Cows from IV by John Ralston

They took the money, shipped out the jobs.
"But, who are they?" sighed the mob, who turned on their TVs and fell asleep and dreamt "This world is too big to keep."
A man feels helpless to make a change
A power struggle seems out of his range
The "Haves" and the "Have-Nots" with nothing between. A two-headed being, coming apart at the seams.
One head toils and struggles for their ends to meet, while the other head's burden is the gold that he keeps.
They took the money, shipped out the jobs.
But who are They, who've resigned the mob to inherited anger and directionless lines?
Whose hands are not broken, but frozen in time?
One man of Hope. One who believed in the strength of the people. But did we chip in?
No. We the Mob watched intently with each nightly news getting numb from a sickness called "Refusing to Choose".
Surrounded by statues, grotesques, charlatans, fakes…no one lifted a finger except to get in the way.
When Woody Guthrie sang "This land is your land" no one had to wonder just where he did stand. But you can eat what they feed you and pray the words that they've made. But a snake knows its own tongue never gets in the way.
What I've been saying in a roundabout way is: Without hope, how do you expect to be saved?
And no one's perfect. Yes, that much is true.
But, the man who gets my vote is the one most like me and you.

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