December '61.
my dad's wages light.
still on that salary
we, all four, could sleep tight.
right now if you drank from
that very same well,
you'd need a run of luck
to score a bed in a trick hotel.
Is this the legacy of
too much for too few
that i see?
the kind of legacy that's
tossin' some good men
to their knees.
the "great society's"
maligned concrete cage
sits dead and vacant now -
at least it kept out rain.
with all those corners cut
the cracks grow wide and near.
i heard some cash was saved
but where it's gone ain't clear..
Who goes down next i don't know.
i don't know nothin'
anymore.
tomorrow's legacy that's
layin' in state
awaits reprieve.
i always thought that when a man goes down
you do your best to pick him up.
but how can the milk of kindness trickle down
when it's syphoned off and cheats the cup?