Wicked

An energetic and very darkly sarcastic ditty about the people we so often attack and so little understand. Not meant to be taken literally. Lyrics by me, music by AI, video by Carol. If I had a band, I would call it the Middle Aged Poets Militia (MAPM). If you like this song, please like, comment, and share. If you know musicians, it's open for use. Lyrics: Wicked What a lot of wicked people Dreaming wicked, wicked dreams Pitch a missile in their midst Hear their wicked, wicked screams There see the wicked widow keening For the fragments of her wicked man And a wicked son, a wicked daughter In silence holding wicked hands Nearby a wicked baby howling A wicked town in flickering ruin And the wicked all in mourning marching With palls to wicked tombs And wicked some will cry in snow With wicked grasping outstretched hands The wicked cannot cease from asking In flood or sun drenched burning sands Until at last in some dark street A wicked man will stab a good With a pen or with a fork Grasping for a voice or food These wicked, wicked people Through long years dispossessed Persist in causing trouble for The differently blessed For all the messages we send On beam of light, or guiding wire Goodness they do not acquire And so we bomb them once again An attribute of wickedness Is to persist in it And of the good to never cease In waging war in quest of peace