self evident - ani difranco

"yes, us people are just poems
we're 90% metaphor with a leanness of meaning approaching hyper-distillation
and once upon a time we were moonshine rushing down the throat of a giraffe
yes, rushing down the long hallway despite what the p.a. announcement says
yes, rushing down the long stairs with the whiskey of eternity fermented and distilled to eighteen minutes burning down our throats
down the hall down the stairs in a building so tall that it will always be there
yes, it's part of a pair there on the bow of Noah's ark
the most prestigious couple just kickin back parked against a perfectly blue sky
on a morning beatific in its Indian summer breeze on the day that America fell to its knees
after strutting around for a century without saying thank you or please
and the shock was subsonic and the smoke was deafening
between the setup and the punch line
cuz we were all on time for work that day
we all boarded that plane for it to fly and then while the fires were raging
we all climbed up on the windowsill and then we all held hands and jumped into the sky
and every borough looked up when it heard the first blast and then
every dumb action movie was summarily surpassed
and the exodus uptown by foot and motorcar looked more like war than
anything I've seen so far so far so far
so fierce and ingenious a poetic specter so far gone
that every jackass newscaster was struck dumb and
stumbling over 'oh my god' and 'this is unbelievable'
and on and on and I'll tell you what, while we're at it
you can keep the pentagon keep the propaganda
keep each and every TV that's been trying to convince me to participate
in some prep school punk's plan to perpetuate retribution
perpetuate retribution even as the blue toxic smoke of our lesson in retribution is still hanging
in the air and there's ash on our shoes and there's ash in our hair
and there's a fine silt on every mantle from hell's kitchen to Brooklyn
and the streets are full of stories sudden twists and near misses
and soon every open bar is crammed to the rafters with tales of narrowly averted disasters
and the whiskey is flowin like never before
as all over the country folks just shake their heads and pour
so here's a toast to all the folks who live in Palestine Afghanistan Iraq El Salvador
here's a toast to the folks living on the pine ridge reservation
under the stone cold gaze of mt. Rushmore
here's a toast to all those nurses and doctors who daily provide women with a choice
who stand down a threat the size of Oklahoma City just to listen to a young woman's voice
here's a toast to all the folks on death row right now awaiting the executioner's guillotine
who are shackled there with dread and can only escape into their heads
to find peace in the form of a dream
cuz take away our playstations and we are a third world nation
under the thumb of some blue blood royal son who stole the oval office and that phony election
I mean it don't take a weatherman to look around and see the weather
Jeb said he'd deliver Florida, folks and boy did he ever
and we hold these truths to be self evident:
#1 George W. Bush is not president
#2 America is not a true democracy
#3 the media is not fooling me
cuz I am a poem heeding hyper-distillation
I've got no room for a lie so verbose
I'm looking out over my whole human family and
I'm raising my glass in a toast
here's to our last drink of fossil fuels
let us vow to get off of this sauce
shoo away the swarms of commuter planes and
find that train ticket we lost cuz
once upon a time the line followed the river and
peeked into all the backyards and the laundry was waving
the graffiti was teasing us from brick walls and
bridges we were rolling over ridges through
valleys under stars I dream of touring like Duke Ellington in my own railroad car
I dream of waiting on the tall blonde wooden benches in a grand station
aglow with grace and then standing out on the platform and
feeling the air on my face
give back the night its distant whistle
give the darkness back its soul
give the big oil companies the finger finally and
relearn how to rock-n-roll
yes, the lessons are all around us and
a change is waiting there so it's time to pick through the rubble,
clean the streets and clear the air
get our government to pull its big dick out of the sand of someone else's desert
put it back in its pants and quit the hypocritical chants of freedom forever
cuz when one lone phone rang in two thousand and one
at ten after nine on nine one one which is the number we all called
when that lone phone rang right off the wall
right off our desk and down the long hall down the long stairs
in a building so tall that the whole world turned just to watch it fall
and while we're at it remember the first time around? the bomb? the Ryder truck?
the parking garage? the princess that didn't even feel the pea?
remember joking around in our apartment on avenue D?
can you imagine how many paper coffee cups would have to change their design
following a fantastical reversal of the New York skyline?!
it was a joke, of course it was a joke at the time and that was just a few years ago
so let the record show that the FBI was all over that case that the plot was obvious
and in everybody's face and scoping that scene religiously the CIA or is it KGB?
committing countless crimes against humanity with this kind of eventuality
as its excuse for abuse after expensive abuse and it didn't have a clue look,
another window to see through way up here on the 104th floor
look another key another door
10% literal 90% metaphor
3000 some poems disguised as people
on an almost too perfect day must be more than poems
in some asshole's passion play
so now it's your job and it's my job to make it that way
to make sure they didn't die in vain
sshhhhhh.... baby listen hear the train?"

ani difranco