Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Just another song I wrote

Tomorrow, or maybe day after we go back to our lives. We make songs, tell stories, work on software, tally accounts. . . . . Today, people killed, people died. People who were willing to die died, people who were just living died. Tomorrow, we'll write songs.

There's something wrong.

There is a reason in this world that makes people want to kill. But they're not killing people, they're killing hidus, muslims, christians, Indians, americans. They're not killing people but people are dying.

There's something wrong.

We're watching on tv as a reporter comes, opens an ambulance and lifts a head to show us a mangled face. We comment but we keep watching. Here's a little girl's shoe with blood in it but no little girl. What a shot. Reality TV at it's best.

There's something wrong.

I do nothing. There's nothing I can do. I haven't lived my life well enough to. Perhaps one of the people who died would have done something if I'd been killed but who knows. Lives were cut short, their songs will never be sung, their stories never told. Unless and until they had lived their lives already all they are are 78 people. Six billion people will watch their dead bodies on the news and move on.

There's something wrong.

There will be calls of congratulations today. News channels will be watched with smile. The masterminds will smile. The killers will be heroes. There will be honoured by the only people they care about. They killed people who ran softwares, told stories, wrote songs.

There's something very fucking wrong.

It will keep happening. Because there's a reason.
Worse things have happened.
It's a part of the spectrum I'll never understand.
I'll keep writing songs.
We'll all keep wanting the high flat and the long car.
There's a reason.
Nothing I can do.
sevent eight people died.

Perhaps they were the lucky ones.