December `61.
my Dad`s wages light.
Still on that salary
we, all four, could sleep tight.
Right now if you drank from
that very same well
you`d need a run of luck
to score a bed in a trick hotel
Is this the legacy of
too much for too few
that I see?
The kind of legacy that`s
tossin` some good men
to their knees
The `Great Society`s`
maligned concrete cage
sits dead and vacant now -
at least it kept out rain
With all those corners cut
the cracks grow wide and near
I heard some cash was saved
but where it`s gone ain`t clear
Who goes down next I don`t know
I don`t know nothin` anymore
Tomorrow`s legacy that`s
layin` in state
awaits reprieve
I always heard that when a man goes down
you do your best to pick him up
But how can the milk of kindness trickle down
when it`s syphoned off and cheats the cup?