AT WOUNDED KNEE

A South Dakota land owner wants to sell to the Sioux Indians land that he bought in 1968.  The transaction feel the Indians is morally questionable because the price is based on the historical value of the site to them, not other uses.  The land is part of the site of the “Wounded Knee Massacre,” the last of the American Indian Wars.  Arguably, the Sioux are being asked to buy back land stolen from them. 

 AT WOUNDED KNEE
(Based on the cowboy folk song, “Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie.”)

Don’t bury the lies at “Wounded Knee.”
That truthful ground offers history
Not of dreams divine or of destiny
But of genocide and duplicity
Of a land pristine where the brave roamed free

What have we now to see?
What have we now to see?

Lyric © 2013 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

WHAT WE NEED IS GORT

The industrial machinery of man may in time destroy our tiny oasis of light in the black desert of space.  We may commit planetary suicide even before climate warming’s impact has a chance to do the job.  The nuclear trigger is now held by unstable hands in North Korea, and another radical regime, Iran, seeks its prestige and power.  Even peaceful use of the atom has proved uncontrollable (see earlier posts “Unforeseen” and “Scream Fukushima Scream.”  Yet, war, more than ever poses the greatest threat of the nuclear genie escaping the silos.  Cormac McCarthy’s novel, “The Road,” presages the bleak landscape of a post-apocalyptic world. How can we stop the madness?

 Gort is a robot character from the classic 1951 science fiction movie “The Day the Earth Stood Still.”  An alien Klaatu visits earth with Gort to warn that our warring ways is causing concern among the advanced inhabitants of the universe.  Earth is told to cease its aggressive behavior or face destruction at the hands of Gort, one of a super-powerful, indestructible, interplanetary robot police-force, pre-programmed to destroy any aggressor in the universe.

WHAT WE NEED IS GORT
(To the tune of “All You Need is Love,” by Paul McCartney and John Lennon, released by the Beatles in their 1967 album “Yellow Submarine”)

 (No more war)
(No more war)
(No more war)

How many nuclear missiles can you build?
And how many million people can be killed?
Meanwhile how many hungry children are crying for a meal?
Let’s all get real

How many Fukushima’s will we stand?
And how many 9/11s yet are planned?
And how many homeless people need a bed in which to curl?
A wiser world

What we need is Gort!
What we need is Gort!
Klaatu call him to report
Gort is what we need

How many foolish issues lead to wars?
And how many foolish people settle scores?
How many weary people here would love to get along?
Join in our song

What we need is Gort!
What we need is Gort!
Klaatu call him to report
Gort is what we need

What we need is Gort!  (He’d insist on law)
What we need is Gort!  (He’d allow no war)
Klaatu call him to report
Gort we’d have to heed

(No more war)
(No more war)
(No more war)

Lyric © 2013 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

WE’LL TAKE YOUR CASH

The brightest economic minds in Europe have apparently decided that what the Euro-zone needs is a run on its banks.  They’ve proposed stealing funds from Cypriot bank depositors to help bail out the banks.   New Zealand seems to want to join in the thievery. Will Spain and Italy follow suit?  After all,  government  stealing is not theft, but a levy.  

WE’LL TAKE YOUR CASH
(To tune of, “I’ll Take Romance,” by Ben Oakland and Oscar Hammerstein II)

We’ll take your cash
While it’s in your bank and easy to grab
To pay off our big tab
We’ll take your cash

We’ll take your dough
Though we’d sworn it safe as locked in a vault
Watch how we somersault
We’ll take your dough

So the Euro is in double, trouble
Found its way into Cyprus
Spending rubble,
Piles in Cyprus, where people
Don’t like us.
We’ll,

Take your hard-cash
No more college fund,  you’re left all a-gasp
Savings within our grasp
We’ll take your cash

Lyric © 2013 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

NOSEY MISTER CHIP

Many worry about the Patriot Act, but even more pernicious as an invader of privacy are the massive data bases that large commercial enterprises are building.  These files contain detail information about our lives gleaned from data-chips in our cars, cell phones and on our computers.  Soon they may be put in the labels on our clothing, if not already hidden there.  The gender of Mr. Chip is not meant to make a statement of any kind.  I simply liked how ” Nosey Mister Chip” sounded with the melody better than the gender neutral alternative, “Nosey Little Chip.”

NOSEY MISTER CHIP
(To tune of, “I’m Mister Blue,” by DeWayne Blackwell, 1959 chart-topping hit of singing group The Fleetwoods)

Intro:
New technology has reached a stage
Big Brother would approve
Huge data bases are now all the rage
Tracking our every move
Forgive me if you hear doubt
Slip from my worried lips
As capitalists now all contend
Our friends are data chips

Verses:
My Mister Chip
Embedded in each website
Noting my every link
My likes and how I think
Reducing me to a blip
Nosey Mister Chip

Sly Mister Chip
Your in the car I’m driving
My hidden traveler
A data gatherer
Along on my every trip
Nosey Mister Chip

Bridge:
If I stay a home one night
You might tell a satellite
And my TV, a screen of
Watching eyes
(Nosey People)

Verse:
Why, Mr. Chip?
Must you know my life?
The joy and pain: what for?
Surely to sell me more
Print out another sales-slip
Nosey Mister Chip

Lyric © 2013 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

CHAVEZ IS GONE NOW

CHAVEZ’ GONE NOW
(To tune of, “My Man’s Gone Now by George Gershwin, Ira Gershwin and Dubose Heyward, from American Folk Opera, “Porgy and Bess.”)

Chavez’ gone now
No sense in one listening
For his bristling tirades
‘Gainst us devil Yanks.

Chavez’ gone now
Populists feign grieving
Middle-class folks leaving
Praise the lord in thanks.

He destroyed a country
Once so rich and vibrant
An economic tyrant
Those who could, all fled

He destroyed a culture
Once so proud and hopeful
Now another dope will
Read the lines he’d read

Chavez’ gone now
The narcissistic ravings
Expats who’ve lost savings
Do not mourn him dead

Lyric © 2013 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved.