The Back Door

 

Take your problems away, and
Drop them out the back door
So those at your front door
Are no longer waiting for more
Of this hypocrisy, democracy
Revolution’s coming home,
It’s getting old
And must soon retire
Off to the storage bin where it
Will wait, and wait, and wait
For some sucker to take the bait
And squeeze out the last drops
Of the same old, same old
Wars and weapons
Once they’re gone, we’ll all
Sing along to a sad song, a requiem
As we dump revolution in the
Garbage
It can waste and wither away
No more hopes
For peace, no poverty, and protection
Or silly things like love and affection
Can’t we find some new kind of direction?
Nothing more, no, nothing more
Than revolution waiting at the back door