December '61.

My dad's wages light.

Still on that salary

We, all four, could sleep tight.



Right now if you drank from

That very same well,

You'd need a run of luck

To score a bed in a trick hotel.



Is this the legacy of

Too much for too few

That I see? 

The kind of legacy that's

Tossin' some good men

To their knees.



The 'great society's'

Maligned concrete cage

Sits dead and vacant now -

At least it kept out rain.



With all those corners cut

The cracks grow wide and near.

I heard some cash was saved

But where it's gone ain't clear..



Who goes down next I don't know.

I don't know nothin' anymore.

Tomorrow's legacy that's

Layin' in state

Awaits reprieve.



I always thought that when a man goes down

You do your best to pick him up.

But how can the milk of kindness trickle down

When it's syphoned off and cheats the cup?