The Legacy

 

The Legacy

 

By John Kaniecki

 

I saw the scarecrow front seat at the rock and roll show

It’s not who you are it’s a matter of who you know

Joe Hill tuned into groovy groves of Jesus of Nazareth

A martyr in Utah he kept the faith until his death

Convicted by a jury of peers based on fabricated lies

His final words of wisdom “Don’t mourn organize”

Somewhere in the Oklahoma prairies Woody caught the breath

We had to defeat Nazi Germany a victory to be won

But in the end friend fascism was far from done

So, Peter came with mild fame painted in red shame

Eugene McCarthy played his silly Satanic game

Silencing by choice any voice in the land of the free

We can see the outer limits but not our own hypocrisy

In Graystone U. the venerable saint wasted away

The young dreamers bowed to the idol of the day

Zimmerman had a plan and thus the torch passed

He had the zeal but the money was the real deal

Hey I can play, but love goes beyond what you feel

And so, we sacrificed the spirit of seventeen seventy-six

At the Newport Folk Festival while going electric

So, the Master Pimp prostituted his clever verse

The divine line so fine between blessing and curse

Understand cash in hand feels mighty grand

The number one rule of being cool is playing with the Band

But Joe looks down from the Rocky Mountain high

As evangelicals scorn salvation and we slowly die

But don’t worry son the stock market went bull

Who cares who we kill capitalism by nature is cruel

There’s an American dream but it’s not my prayer

Hit the score, fuck the whore, is there something more

To life?

I went to the nursing home tonight the visit my wife

Must I mention dementia is such a horrid plight?

We are a nation of winners accepting sinners

All that matters is being on top, rule one to beginners

So, if you’re down in the Super Bowl after the long haul

It doesn’t really matter if you deflate the football

Whatever happened to going out and having some fun?

Or enjoying some exercise in the glorious sun?

While in unceded lands in Grandma’s northwest

They’re raping Mother Earth thanks to greed’s eternal quest

And where are the pop stars as we slowly die?

How come Mister Bob Dylan doesn’t give a cry?

Joe Hill would be on the picket line raising righteous hell

Woody Guthrie would have some rambling story to tell

Pete Seeger would be strumming his banjo overtime

And COVID just kill Anne Feeney such a crime

Slowly the suckers awake boys we’ve been played

But Bob got some blonde big breasted bimbo to get laid

And good old Neil knows the deal divorcing his wife

The two shall become one until the selfish cutting knife

God gave talents to one five, to the next two to the final one

So good sir I humbly ask at your task what have you done?

Selfish seekers with expensive sneakers scared in place

Don’t you know all that you possess is by grace?

In the trenches hear the lamentable scream

In Yemen nine million slowly starve in genocide

Excuse me sir, don’t let me spoil your rock and roll dream

Or impinge on your most honorable pride

I might not be the cleverest rhymer on the block

But I ain’t going to kneel down and suck the devil’s cock

You’re still a prostitute no matter what the price

And all the fans saying you’re the man and this ain’t nice

But truth ain’t naked it’s wrapped in an American flag

So, with a touch of obscurity, I declare you’re it, tag

Cause you see the legacy is supposed to be yours

Could you just please speak out against endless wars?

I mourn with Joe Hill he was a man of the people

While Joel Osteen builds himself a solid gold steeple

“You will eat, bye and bye”

“In the glorious land in the sky”

“Work and pray, live on hay”

“You’ll get pie in the sky when you die”

Money is a fictitious number on the computer screen

And James Johnson just died, do you dig the scene?

In death the rich and poor are identically the same

And God, good sir, counts score in His game

And I look at the sky gray, as if stained by ink

I go to the rivers, so foul I cannot drink

I see mountains of plastic floating in the ocean

While pop stars with gold guitars bow in devotion

To the god of mammon

In Yemen there’s famine

Yes, I know I said it before

I just hate to be defeated

And some things are worth being repeated

The legacy, why it’s nothing but serving the highest call

That is all

enter the poetic world of John Kaniecki 

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