By Hans Ebert
We talk too much. We don’t listen enough. Our priorities are often upside down and back to front. We sleep so much, we lose touch with reality. We have minds, but rarely think. We’re happy to be led. We’re nowhere and everywhere. But think we’re somewhere. Or getting somewhere by doing nothing.
We lose ourselves in this place called social media. Here, we also often lose that human connection. We rarely talk. But we say we’re constantly exchanging and inter-acting and communicating. We’re each different, but we’re all starting to sound the same. We’re lost and confused and want the world to stop because we want to get off.
We listen to music, but listening with minds closed misunderstanding all we hear. Maybe many minds need a damn good spring cleaning.
We have hearts, but we don’t know who to let in and who to lock out. We look, but we don’t see, because there’s no internalising. We disappoint others but we don’t care. We disappoint ourselves more but we refuse to see it. We hurt but we don’t feel. Or so we’re meant to think. Believe me, we hurt, we hurt, we hurt.
We have progressed but we don’t know where we are. We talk in riddles but not in rhymes. As Lennon sang, I scratch your back, and you knife mine.
We take but we rarely give. Maybe we don’t know how. We invite people in only to shut them out again. It’s just another game we play. Too many games and too little faith and truth. Too little honesty and too few to hold. Too many fools we never take to task. Too many questions we seem too scared to ask. Maybe the truth is too hard to hear. Here, take Vincent Van Gogh’s mutilated ear.
Politics, they’re happening everywhere. But let’s not forget who put them there. Everyone’s a politician looking for life’s easy road. Quoting Jesus through those hypocritical words. Insecurity throws many for a loop. And when that happens they play the Ace Of Dupe.
We give birth to life and then just walk away. Life can live for another new day. We promise to be together for better or worse. But when things get a little rough, you’re the first to bolt.
We dream, but they always take their toll. This might have to do with having to play different roles. Often we are what we’re not. Sometimes we’re the people who time forgot.
We see so many people, but they’re all wearing masks. We all need help but we’re too proud to ask. We want to escape but we’re caught up in the mire. We’re travelling down Highway 61 with two punctured tyres.
We bring life to earth only to never see them again. You might only think of them when the sky starts to rain. Right now it’s only about simply getting by. Before Steve Vai comes calling with the chords to the last goodbye.
You might fight and win and live to fight again. But when the spirit’s broke, you’re never ever the same.The songs are going nowhere, but the so are you. You need to get back to those Appalachian Mountains. Or just somewhere new.
The boredom of deceit just wears you down. And every kind of hypocrisy keeps making the daily rounds. You do it for the money, but what’s really worth the sale? You’re doing everything to stay alive cos you’re scared to go to hell.
People say they know you, but they only see what’s allowed. She’s the only one who ever knew you. She’s the only one who ever cared. But you just had to go and tear it all down over and over again. While she was alone listening to Begin The Beguine and all about that Rain.