david l. martins - 1964 lyrics
i’ve seen
tall figures that roam in small pictures
dig a hole, lit up, with 6-4’s, the ole vintage
a bold vision of war sourced to cold prisons
seen a wh0r- dead on the floor, torched, the corpse twitches
& fall switches to winter
-winter turns into summer
the midnight sun is burnin’ the rubber
from under the gutter
the others find solace in umbrage, just huddled in hundreds
the youngest cry, shunned from the suffrage
-“oh my brothers”
infants are sick and some of them still scream
how wicked the innocent mothers milk seemed
still scene, uphill stream, tillers just peel seams
the patriotism is but a shrill…
dream
cuz treason is a matter of dates
the wise may sing more, but they spit in your face
it’s been a disgrace
they say the cold war is over
abort all of us, with seeds to make the soil infertile
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