Tales From A Nomad In No Man's Land
Tales From A Nomad In No Man’s Land
WRITTEN BY: TONY D. ANDERSON
While I was thinkin’ back to the 1980’s
About the drug war
Now they say we’ve spent more on this war
Than all the other wars combined
It was around this same time,
That all this started up,
A whole lot of mental hospitals
Shut down for good,
All the occupants just spilled on out
Into the neighborhoods, we’ll call em’ homeless
Did we the people do this?
Then I jumped up, 1991, to Portland, Oregon
Started meetin’ a lot of Vietnam veterans,
Native American Indians, who had a particular liking,
A respect, an affinity, for the thunderbird
So I stopped and I listened to what they had to say
On that average six, seven, eight hour day
I’d be outside strummin’ away on Morrison Avenue
See, they were they only folks who didn’t have
Any place to go, I was on their home turf, ya’ know
Except that one day, the banker on his lunch break
Wanted to trade places with me
I said, “ No thanks “
Well it doesn’t matter how old you are
When it hits you, if it’s true
Propaganda points to what time tells
Fact or fiction, which makes for better news?
Ah someone just play me a good song or two
That helps get me through
Then I noticed something kind of interesting
Sort of disturbing around the holidays,
Especially Christmas
Anybody out there on the streets maybe looked
A little undesirable, begging with a paper cup
They drove em’ clear outta’ downtown
Swept em’ off the sidewalks like a high pressure,
Power washer steam cleaner, on Hollywood Boulevard
One day, one of the cops came up to me, he said,
“ Tony, those people, they’re bad for business
When the shoppers’ see em’ it makes em’ all depressed
They don’t wanna’ buy anything. “
I said, “ Oh what a mess. “
I saw a lot of fancy cars choking down main-street
While pretty girls, skip to the beat of a lonesome heart
I got to thinkin’ I realized, there’s no parking lots
For thoughts on stars, each one wishing for what
The others got
Learnin’ what I learn, moneys a concern
Sometimes I leave behind
Situations strike, complications outta your control
I’m broke, but I manage to find
The right places, at the right times
Well it doesn’t matter how old you are
When it hits you, if it’s true
Propaganda points to what time tells
Fact or fiction, which makes for better news?
Ah someone just play me a good song or two
That helps get me through
Copyright
2006 by Tony D. Anderson / Six Foot And Sea Level Records