I often hear young women now use “fuck” on the radio
That word, the grey men used to say, belonged to the uncouth
But I’m a fan of women dropping f-bombs in their music
‘Cause each one seems to bring us that much closer to the truth
Bedtime last week I watched the stormclouds roll towards my window
The thunderclaps like bass drums charging at me through the night
I love to hear the thunder as it reaches its crescendo
With each successive clap I’m that much closer to the light
Sometimes I watch the waves break endlessly upon my beachhead
They never ever question why they pound the fatal shore
Oh, to be so certain of one’s province and one’s purpose
And not among the cursed who question what they came here for
Today I saw a troubled soul draw meaning from their mayhem
Affording them the freedom of a captured dove released
And as I watched that bird soar high above the cage that bound them
It seemed that we were both a little closer to our peace