Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.
In the jingle jangle morning I’ll come following you.
Republicans have a Tambourine Man. His name is Limbaugh. He’s a psychopath, but that doesn’t bother Republicans, they admire psychopaths. Democrats have a Tambourine Man. His name is Obama. He panders to psychopaths every chance he gets, but that doesn’t bother Democrats, pandering to psychopaths is what they do. They call it Centrism.
I remember Election Night 2008, I remember the hope so many progressives had that evening, but that evening’s empire of hope has turned into sand, vanished from our hands, left us blindly here to stand but still not sleeping. Who can sleep? Who can sleep when war crimes won’t be prosecuted, when Gitmo won’t be closed, when there’ll be no withdrawal from Iraq, when the war in Afghanistan will go on and on and on, when we’re all on a one way trip on Wall Street’s magic swirling ship, when our senses have all been stripped, when our hands can’t feel to grip, when our feet are too numb to step, when there’s nothing left to do but watch the boot heels of Karma grind what’s left of this country into dust.
My weariness amazes me, I’m branded on my feet. I have no one to meet, and this ancient empty street’s too dead for dreaming . . .
Independence Hall is just a relic from America’s forgotten past. Democracy is gone, it’s vanished into the foggy ruins of time.