Honey, we're carpet tacks and missing strings,
Bits of foil and faded rings.
We're the sticks and the stones
That keep breaking our bones;
Yours, mine, and ours,
Play pretend no more horrors.
I've been stitched up, I've bled
And, God, we're hanging on to this thread
That will snap in an instant as soon as we
Forget what we are.
We are puppets and dolls
Designed for a cause
That not many, so few,
Stop to see in this zoo
Of our nations, our cities,
Our countries, shunning deities,
Never minding what's different;
What's precious to you.
Sons and daughters of the day
Ought to stand up and say
That to live is to die and to die is to save
Ourselves from ridicule and mistrust
And those who would shed dust
On the graves of our fathers, our mothers
Beloved sisters and brothers
Who loved all the differences enough to stand,
To not assault hearts for the sake of their plans.
Cut of denim cloth and old burlap,
All I hear now the pound and the slap
Of our hands as they work to encourage the crowd,
Screaming louder and louder until we're upright and proud.
In the details lies the devil, you know,
And the best way to beat him's not to let fear show.
We are one realm of many, not many realms of few,
So say what you say knowing not all will be like you.
We are puppets and dolls,
Here designed for a cause.
We're carpet tacks and missing strings,
Bits of foil and faded rings.
We're the sticks and the stones
That keep breaking our bones;
Yours, mine, and ours.
