Someone told a story about a man who'd lived 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 kill him in his sleep and stay to satisfy their greed

I thought of who it is whose 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 killed 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