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
