If I don’t create a book or concept album out of this pandemic…
You got Californians crying over not having school and knowing it. You got New Yorkers having to work through Spring Break and blowing it. As if parents don’t take their kids for two week vacations when there’s only one. As if me giving more work is going to save a life; it’s not a ventilator, it’s not the sun.
They don’t know where to go but they get to lead. They deny deny and accept at record speed. If you dare to die at work there’s hazard pay. But, my dear, going to work will kill you anyway. Any day, you never know what will approach from down the hall. I mean you try to hold the door, you attempt to watch the wall.
This is more than making the grade. This is about who is and isn’t getting paid. This is about addiction, abuse and the power to feel free. This is about the wealthy and our fragile ego economy. It won’t get you very far, simply holding an opinion; I got facts, I got tracks on my back, you got minions.
Little spies, got their eyes on a shining red herring. But I read, I succeed in avoiding the heresy. It’s the doctrine that their lost in, that’s rewritten every day. Well let me say, take the degrees back and I’m a teacher anyway. Molding citizens out the youth, speak the truth, don’t judge you. Just show proof and be blessed; I ain’t cleaning up this mess.
April 1, 2020 by d. morse
TheCelebrantNY 