To the September 17 Occupiers:
HEY MONEYMAN, the crowd is outside.
The past, the future and the now is outside.
The teachers and cooks and the drop-outs too.
Word on the street is they looking for you…
HEY MONEYMAN they saying whats the score?
And how much blood have you spilled on the
butcher shop floor? Those numbers keep running
but what they running into? The crowd is outside
and they asking of you…
HEY MONEYMAN MONEYMAN the mayors’ on the
phone. He says he wants to know if all those people
went home. Those momma’s and poppa’s and
students and cooks. Those teachers and preachers,
one second I’ll look…
HEY MONEYMAN MONEYMAN the tents are still up, the
songs are still singing and the coffee’s in cups. The
nights due to fall and the sun’s going down but its
still a whole mess of good folks hanging round…
They eyes are wide and their voices are loud. Its
white and black and colorless proud. The signs are
big and the smiles are bright. By heaven I reckon
its gone be one hell of a night!
HEY MONEYMAN MONEYMAN you should slip
out the back. Cuz the forces of greed are under
attack. No bombs or bullets or rocks or guns. Just
hashtag’s and voices at the tops of their lungs! And
Moneyman Moneyman I wont need a ride. But if
you need me…
You can find me outside.