Honor

I know what it means to dishonor the dead but what does it mean to honor the thousands who died as a consequence of state belligerence? How does one find kind words for those we never knew and now will never know? What can we say to their widows and orphans?

What did Jesus mean when he said "Jesus said unto him, Let the dead bury their dead: but go thou and preach the kingdom of God." To which state was he a patriot? And when he quoted Hosea not once but twice "But go ye and learn what that meaneth, I will have mercy, and not sacrifice: for I am not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance"? How should one reconcile "And the second is like, namely this, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. There is none other commandment greater than these." and "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."?

Which is more heinous, the collective punishment of the Cuban people or the Palestinians?

Orphans Of God

I will rise from my bed with a question again
As I work to inherit the restless wind
The view from my window is cold and obscene
I want to touch what my eyes haven't seen

But they have packaged our virtue in cellulose dreams
And sold us the remnants 'til our pockets are clean
'Til our hopes fall 'round our feet
Like the dust of dead leaves
And we end up looking like what we believe

We are soot-covered urchins running wild and unshod
We will always be remembered as the orphans of God
They will dig up these ruins and make flutes of our bones
And blow a hymn to the memory of the orphans of God

Like bees in a bottle we are flying at fate
Beating our wings against the walls of this place
Unaware that the struggle is the blood of the proof
In choosing to believe the unbelievable truth

But they have captured our siblings and rendered them mute
They've disputed our lineage and poisoned our roots
We have bought from the brokers who have broken their oaths
And we're out on the streets with a lump in our throats

We are soot-covered urchins running wild and unshod
We will always be remembered as the orphans of God
They will dig up these ruins
And make flutes of our bones
And blow a hymn to the memory of the orphans of God

Written by Mark Heard © 1992 Ideola Music/ASCAP