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© 1996-2007 khanada rhodes

i closed the door of my hotel room behind me, 
it was like closing a chapter in the book of life. 
outside thirty floors below i could hear 
the police using their sirens like wolf whistles 
to pick up young girls. 
on tv oliver north (his fifteen minutes of fame 
ticking steadily away) was being fuzzy about 
crucial events which had happened a year earlier 
what a flake...but then who isn't? 
that was reagan's defense at least. 
the worst thing is how politics begin to 
lead into your life. 
back in our innocence we used to simply stick 
two fingers up to politics, say "fuck the queen", 
that was about all you had to say anyway 
and go back to the more important business 
of making music. 
so why was i sitting there feeling angry about 
covert operations and illegal aid to the contras? 
i mean i'm not even american (maybe we all 
are a little bit). then i realised it was just the thought 
that in this particular democracy and probably 
every other one in the world, there is somebody 
in power who thinks he is more right 
than all the people who put him there, 
all the people who for once in their lives 
took an interest. 
outside 
the wind was howling the "who who's" 
from sympathy for the devil round and round 
the concrete hotel walls and corners. 
that was then, this is...!