I was eight years old on nine eleven
it's been nine years since that day the planes came tumbling down from the sky
and way way way up high we're asking why they had to die
and so I try
to understand but it's this world I grew up in man no matter what
high school dropouts still bleeding out on desert sand
I may be young but I'm not just going to believe like some naive fool
quit taking leave of reality and my senses. And if somehow somewhere on the census
they tell us all look past the lenses and see that it's really all about
vengeance? Well yeah, at least now we've got consensus.
I was eight years eight months and six days old when the planes hit, and
honestly, i don't even remember it that clear and all i could hear was a mere
hush in the voices of adults - but tempered with fear.
My little brother was six years old on nine eleven
his elementary school memories are of armed guards, men with guns paid for by
public funds and a world where everybody runs away from a suspicious package,
and safely calls the bomb disposal crew, they'll know what to do, about this
alarm clock or flashlight, because heaven forbid we ask, right?
I have lived more of my life in a world where civil liberty means please recite the litany
and as (don't look or listen!) we magic up some wizardry
( so please excuse the bigotry
that's inextricably
tied up with nitroglycerine)
Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain curtailing your freedom of speech!
Their own to each, but I shouldn't have to preach this pitch on government overreach.
I was eight years old on nine eleven, it's been nine years since that day
and even though the face is pleasant, it's not going to be okay.
