Of Piercings and Protest Songs
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What started innocently enough as a band of Boulder High punks using the Nov. 12 school talent show to make a political statement has sparked a national free-speech debate and led to an unexpected civics lesson complete with red-faced school officials and humorless federal agents.
Sure, they may not be Rage Against the Machine, but for one glorious fleeting moment the punks at Boulder, Colo., ruled the high-school auditorium.
It all began last week when the impromptu band of students and one teacher was rehearsing Bob Dylan's Vietnam-era protest song "Masters of War," a bitter indictment of those that deal in death. An unidentified female student claimed that the musicians – who she said were calling themselves the Tali-banned – had modified the lyrics to say, "George Bush, I hope that you die/And your death will come soon," all set to a provocative slide show with images of war and President Bush.
| Masters of War, by Bob Dylan Come you masters of war You that build all the guns You that build the death planes You that build the big bombs You that hide behind walls You that hide behind desks I just want you to know I can see through your masks You that never done nothin' But build to destroy You play with my world Like it's your little toy You put a gun in my hand And you hide from my eyes And you turn and run farther When the fast bullets fly Like Judas of old You lie and deceive A world war can be won You want me to believe But I see through your eyes And I see through your brain Like I see through the water That runs down my drain You fasten the triggers For the others to fire Then you set back and watch When the death count gets higher You hide in your mansion As young people's blood Flows out of their bodies And is buried in the mud You've thrown the worst fear That can ever be hurled Fear to bring children Into the world For threatening my baby Unborn and unnamed You ain't worth the blood That runs in your veins How much do I know To talk out of turn You might say that I'm young You might say I'm unlearned But there's one thing I know Though I'm younger than you Even Jesus would never Forgive what you do Let me ask you one question Is your money that good Will it buy you forgiveness Do you think that it could I think you will find When your death takes its toll All the money you made Will never buy back your soul And I hope that you die And your death'll come soon I will follow your casket In the pale afternoon And I'll watch while you're lowered Down to your deathbed And I'll stand o'er your grave 'Til I'm sure that you're dead |
Greg Cahill resides in Sonoma County, California. He is the editor of Strings magazine and the former editor of the Sonoma County Independent/North Bay Bohemian.
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