Do They Come Clean?
at the end of the day,
when we wash our hands,
do they come clean?
homeless people, young girls
sold on the block,
hungry children, AIDS victims,
gotta watch your stocks.
black and white, brown and red,
gunfire and poverty;
kids afraid to go to school,
aint no profit in honesty.
SUV's, invaded countries,
oil doesnt buy liberty.
the takers take, the hurting weep,
at the cost of dignity.
politicians lie, preachers sell
narrow minded philosophies.
prisons full, bodies in the street,
the faces of reality.
smoke fills the air, oil fills the seas,
trade the future for the fix.
unemployed standing in line,
faceless numbers, brick upon brick.
close your door, shut your windows,
turn up the sound....
of anger, despair, and loss....
cries for help as they drown...
tell me....
at the end of the day,
when we wash our hands,
do they come clean?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
Tees spoon
Hand is
Use for eat...
Ok...
Wash every time
At your's hands...
At every works...
Wash your's hands...
Clean...
with clean...
Wash And eat food...
Tell about your children
Today...
Wash hands
And eat...
You are lazy
Don't wash
Your hands...
Use tees spoon...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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The Courtroom Is Empty
the courtroom is empty,
the gavel untouched.
no hands on the book,
no jury of twelve.
(and the hands of the clock
have stopped!)
small children killed, tossed in the trash,
women abused, old people hungry, alone.
young girls sold into slavery
young boys sold into war
homeless ghosts walk the halls,
without hope in man or God.
and there's no sound, no feeling,
not even a breath of air
(and the hands of the clock
have stopped!)
an American tragedy,
or just human tragedy.
justice bought and sold,
afforded by just the few.
the wheels of Wall Street turn,
politicians barter with lives.
drinking the blood of the babies
that will never be born!
the takers keep taking,
and the honest man falls
to die nameless in the ditch,
covered by ashes and dust.
and there's no sound, no feeling,
not even a breath of air.
(the hands of the clock
have stopped!)
the courtroom is empty
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Water
Quicksand, my heart is sinking
I try to run but I can't stop thinking
I'm climbin' walls, I'm on the ceilin'
Its gonna take a miracle to heal me
I'm starin' down into the quarry
I see a stone for every sorry
I'm on the edge, I'm goin under
And after I die I'm gonna rise from the water
I wanna blast off,
let gravity dissapear
I'm tired of fallin, fallin, fallin
from the weight of fear
Come and lift me up
into the clean and clear
I'm waitin' on you Jesus in the water here
So come and wash me clean
The sky is red, there's blood on my hands
Cant deny, you're clear where I stand
The burn of sin, I hear them shoutin'
Send me a river to drown this mountain
(Repeat Chorus)
Wash me clean...
Let it wash me, let is wash me, let it wash me clean
(Repeat Chorus)
I wanna blast off,
let gravity dissapear
Come and lift me up,
into the clean and clear
Let it wash me, let it wash me, let it wash me clean
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From Greece To Rome (Conclusion)
the majority, the 99%,
now owned by the elite!
a new tidal wave of slavery,
that feeds the wealthy,
and starves the poor!
robbed of human rights and dignity,
faceless numbers in a line.
jobless, homeless, hungry, and angry....
again, bodies on the block!
now more like Rome than Greece,
we implode on ourselves!
fires burning, storms raging,
the howl of humanity's voice...
the bloodied shores weep and tremble!
one people, many colors, battling for freedom,
we're all immigrants here!
forced to lay it all on the line,
backs against the wall,
with nothing left to lose!
from Greece to Rome,
democracy to plutocracy,
the eagle falls from
smoke filled skies!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Statement We Make!
the statement we make,
be not written on paper...
it is written,
in the tired eyes of the workers,
underpaid, and struggling.
in the hunger of the unemployed,
in the rage of the homeless.
in the walking of the broken,
in the families of dead soldiers.
in the anger of the young,
with no place to turn.
in the seething of the prisons,
and the tomb infested colleges.
in the smoke filled air,
and the rivers full of waste.
in the haunted mines,
behind the wheel of the big trucks.
in the pot standing empty,
in the fury of the poets.
black and white,
male and female,
old and young,
Christian, Muslim, and atheist...
straight and gay,
all standing equal,
feet set with respect.
