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Poem of the Week
Tears of Rage
We carried you in our arms
On independence day,
And now you throw us all aside
And put us on our way.
Oh, what dear daughter, beneath the sun,
Could treat a father so,
To wait upon him hand and foot,
And always tell him no.
Tears of rage,
Tears of grief,
Why am I always the one
Who must
Be the thief?
Come to me now,
You know
We're so alone:
And life is brief.
It was all so very painless
When you went out to receive
All that false instruction,
Which we never could believe.
And now the heart is filled with gold,
As if it were a purse,
But, oh, what kind of love is this,
That goes from bad to worse.
Tears of rage,
Tears of grief,
Why am I always the one
Who must
Be the thief?
Come to me now,
You know
We're so alone:
And life is brief.
We pointed out the way to go
And scratched your name in sand,
Though you just thought that it was nothing more
Than a place for you to stand.
And I want you to know that while we waited
For you to discover that no one could be true,
That I, myself, was among the ones
Who thought it was just a childish thing to do.
Tears of rage,
Tears of grief,
Why am I always the one
Who must
Be the thief?
Come to me now,
You know
We're so alone:
And life is brief.
Bob Dylan & Richard Manuel
Posted at August 17, 2005 11:45 PM