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Times Change




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

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