an army of one becoming many...
demanding freedom!
the statement we make,
with our bodies and souls,
with our very lives...
written in human blood!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Tower That Ate People
There's a bump in the basement
There's a knocking on the wall
In the pumping of the pistons
I swear I heard you call
There's a bump in the basement
There's a hole in the floor
There's a guard in the garden
Locking up the door
There's a rumble in the floorboards
No shutting out the sound
And the workers down below me
Digging underground
Feel the building all around me
Like a wrap of armoured skin
But the more we are protected
The more we're trapped within
Tell it like it is
Till there's no misunderstanding
When you strip it right back
Man feed machine
Machine feed man
Tell it like it is
Till there's no misunderstanding
You make up what you like
Man feed machine
Machine feed man
?
Brick by brick by brick by brick we're building
Brick by brick by brick by brick we're building
Brick by brick by brick by brick we're building
Brick by brick by brick by brick we're building
Brick by brick by brick by brick we're building
Brick by brick by brick by brick we're building
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wash Yourself
Wash yourself and make yourself clean,
And appear before me with your nakedness and let me love you;
For the faithful city has now become a harlot and,
Your wine is now mixed with water!
You've sold yourself to many and,
Of your beautiful bush which now lay bare;
But everything in life is for a season.
As white as snow and as red as crimson,
But do work towards your dreams always and be clean;
For the smell of your muse is now heard everywhere!
And i want you to wash yourself and be clean.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Children For Sale
'children for sale,
...children for sale, '
the street vendor cries...
'we've got all kinds...
...black and white, brown
....and red...
..boys and girls, take your choice!
...spin the wheel, take a chance! '
who chooses what opportunities,
what chances, what quality of life?
how much education?
what kind of family life?
a degree, a job, a future?
or work with the hands, skilled labor?
or menial work, no work at all....
a life of crime, taught by the prisons?
hope, or starvation?
free, or oppressed?
loved, or hated?
finding a place, following a dream...
or cast to the side?
who chooses?
and why should anyone choose?
'children for sale,
...children for sale...'
the street vendor cries!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Standing In The Rain
I'm standing in the rain
I want you-to wash away the pain (wash away the pain)
Make it go away- i'm tired of hurting
Now i'm out- in the rain
You said it was forever
Guess what? Forever's not eternal
So- what makes me think this is any different?
It's time, it's time-to hurt all over again
I'm standing in the rain
I want you-to wash away the pain (wash away the pain)
Make it go away- i'm tired of hurting
Now i'm out- in the rain
I'm sitting here all alone(all alone)
Black in one hand-merlot in the other
Thinking of the bliss i've known
but every bliss, like a kiss, must come to an end
Now here i am, in the rain, here i am
I'm standing in the rain
I want you-to wash away the pain (wash away the pain)
Make it go away- i'm tired of hurting
Now i'm out- in the rain
We were so happy
What became of us
I loved your everything
Now where is the love
Now we are lost
But i'm still standing
I'm standing in the rain
I want you-to wash away the pain (wash away the pain)
Make it go away- i'm tired of hurting
Now i'm out- in the rain
I'm standing in the rain
I wish that you would take away the pian(take away the pain)
Just make it go away, i'm tired of hurting
You left me in the rain, i'm out in the rain
poem by Guarded Heart
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Faces On Hands, Hands On Heart
news blackout, streets packed out,
politicians inside trade deals....
feed the poor, Communist whores,
dont know how despair feels!
Jefferson raise a cup, Crazy Horse rises up,
freedom's a blood filled rainbow...
homeless jobless, insulated snobness,
fighting for today and tomorrow.
faces on hands, hands on heart,
a small fire strong against the dark.
all God's children doing their part....
faces on hands, hands on heart!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Ruins
Its so quiet in the ruins walking though the old town
Stones crumbling under my feet I see smoke for miles around
Oh its enough to make you weep, all that remains of the main street
Up in the park on sunday, dogs chasing and the children played
Old man with his head down, cant see nothing more around...no
But he remembers how it used to be, back in the old days,
So nice to see you coming back in this town again
Its nice to see a friendly face come peeping through having tea
In the afternoon, so nice to see you coming back in this town again...
