Long, long ago,

Around that time when the sun hung high,

I would have gladly taken your hand

And led you to the place where there are no worries.

Led you to that place

Where dandelions are not weeds

And all could be free.

Long, long ago,

Around that time when the sun hung low,

I would have gladly tread the road

Where between the wealthy and the rulers,

Only the strangers go.

Where we would fill the dimmed streets with laughter,

And share our woes.

And not so long ago,

When the moon pressed out

From behind the midnight clouds,

A landslide of firearms swept you up

And carried you away from familiar homes.

And now you’ve got your guns,

And I’ve got my silence.