Sweet Child They Call Democracy Poem by Colin Coplin

See them grow, see them play
and though they've come a long way
they still kill people, don't they

I saw your face, nestled in the shoulder of the mountains
You're blonde hair laid, like a blanket of freshly fallen snow
Turned a shade to yellow by the sun's glow
And eyes that sparkled like two lakes, so proud they held me so
But you were just a dream I had, not so very long ago
I just thought I'd write to let you know
I wrote a song...your song
A song for you not yet born
Sweet child we'll call Democracy

Money
I want money
All the money in the world
I want money

I use to dream when I was small of walking on the moon
And even though I was only small I knew it would be done soon

Power
I want power
All the power in the world
Eternal power

Walking to town in the cool spring light, it's a Monday
From the walkway the whole land rises to catch your eye
Creative suicidal fountains die to rise
Kaleidoscope lasers reaching out to infinity and cut it like a knife
Elegant apartments set in multi-storied parks
World brotherhood and love
Standing here on the ledge of eternity
Pride trickles from a tear above the eye

All living room walls are video screens pick a scene to suit your mood
electromagnetically treated illnesses, cancer is now cured
civilization spreads out like a spiders web inside an expanding universe
and life is peace and peace is birth and birth is more...so much more
for we are the word and the word is life and life is truth inside our expanding
universe

Opening my eyes I see what must be and cry a little but then that's just me
For the truth is ringing out so loud and so clear
Yes the future is crumbling all that's now here

Ways and gods slowly crumble away like dinosaurs who have out lived their stay
Left for some future archaeologist to ponder on what we had here
And why the future so quickly swept clean all we held so dear

See them grow, see them play
and though they've come a long way
they still kill people, don't they
Sweet child they call democracy

Copyright Colin Coplin 1977 /2010