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 -
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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?

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