The Atlanta Stage

The sun beat down on the Georgia clay As two old men came out to play On a stage in Atlanta, bright and stark To have their say and leave their mark One named Joe, with a voice gone thin One named Don, with a brash, loud chin The nation watched, holding its breath Talkin' 'bout life, and talkin' 'bout death And the storyteller sings a weary tune 'Neath the hazy, hot American noon For the names may change, but the tale's the same

A fight for power, a burning flame And the world keeps turning, come what may Just the same old song on a different day Meanwhile the court, in their solemn robes Sent down a judgment 'cross the globes Said the smoky air from a neighbor's fire Isn't yours to quench, for sale or for hire The gavel fell, a quiet sound While the heat rose up from the thirsty ground And the price of bread and a tank of gas Watched this whole grand, political pass

And the storyteller sings a weary tune 'Neath the hazy, hot American noon For the names may change, but the tale's the same A fight for power, a burning flame And the world keeps turning, come what may Just the same old song on a different day From the dusty plains to the screens' blue light We're always searchin' for the wrong and right But the river flows and the crops need rain And a worried heart feels a common pain The seasons turn, a truth so old

A story waiting to be told, and told, and told And the storyteller sings a weary tune 'Neath the hazy, hot American noon For the names may change, but the tale's the same A fight for power, a burning flame And the world keeps turning, come what may Just the same old song on a different day