Someone told a story
About a man who'd live through Hell
And stumbled, orphaned, to his home
To find the servants living well
And how they welcomed him like family
As they plotted out some deed
To k** him in his sleep and stay
To satisfy their greed
I thought of who it is who's story gets remembered in the end
And through how many careful tellings does one practice their defense
Some nuances the narrator selectively omits
A once collective memory is destined to forget
Yeah we make decisions that account for the worlds that we live in
We make explanations that amount to the ones we envision
It isn't just the horror of the way he k**ed those kids
But the way the tale was told explained away the deed he did
You know that everybody needs a place to live
You show your willfulness to ignorance with the council that you give
The testimonial performances belie the lies you've lived
Another actor on the podium feels slighted by the ways
And abstractions been amended on some broken, bygone days
Yeah but these politics have victims, they get stuck there in the space
Between the weight of great ideals and the narratives they shape
It wasn't you there with the handgun, but your fax machine and pen
Your personal computer, and your business acumen
Appeal to a notion that we all deserve what we can reach for
That what sits in your sight is a God-given right
Yes in spite of the slights you can't speak for
Sees fairness as a function of the rules that you can't bend
Takes action over nothing but the naked will to win