From cross the river's where I see
What life's stuggles mean to thee
I pray your sands one day set free
But it's truly naught to do with me
From cross the river's where I spy,
The endless squabbles 'neath yer sky,
I pray the day you'll get along,
But it's naught to do with my ol' song.
You argue 'bout this, you argue 'that,
Like cats and dogs in spites of spat,
I'd jump all in, but alas sir, you see,
The Middle East ain't much for me.
For where each toe in conflict dips,
A hundred hands tear out bitter rips,
So here I sit cross the river’s brink,
Pondering who's your next to drink.
I wish you peace, I truly do,
But fixing you ain't worth my stew,
From cross the river, I'll watch the spin,
This specter's your's. Not Wading In.
-Hermit King-
