Mr. Richards, your position is a messenger pigeon
left behind you when the camp moved on.
You thought that you had listened but the words had never crystallized
into a truth that you might own -hey, hey!

Mr. Richards, your decision, pay attention, pay attention...

Mr. Richards, you're forgiven for a narrow lack of vision
but the fires are still raging on.
The public's got opinions and these consequences border on
the compound that you raised where "zealots" sang -hey, hey!

Mr. Richards, your decision, pay attention, pay attention...

So listen, your intention, sign the papers, stamp the ribbon.
You're mistaken if you think we'll just forget.
You can thump your chest and rattle, stand in front of your piano
but we know what's going on. Yes, we know what's going on.
We're the children of the choir -hey! And we know what's going on.

Mr. Richards, your conviction had us cheering in the kitchen,
now the jury's eating pigeon pie.
So tell me, how is prison? Have they taught you how to listen?
We've begun to bridge the schism, pay attention, pay attention...

Mr. Richards, your decision, pay attention, pay attention...

You can thump your chest and rattle, stand in front of your piano
but we know what's going on. Yes, we know what's going on.
We're the children of the choir -hey! From the compound fire, -hey!
And we know what's going on. Yes, we know what's going on.


 

 

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