What’s in a year anyway?
a revolution to some better day?
A year by any other name would smell as sweet
as any minute on this NewYear street.
Earth zips ’round the sun one more time;
every minute some fool commits a crime.
This planet never gets to the center of things;
it’s all bound up in orbital strings.
Mother earth spins, burning
as Father sky is yearning.
Buds come, flowers grow,
blooms die, seeds go
to the ground: 0
World goes round.
What else is new?
And what will we do
when east meets west
and worst trumps best?
So what’s in a year anyway?
A week, a month, a moment, a day?
A year by any other name would smell as sweet
as any minute on this NewYear street.
Alas! What light from yonder window breaks?
It is the east; the world awaits.
Another year, another fear!
An older man sheds a younger tear.
Cry, thou beloved world!
Fly, here’s another year unfurled;
mayhem runs rampant in the streets:
while terror o’ertakes, reason retreats!
Is there any hope for all this mess?
Could be, would be my guess.
But we might as well,
you know–what the hell–
try and catch the wind,
lest the best gets crucified again.
Rise, rise above it all!
