The Bystander

What can I do? When my hands are tied?
What can I say? When I'm only standing by?
To those faithful, Standing in line at the train...
Would you rather be hiding, be fighting, or reminded to be sane?
How do you survive this? How do we rewind this?
Resist or submit, I'm still complicit,
So, how can we ever survive this?

What could I do? A steady diet of lies?
Should I deport you? Or find a place you can hide?
To those travelers, Headed for the iron gates...
Would you rather be hiding, be fighting, or stare down the barrel of fate?
And I'll never forgive myself. I'll never count again.
When I could've stood up, I stood by, And paid the price they demand.
So with every breath I cry, Hoping the tears make me blind.
And with every space in time...All I could do was stand by...

Fear like a cancer, left me a bystander...
To a war of heartless crimes.
Fear like a cancer, questions with no answer.
They slowly metastasize...

The trains, the showers, the ransom, the power, the bodies, the labor, my brother, my neighbor, the blood, the lies, the deathbed eyes, the shame, the pain, the weight of my name, the disease, the cancer, the solution, the answer, my fear of my fear, the cries I can't hear, the end that is near, with me standing here, resist, revive, try to stay alive...

Just long enough to stand by.

Strange is the Night

Strange is the night, through skies stranger still. 
Where the song of my soul, seeks the right words to fill.
Pictures of conversation, burning and curious.
Where the silence is deafening, and the love most furious.

Where I find myself before falling down,
On my knees beneath the shape of sound,
Where I find myself before falling  down,
With dirty hands clutching cold, cold ground.

And strange is this life, and my love stranger still.
What are the words I believed ? What is the math I can feel?
Blisters on my tongue, and the faint taste of blood.
To sink or to swim? Or be swallowed by the flood?

Strange are the clouds, holding fast the tears of God.
Where the labors of men , never count for a lot.
And you found me where I'd fallen, on my knees still crying out.
And you found me where I'd fallen, and the words kept spilling out.


So is my own head my own to bow ?
Are my own thoughts my own to say aloud?
So is my own head my own to bow?
And are my own thoughts my own to say aloud?