i was an anarchist before i was old enough to raise a fist, from the cradle i leapt with no ideology, just the knowledge that those walls could never hold me. while the years marched on, i followed suit and was given the gift of a bound notebook, kept my strings standard tuned, my fingers calloused and a red book of songs in my back pocket.

now i'm armed with a pen and i'll shoot you right where you stand. i am not what you think, what you know, no i'm not anything that could be labeled so easily.

and my power remains a dollar bill burning right in the face of every capitalist but the peace that i feel we need has become a whore in the night on the street and every time they invade she means a little less to me.

and i want to believe that there's something left to believe, that they won't do the same to me.

and i think i'll always have a problem with authority, with hawks of war and the moral majority, with heads of state and people that hate and any god i must fear just to feel safe. and every teacher that fails a kid who think differently, the media man, the radio personality, anyone who tore down the bricks that we laid just because they couldn't see just what we could create.

i need you to stand up. and i need you to believe that there's still some good in me. i kept my word. i kept my promise and the chords. and the lucid dreams of us.