There is a fire at the fire house
Run run run
More than a warning song
This is a mourning song
Sung before the pallbearers come
Boat people
With pails in hands
Trying to weather the storm
In a world of lost wages
We make the same
So we labor through breathing
And thank the world
For our tightening collars:
Private schools
Have public addresses
Two car garage
Is half empty
Four bedroom house
Our family has grown to five –
He lives in the basement and
Writes us monthly checks
We use to keep the heat and water running
There is a fire at the fire house
Run run run
More than a warning song
This is a mourning song
Sung before the pallbearers come
Since the crash of the glass tower
It seems everything has doubled
Except our pay
I’m afraid, when the storm settles
We’d still be wet
Because savings have been checked
CD’s scratched
Money market gone to the market
401K is 301 behind
And we’re stuck in the middle
With no paddle
Trying to paddle our way to land
But we are
The lucky ones
With red eyes hidden behind dark glasses
Hands in pockets
Trying to conceal the trembles
In a world where many are dying
Trying to keep from drowning
Nobody wants to see us crying
So in the middle of the night
We tiptoe to our basements
Beg the lord to keep our arms long
Enough to keep our lives together
Because though we survived that and this cuts
Our lives have been down sized to a manageable size
We still can’t manage
The lucky ones
Yes we are
Still standing
Even if kneeling
Still feet above many
But silent cries or wailing screams
Teardrops scar the same
It’s no picnic in our shoes
Living with one eye to the gallows
Because the henchman is still busy
And there are only so many bodies
Before it’s our turn to people the noose
There’s a fire at the firehouse
Who is going to help the helpers
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