Ten masked phantoms passed me by, each taking something
of myself — my youth, my health, my faith — swept in the whirlwind
of rushing ghosts. Two buildings and thousands of lives in New York,
The symbolic stadium in New Orleans — the floating bodies
and the unapologetic monsters they revealed. The dead of war –
parents who mourn their sons and daughters, many in languages I know not.
The paralyzing fear that made a nation surrender itself to a cowboy
for protection. The lust and greed that led to this economic catastrophe
Poverty, famine, disease. Scapegoating the foreigners. We chose change –
a victory based on a promise yet to be fulfilled. Ten masked phantoms
passed me by, each taking something of myself and when they left, arms full,
I was empty save for a novelty called “Hope.” I’m not comfortable with that.
There is a winter happiness, a celebration known –
an air of joy and gladness that chills me to the bone.
A little boy would grow up to say “they know not what they do”
On the day they said “Tang Na” he thought it was me and you.
“Tang Na Mo! Tang Na Mo!” They watched him suffer then
and so in turn, he watches over the suffering of men.
“Tang Na Mo! Tang Na Mo!” Haven’t we suffered long enough?
Two thousand years of sorrow just seems a little rough.
Do you really sit there watching everyone you know die
or are they all believers in a poorly fabricated lie?
I’m hell-bound for the acts I failed to do and things I cannot know.
Get off your ass and help us out. Until then, Tang Na Mo.