The Dollar Mine
Written 2009 © 2010 by T. Hubbard
Iíve been a paperboy, busboy, dishwasher, cook,
Iíve built houses, songs, poems and a book.
Iíve been security, driver, mechanic, technician
Plumber, carpenter, and electrician,
But one thing Iíll never be,
Is a slave in your dollar mine.
Iíve seen the forests, rivers, and hills,
And the highways, roads, and lumber mills.
Iíve seen the cities, towns and states,
The manmade canyons and concrete straits.
Iíve been all over this country,
and some other parts of the world,
But the one place that Iíll never be
Is slaving in your dollar mine.
I learned to play the music,
In a magic way,
I learned to know when, and what to say,
I found the secret to the universal knowing
Hidden in plain sight and showing,
I learned the meaning of the truth,
But one thing Iíll never know,
Is the despair of the slave in your dollar mine.
Iíve been a sailor, a tailor, a night watch man,
A gas jockey, tech junkie, and in a blues swinginí rock Ďn roll band.
I punched some cows, farmed some land, irrigated some fields,
Grew potatoes, pot and corn, with just enough of a yield
To get us through the winter.
I was a mason, a freemason, and fidelitos,
A lover, a singer, and finder of the lost,
I healed in secret, but now you know,
Iíve held high converse with the Indigo children,
And we are on the go,
But one place we will never go
Is to slave in your dollar mine.
You play your money
For a few dollars more,
Your mind is keen,
Your soul is rotten to the core.
If one could but find some humanity,
In the greed and destruction
Of your daily life,
Weíd heal your sickness
And end our strife.
But you believe in your corruption,
As if it were a gift from Heaven,
As if you were kings and princes,
And your instituted power the leaven,
That makes the bread of sorrow
You force us all to eat.
The corridor of sameness,
The road of capitulated defeat.
Teach children how to lie,
How to beat their fellows,
How to ignore the painful cry
Of the children who are abandoned
In the dusty schoolyard stye,
To be raised by pigs that will never learn to fly.
And in all the walks, the work, and the play,
There are those who will still refuse to pay,
The fees of tyrants, and the tax of the line,
Who will not slave in your dollar mine.