Why’s it feel like the answers Slip right through our hands… We work, we pray, we stand in line, Just tryin’ to understand… Why is it the ones who wore the boots, Saluted that red, white, blue, Came home with scars and memories And bills they can’t push through? Why do the hands that fought for us Sit waitin’ in worn-out chairs, While money flies on midnight planes To places that ain’t theirs? I ain’t pointin’ fingers, I ain’t drawin’ lines in sand… I’m just a common voice Tryin’ to understand… These are simple questions, But the answers never come, We keep hearin’ speeches While the work stays undone. Why are our elders waitin’ On medicine made here at home, While prices climb like a freight train Leavin’ their savings gone? Left side, right side, Promises fall like rain— But who’s gonna stand up And balance these scales again? Why do we educate the world When our kids can’t read the signs? Why’s a veteran sleepin’ cold While a stranger’s doin’ fine? Why do we show our ID To board a plane or buy a drink, But when we step into that booth Sometimes we don’t, I think? Why’s insider tradin’ wrong For a man on Main Street’s side, But somehow up on Capitol Hill It’s just another ride? I’m not shoutin’ anger, I’m not callin’ names… I just want some daylight On these cloudy games… These are simple questions, That echo down these halls, Why do lifelong leaders Build their own high walls? Why do folks who paid in Watch their benefits thin, While others draw the check Never put a dollar in? Left side, right side, Ain’t this bigger than a brand? When will ordinary people Finally take a stand? How much longer do we wait For common sense to speak? For men and women in those seats To remember who they keep? Our elderly are fading In apartments worn and gray… While we debate and hesitate, And let time slip away… These are simple questions, From a working man like me, Ain’t about the parties— It’s about dignity. It’s about the mothers, The fathers who paved the way, The soldiers and the workers Who built this land we say we love each day. Left side, right side, Maybe truth’s somewhere between— When will we start protectin’ The ones who kept us free? Simple questions… No simple reply… Just a baritone prayin’ Under an open sky… (Steel guitar fades out on a long, mournful note)
