The Supreme court’s packed
with right-wing extremists.
Let’s get the band back together,
do a concert.
People are dropping like acorns
from COVID.
My guitar would have rusted
if it wasn’t wood.
Time I plugged it in.
Racists cops
are cutting down innocent black folks.
I think I have the chords
from our old set list written down somewhere.
And the temperature’s scorching in places
where once summer never raised a sweat.
The drummer’s a go.
He dragged his kit down from the attic.
Refugees are spat on.
But our bass player says
the finger he lost to a chain saw
is no problem.
No one gives a damn for old people.
But our singer still has the voice,
even if the moves elude him.
Rioters invade the halls of Congress,
try to overturn an election.
One or two rehearsals
should just about do it.
It’s getting harder to vote
then it is to date a cheerleader.
We could play the Wigwam.
We always went down great there.
Out on the west coast,
the forests are aflame.
We could give those trees a shout-out
between songs.
