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Fists on Fire: Poetry from the Heart of the Revolution

COCKTAIL PARTY

by Jack Hirschman

If I didn’t have you, blues body,
I just don’t know what I’d ever do.
If I didn’t have you, blues baby,
I just don’t know what I’d ever do.
When the war comes over me
I just dive into your truth.

They’re makin’ hell as easy
As readin’ the Daily News,
Yes, makin’ hell ordinary
Like downin’ a shot of booze.
For granted’s taken for granite
And war weighs down our shoes.

People don’t want it
But people don’t seem to count
The war has wormed its way
Into every cock and cunt
And the world’s being run by
Our very own thugs and runts.

I’m getting’ outta here, baby,
But there is no place to go.
They set up a Millennium
Where everyone’s a hoe
Workin’ for the big fat dollar
Or for the new euro.

Let’s go underground, baby,
Play dead while we weave our wicks,
Get down underground, baby,
Play dead while we weave ours wicks.
We’re gonna have a cocktail party
And invite those fascist pricks.



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