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I'd like to fight for human rights, but there's dishes to be done. There's wars to wage on bedtime and there's laundry to be run. I want to scream and protest. At the death, the blood, the loss, but the bus comes in a moment and we've lost another sock. I want to feed the hungry, I want to house the poor, I want to show our neighbors that they're worth fighting for. I slept only a few hours and my mind is drifting off. Food is too expensive and the baby has a cough. I knew a child without a country. A stranger in his land, no papers or permission, he had nail marks in his hands. Father, forgive them for they have no visa, there is no room in the inn, not with politicians busy with their more exciting sins. I'd like to march for freedom to stand where brave ones stood to shout against the tyrants who call their coolties good. But everyone needs dinner and the bills are overdue, so I raise my voice in whispers and I teach my kids the truth. I cannot light the barricades or storm the steps of power but I will raise up children who will see the final hour. I'd like to make a difference, to make them stop and think. I'd like to save our country but there's dishes in the sink.