Turmoil

Sophia: And these white breast are withered you say But their whiteness still is rich enough for milk To nurse you back to common sense and pity For you are so hardened by the custom of today. Leroy: I am sorry that I called you old, it meant nothing Except to say we must advance with time And then against it, or we too will cough and die Like father did, bleeding his lungs out in the mines. What shall become of us if I continue where he end? Sophia: He died because he had to die, we all die and still We never chose how to die, for that would be a love of death So death comes and we suffer in the lingering It was not the mines, son, it was the time for him Leroy The time for him! Was his life, my life, our life All life a joke, a caprice thrown out among the stars My God I cannot accept this, a man must have some worth And if not in our stars then in our labor ... we build A world from these hands alone, and still do not belong O mother, I shall march, we will march ... let the glory Come tomorrow ... the tea party is for today! Sophia And what shall become of me, your children, your wife? Do you think men are different because of philosphy Because we label them? Tenement Square, Iran Men are ever men, the look of conflict is the smell of blood And will Authority retreat because your cause is good? Dogs are not trained to sleep, and fire houses Not for distant wars, tyranny is the power to do O that my withered breast could sleep and nothing rue Leroy It is not your breast, mother, it is the time Only from the streets will the leaders listen.