Ah but its all changed winter turned on a man
Came down on day when no-one was looking and it
Stole away the land, people running scared, losing hands
Dodging shadows of falling sand, buildings standing like empty shells
And nobody...helping no-one else
Young child with his hands high, aint able to see no reason why...no
But he remembers how it used to be, back in the old days,
So nice to see you coming back in this town again
Its nice to see a friendly face come peeping through
Youd better know what youre going through now
You came back here to find your home is a black horizon
That you dont recognize, evil destruction has taken everything
Youd better walk on the side while youre still walking
Just keep on walking on down the street keep your distance
From the people you meet. oh lord and youd better watch your eyes
cause if smoke gets in them, baby you wont rise again.
Wheres it leading to freedom at what cost
People needing more and more and its all getting lost
I want back, I want back
Back to the time when the earth was green
And there was no high walls and the sea was clean
Dont stop that sun to shine, its not yours or mine...no.
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silence Of The Grieving
i weep...
for i cannot help but feel,
the etched lines in the starving child's face,
the fear of the soldier's conscience.
the desperate blade of the homeless,
the anger of the addict...
the hatred that is poverty,
the hopelessness of the unemployed.
the slap against the face of color,
the rage of prisons, and trailer parks.
the half naked children playing with broken glass,
the kid who cant take it anymore.
the blow against those who dare to be different,
against those who dare to be what they are.
the hardened path of the single parent,
the lostness of the child who doesnt understand.
the sound the dying make when they're alone,
the labored breath of the sleepless night.
the touch of the rain on the fallen leaf,
the silence of the grieving.
i weep...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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O My Soul...
where have you gone,
o my soul...
where have you gone?
are you lost in the tears
of a thousand faces
blackened by hunger?
in the cries of the dying?
of the homeless?
in the defiant feet
of those standing in line?
the unemployment line?
the soup line?
the line just outside
the prison walls?
in the lover left desperate,
who takes his own life?
in the students beaten,
who stood up for freedom?
in the young man hated,
for the color of his skin?
in the young woman sold
on the lonesome street corner?
in the windowless offices
where lives and deaths are decided?
in the hole behind the gun,
eyes hard as steel?
in the bare apartment,
where the children are cold and hungry?
on the corner, 'neath the bridge,
in the back of the car?
where have you gone,
o my soul...
where have you gone?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Freedom Doesnt
freedom doesnt starve it's children,
freedom doesnt sell it's people into slavery.
freedom doesnt see skin color,
doesnt always speak english.
freedom doesnt have one religion.
freedom doesnt choose sexual preference.
freedom doesnt regulate love.
freedom doesnt trade joblessness for profit.
freedom doesnt take your home.
freedom doesnt create reservations, slums,
and low rent trailer parks.
freedom doesnt ban books.
freedom doesnt invade and conquer.
freedom doesnt trade blood for oil.
freedom doesnt imprison those it cannot use.
freedom doesnt live by the lie.
freedom doesnt have different levels of justice,
depending on how much money you have.
freedom doesnt abandon it's elderly.
freedom doesnt turn away the sick.
freedom doesnt kill in the name of god.
freedom doesnt lie about the past.
damn it to hell!
this doesnt smell like freedom!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Come!
come...
let us wash our bloody hands
in the river that does not choose.
let us take our veangeful hearts
and lay them at the door.
let us dropp our arrogant poses,
and reveal who we are.
let us forgive, and be forgiven...
for every child that dies of starvation,
for every bomb that's dropped.
for every homeless family,
for every broken home.
for every prisoner, every victim,
every hater, and their hate...
for every man and women beaten down,
living day to day in poverty.
for every winner and every loser,
for every unwanted baby...
for every war,
for every tree cut down,
for the smoke that fills our skies,
the oil that defiles our waters...
for every deal made at the expense of humanity...
for every lie sold as the truth!
for every bullet,
for every nuclear accident,
for every act of discrimination...
for every prayer not prayed.
for every apathetic action,
and inaction...
for every voice of freedom
we allow to be imprisoned or killed.
for every chance we let pass by,
for every time we just walk away...
