Throwing Stones

Picture a bright blue ball just spinning, spinning free
Dizzy with eternity.
Paint it with a skin of sky, brush in some clouds and sea
Call it home for you and me.

A peaceful place or so it looks from space
A closer look reveals the human race.
Full of hope, full of grace, is the human face.
But afraid, we may lay our home to waste.

There’s a fear down here we can’t forget. Hasn’t got a name just yet.
Always awake, always around. Singin’ ashes, ashes all fall down.

Now watch as the ball revolves and the nighttime calls
And again the hunt begins and again the bloodwind calls.
By and by again, the morning sun will rise.
But the darkness never goes from some mens eyes.

It strolls the sidewalks and it rolls the streets
Stalking turf, dividing up meat.
Nightmare spook, piece of heat, you and me, you and me.

Click, flashblade in ghetto night. Rudies looking for a fight.
Rat cat alley roll them bones. Need that cash to feed that jones
And the politicians throwing stones
Singing ashes, ashes all fall down.

Commissars and pin-striped bosses role the dice
Any way they fall guess who gets to pay the price.
Money green or proletarian gray, selling guns instead of food today.

So the kids they dance, and shake their bones
While the politicians throwing stones
Singing ashes, ashes all fall down.

Heartless powers try to tell us what to think.
If the spirits sleeping, then the flesh is ink.
History’s page, will be neatly carved in stone.
The futures here, we are it, we are on our own.

If the game is lost then were all the same
No one left to place or take the blame.
We will leave this place an empty stone
Or this shinning ball of blue we can call our home

So the kids they dance, and shake their bones
While the politicians throwing stones
Singing ashes, ashes all fall down.

Shipping powders back and forth
Singing black goes south while white comes north
And the whole world full of petty wars
Singing I got mine and you got yours.
And the current fashions set the pace.
Lose your step, fall out of grace.
And the radical he rant and rage, singing someone got to turn the page
And the rich man in his summer home,
Singing just leave well enough alone
When his pants are down, his covers blown
And the politicians throwing stones.

So the kids they dance n shake their bones
Cause its all too clear were on our own, singin’ ashes, ashes all fall down.

Picture a bright blue ball just spinning, spinning free
Its dizzying, the possibilities. Ashes, ashes all fall down………….

~John Perry Barlow 1982

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