Words that want to be sung

He's just a boy not a thing, not a toy. Boys grow to man. Who do you think he'll be then? He's just a boy. He's hardly a teen. He's more keen and aware… then I remember you to be in your so challenged scenes. Why his life you cannot share with others? Jealous? Is this why you hate him so? You beat him to a pale. Or, do you hide what was not his to make. Young lad — all he has had to do… He has done! Still, you force him deep inside some foreign seed. You think this, a good steed? Inside the apple, inside a bushel, a barrel? Never does he see the light of day! Nor, fair light upon others true face. You've planned his parade with such hope. That alone will become a rope around your neck. While, you keep him at bay! He is your son, — to raise! Challenges to overcome! Do not toy! He's just a boy, a kiddo, a kid, a child. You are so foolish — such beguile. What ever turns you so. Someday, he'll turn and know.

With empty secrets that sprout weeds of lies Like an opportunistic species that overtakes in disguise A beauty long forgotten amongst this now corrupted prize By little men and cowards from lands that grow only lies These faint-hearted leaders who ride masked atop papier-mâché mountains Built by idiot hypocrites that know no other skies So many suffer as these charlatans fool Easy targets who vote desperately hoping for different tools Searching for salvation they miss human to human rules Truths which lay wasted ground to confused and cruel Made impossible as so defined by papier-mâché lions Parading as heroes lionized and franchised.

VERSE · Blues form · slow, intimate This land of beauty, mountain stream to shore Good kindly people, each a voice, our lore Our future's bright, a morning light, speaks for: CHORUS · Up-tempo, declaratory Our founding fathers made this land forever for no kings A daily view we act anew, a perfect union true We hear the call for one and all, where love and freedom's ring Forever brave, no kings we march, together we shall sing

Act IV · Scene VIII These tattered souls born to a life of scorn found love. For one of many declarations One strong. Of many Blends, our harmony. Of many differences: To make one sound, harmony a chorus! For all for us to live free! We make good our responsibilities. Then we may choose to choose, to know our liberties. A man-made gift. A bounded trust. A must for sailing seas. From our green earth to the living sun. We live our lives, a burst of fun. For none so true, be red, white or blue or happy, too. We inherit our humanity. Epilogue Hope's bright light shines right into hope's truthful end, when love feels all right. Why gravitate to inadequate, ignorant sources, from authorities who hold false ways. With no legitimate creeds to persuade!