WE ARE RESPONSIBLE!
come!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Bowl and The Spoon
i hear the sound of humanity's voices,
the sound of suffering and need.
i smell the fear, and i feel the anger,
of those left alone, the victims of greed.
i feel the hate of the guns and the bombing,
the terror of women and children.
i cry the tears and shed blood with them,
i hear the prayers of the dead for the living.
i feel the hunger of children left starving,
i am the anger of the unemployed in line.
i breathe the despair of those left homeless,
i am the hope of those looking for a sign.
i am the body that somehow god needed,
i am the ears the lonely pray for.
i am the eyes that see through the heart,
the prisoner walking through the last door.
i hear the sound of the baby crying,
i feel the mother walking across the room.
i am the father praying for work,
i am the bowl and i am the spoon.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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And There is... a Brick
And there is a brick
A wall that not speak
Silent and still
and doesn't have any will
That is a brick
Some may pray, some may weep
Some kick the brick
That is a brick
Shield not to hurt
Human that lock their minds
But let the brick
takes the wind of change
without regretting
what both sides couldn't send
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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The Family Room. For Mary.
You put up with it because
as tiresome as it is, and as they can sometimes be,
somewhere there, there's always love.
He may take interest
in something to be repaired
that's mechanical; and
there's cars to wash and clean,
hobby things to sort and tidy.
Some kids are good or disciplined;
but there's never quite the time
in their expanding world
for doing just what you do
for the house..
But in the human heart
there's this locked, dusty room - you haven't dared
to look inside for years - or indeed
since childhood, for some people -
full of junk, of cobwebs,
broken windows, their sashes jammed,
cupboards that won't open, drawers
whose contents stop them opening; even
the birds have stopped their nesting there;
a room of memories that whisper when it's dark
It's the room that's family.
And surprise - the light still works..
A family can sort and dust and wash and clean and tidy it
in less time than they take
to slam the door
yet only you know that it's done, and how it's done.
And you say nothing.
Somewhere, two strangers
smile at one another
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Day, And The Coming Day!
we are the day,
and the coming day.
the cities painted with despair,
the houses built left abandoned.
the seeds we altered,
the trees we cut down.
the mountains we mined,
and the seas we defiled.
the peoples we left homeless,
left to die in poverty and hunger.
the ships we sent to the moon,
the smoke from the great factories.
the daughters we sold into slavery,
the sons we executed on profit's battlefields.
the lie, the drug, and the drug of the lie!
the temples we built
to gods that taught us to kill.
the prophets we killed with righteous indignation.
the bodies we left in our prisons of justice,
the flags we wore to defile our hearts.
we are the day,
and the coming day.
now skies have turned grey,
the air filled with our empty!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Liberty... (Dont Betray Me Now!)
Liberty...
dont betray me now.
i have paid your price,
in bodies burning,
and mouths that tremble.
in toil and struggle,
in sweat and faith.
take not thy hand from my heart,
for you have spoken to me with eyes.
eyes that see the beauty
of the common, and simple.
eyes that drink equality,
seeing hands joined in darkened rooms.
eyes that pray common prayers.
who am i to have a face?
who are these faces,
giving dignity to names?
history written in warm blood,
on the farmhouse walls,
on the factory floors,
in the carpenter's apron!
i am the voice of what should have been...
what could have been!
i am family handed down to family,
i am equity and justice.
i am the black hand taking down
the all white sign...
i am the horses of Crazy Horse,
Sitting Bull, and Cochise.
i am the mill worker's only son,
going to college.
i am the daughter of the minister,
marching for women's rights.
i am the young man in prison,
teaching himself to read!
i am the sound
of machines shut down,
of fields left unplowed,
of courtrooms empty.
i am the bodies of the young men,
killed in your napalm wars...
i am the mother and father,
burying their only son.
i am the rage of the poor,
with calloused hands torn.
i am the housing projects,
the trailer parks,
and the prisons full.
i am the cities gone mad,
with despair and grief.
i am the spirit of rebellion,
and the body of revolution!
i am the scientist, the doctor,
the preacher, and the drunkard.
i am the free thinker,
daring to question.
i am the man alone,
who dares to stand and defy.
i am the voices of the grandfathers,
and grandmothers,
crying out from their graves.
i am the migrant worker,
the bedpan emptier,
the garbage man,
and the small town sheriff...
the stink of injustice,
and the vote not counted.
Liberty, o Liberty,
turn not your face...
for i am the breath and the blood,
that moves your body!
i am the prayer too long unprayed...
one hand in a fist,
and the other left open!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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