Call Center Sonata

I hear the silent tears of the ghetto

The disparity of class and race

Loss of job

Loss of money

Loss of home

Loss of property

Loss of life

Loss of freedom

The parts that make the whole mirage of the ghetto

All I can do is just listen to the ongoing war

All’s quiet on the white privileged front

I’ll never know the horrors of their front line

I don’t exist there

Your white American Jesus doesn’t exist there

Your white 80 year old presidents don’t exist there

Just fear

Of leaving in the back of a pig’s car

Or the meat wagon