Yesterday's Blues    © 2008 RFRussell

I remember a story from my grandfather’s dream, told by a weary fish well up the stream
"Our capacities being so much smaller than the mysteries; noone knowing the future, noone owning the past; irony could become an artifact of history If tolerance…should disappear at last"
You can actually see it, now, on screens worldwide: "All Periods of Earth, Happening Fast"
    Seems like the same situation, the same level fear
    Always coming and going, we’re just never here
    It’s the same old story, sunshine or rain
    Around and around, and then around again
        So just what - is a Mother to do?
        What if everything they say is true?
        Yes what exactly - can she do?
        No wonder she seems so blue
If I can remember the story I will tell it to you
Though I’ve heard it told so many ways I don’t know which one’s true
Is the news any better as a joke up on the tube?
Or are we just all tired of singing yesterday’s blues?
Do we really have the facts it takes, do we really know?
Or is our memory shorter than what we’re tryin’ to view?
Is all of this just weariness, my eyes so full of tears?
New threads mix with old ones, woven into years
    Seems like the same situation, the same level fear;
    Always coming and going, we’re just rarely here
    It’s a sad eyed lady, crying in the rain
    Saying over and over, "it’s never going to be the same"
    We like our old information, our comfortable shoes,
    We like our thick insulation, no unwashed news—
    Though it’s never been different nor ever will be:
    We just keep comin’ back to our most basic needs