Keep Playing the Songs
Grasping her ticket, she's had since Christmas, in delicate hand.
"Will it still be on Dad?"
and with a forced smile I reply,
"Yes my love"
They can't murder song or fun
with nail bomb or gun
They'll only make the lyrics stronger,
the encores longer,
the clapping louder,
the cheering prouder.
But as I pull her near to hide the tears in her father's eyes that she has never encountered,
when the night arrives will I flounder?
Will I let the bastards win,
and give in to doubt that my beliefs put my child in danger?
Then what message does this send her,
that cowardice is stronger than love and peace and freedom?
We must go on.
Keep playing the songs.
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