Sunday, November 07, 2004

There's No Running Away...


I’ve had this song running through my head for a few days now. Hmm, I wonder why? I’m sure you will probably recognize it, and if you agree with me, the words will hit home. I think the band that originally did it was the Undead. Old hippie music. Good stuff. So get out your harmonica and sing along, you crazy liberals.

The eastern world, it is explodin'
Violence flaring, bullets loading
You're old enough to kill, but not for votin'
You don't believe in war
Then what's that gun you're totin'
When even the Jordan River has bodies floating
But you tell me over and over and over again my friend
You don't believe we're on The Eve of Destruction
Don't you understand what I'm tryin' to say
Can't you feel the fear that I feel today
If the button is pushed there's no running away
There'll be no one to save with the world in a grave
Take a look around you boy, it's bound to scare you boy
But you tell me over and over and over again my friend
You don't believe we're on The Eve of Destruction
My blood's so mad, feels like coagulating
And I'm just sitting here, contemplating
I can't change the truth, it has no regulation
A handful of senators won't pass legislation
And marchers alone can't bring integration
When human respect is disintegrating
This whole damn world is too frustrating
But you tell me over and over and over again my friend
You don't believe we're on The Eve of Destruction
Think of all the hate there is in Red China
Then take a look around to Selma, Alabama
You might leave here for four days in space
But when you return it's the same bloody place
The beating of the drums and the pride and disgrace
You can bury your dead but don't leave a trace
And hate your next-door-neighbor, but don't forget to say grace
But you tell me over and over and over again my friend
You don't believe we're on The Eve of Destruction
Yeah, you don't believe we're on The Eve of Destruction.

And hate your next-door-neighbor, but don't forget to say grace is my favorite part.

Hey kids, don’t lose heart and move to Canada, or Tuscany, or Australia. We need to stay and keep screaming until our throats are bloody. Or at least scratchy. No! Bloody!

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