Changin’ the world, man. . .

Paper Baghdad

You don�t see the mothers, stricken with grief
The hopelessly inadequate humanitarian relief
You�re spared the image of the hospital ward
Where supplies are woeful and screams ignored

You can�t smell the metal of the searing hot tanks
Or the rot of those executed for breaking ranks
Or the frenzied fear mounting before the bombs fall
Or the dust of destruction that covers it all

You can�t hear the sirens that wail in the night
Or the rat-tat-tat-tat of an unseen gun fight
Or the gurgle of blood as a soldier expires
Or the roar of a hundred oil well fires

No, your ears hear a thud as you kick off your shoes
And faintly (in the background) the 6 o�clock news
The clang of the pots as you make tonight�s dinner
Your own sad sigh because you wish you were thinner

Oh sheltered America, with your senses dulled
How have you into this awful lie been lulled?
Did you think, when you put the bag over your head
They�d be any less innocent or any less dead?