IT MUST BE ME

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Maybe the world´s turned upside down, or maybe it´s only me?
Just the butt of the joke like the silly clown, or the only one who can see?
But whether my laugh is the very last, or I stand alone in the cold,
Depends, I think, on the role I´m cast, or if I do as I´m told?

I suppose these words are a bit diffuse, jumbled sounds to your gauze-plugged ears,
I should really be more precise in my use, cast aside all my worries and fears.
So what the hell, I´ll go for the throat, either land on my feet or my face.
Discover too late there are sharks in the moat, or be able to state my case?

The sounds of this hour are the sounds of war, all attention turned toward Iraq.
“ Disarm or prepare for what´s in store”, as the armies poise to attack.
“ All weapons of mass must be destroyed, if peace has a chance at all,
We´ll have our way, we won´t be decoyed, as our soldiers wait for the call.”

For months inspectors have combed and spyed, but can´t find a smoking gun.
Still many still think that Iraq has lied, as the mouse keeps the cat on the run.
And soon their bombs will light up the day, the vanguards of freedon´s just hour,
And the present regime will be blown away, as democracy moves into power.

Still somehow I sense that something´s wrong, despite slogans like “honor” and “just”.
In my heart there are notes to a different song, with words that I feel I can trust.
Aren´t inspectors now searching for weapons of mass, on the very wrong field of play?
Wouldn´t they find more fertile grass, in Tel Aviv or the USA?

Who has these guns which they´ve shot with force, Agent Orange, the Atomic Bomb?
As they pat their own backs, showing no remorse, justified to protect the calm.
Whose settlers are stealing their neighbors land, as their warplanes roam through the skies?
Children homeless, or starving, or dead in the sand, as the world turns its head from their cries?

Is it the hopeless wish of the weak, the oasis for faltering eyes,
To think they´ll be one day heard when they speak, exposing great hideous lies?
And to cherish the moment these hearts of stone, sit helplessly chained in the queue,
When men named Rumsfeld, Bush, or Sharon, are given their justly due?

Or is it simply a world of greed, fueled by oil, and diamonds, and gold?
And the values we´re taught as children to need, are destroyed long before we are old?
Yes, maybe the world´s turned upside down, or maybe it´s only me,
The butt of the joke like the silly clown, or the only one who can see?