Men Without Chests
Saw a homeless guy and gave him a sandwich
He refused but I insisted; he thanked me profusely
Snow on the ground—wondering if he was too cold;
Hope he's all right now, seemed like a pretty nice guy
Good old fashioned תִקוּן עוֹלָם, putting it back together
Piece by piece. It's kinda rare to see these days:
Person-to-person, neighbour-to-neighbour

Found some war crimes, downloaded the footage
Got court-martialed; seven years being tortured
People calling me a traitor—what'd I do wrong?
The president hates me and orders more missile strikes
War crime after war crime, no justice, no peace
Black and brown people slaughtered in the streets
Protecting what? Property. Serving what? Capital

Maybe, just maybe, it was a joke from the beginning
Starting from genocide, doing nothing about genocide
Men without chests in the halls of power
Pray to Jesus something might change, maybe…
Seems like a farce to me. That glimmer of hope
Just keeps on fading, fading away from sight
'You must love your neighbour as yourself.'
							—Mark 12:31, Lamsa