somewhere, evil is winning.
somewhere, someone's hope just went out like the flicker and fade of the bare lightbulb
in yesterday's bar.
somewhere, we've lost our power to the tide
of how we've always done it.
and where we could rise up,
but all is not lost,
brothers and sisters.
because the rain falls
on the just and the unjust,
which means the world is our weapon,
which means love is our weapon,
which means our battle cry sounds like the blues,
and our army is anyone who's been busted up
or broke down
or left hurting.
which is all of us with a story to tell,
which is all of us.
because that man in a suit you love to hate's been hurt.
because that woman you thinks just dirt's been hurt.
because the victim and the killer have both been hurt.
it's a shallow kind of compassion to forgive too easily.
but it's a hard kind of hatred not to forgive at all.