitars played
the children made
the bottle rockets fill the sky

I was old enough to walk alone
between the songs and rows of corn
and make believing we were soldiers
roman candles shined so bright
and I saw the tears in Geno’s eyes

while the superheroes played the music
children loved to light the fuses
sending sparks that left the dark
and
lit the fires of our eyes
I smelled gun powder and the booze
 
the spirits Uncle Gino used
as clouds that hid a soldiers truth
of watching some too young to die
forgetting where he was
as bottle rockets filled the sky

My Uncle Gino played songs on his guitar
for all the boys who travelled far
beside him to a place called Hanoi
rockets blasted all around
and in his tunes he always paid
a tribute to the boys that gave
their lives like superheroes walking
home from just another day
where fire left the light of youthful eyes
of superheroes on the ground
like bottle rockets in the sky ©


  
    

Ode to the road

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In the eyes of my mother
packed a trunk and I went
cause I heard from my dreams
there’s a road I was meant
like a song that was written
for a drifter like me
where harmonicas play
and a man can walk free

I met lovers and fighters
and people they know
talkin’ bout goin places
they weren’t supposed to go
and I asked what they meant
in the land of the free
and they told me the places
kept a secret from me

there’s a country club out there
with walls you can’t climb
and a white house with fences
they keep locked all the time
where they make all their honey
by the work of the bees
and they keep all their money
from the ones with the need

so I walked down the highway
tween night and the day
thinkin’ bout Woody Guthrie
and the songs he would play
bout a homeland with fightin’
keeping out its own blood
and the children heard cryin’
left to die in the mud

I remember big brothers
used to hold out their hand
by the fireside listenin’
to my dear uncle Sam

as he’d talk about fishin’
and he talked about times
when the same words were written
on both sides of the signs

now my big brothers watchin’
but he won’t hold my hand
and my uncle builds fences
keepin’ me from my land
and my mama she needs me
but my uncles at home
and he lives off expenses
while the poor die alone©

The Blue Collar Dies

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34 years I’ve been walking a dream
down the roads and the highways
all the places I’ve seen
don’t prepare me for nothing
say the robots online
between me and employment
stands a sign of the times

ask me “how am I doing”
and I’ll say “doin’ fine”
without work or a home
you can see that I’m lyin’
just an American worker
trampled on by the plans
of the rich in the times
that make mice out of men

and the rich just get richer
while the blue collar dies
on the streets with a pitcher
beggin’ quarters and dimes
while the pigs have a feast
on the profits and plans
of the hopes and the dreams
of the blue collar man

and you tell me keep lookin’
without using your eyes
see the only things cookin’
more political lies
it’s control alt delete
and the babies are cryin’
with no shoes on our feet
it’s a sign of the times©