dr dogI’m trying my best to be the biggest Dr. Dog fan in the world.

Recently, I heard a song that I had missed for years: a song on an old, obscure EP that my favorite band put out years ago. After some classic Dr. Dog melodies, Toby Lehman recites a poem that I’ve absolutely fallen in love with. 

Are we so in love with yesterday that we’ve forgotten today?

_____________________________

One hundred years from now when our grandkids have all had sex,
will they look back to the past and know what they’ve missed?
Will they think we had it better than the way they have it then?
Will they gaze at a strip mall where a field had once been?
Will they think they’re born late like the way we now do it?
Or will they curse at the present and lend credence to it?
Will they hear all the old songs and think they’re all true
and hate all their own songs and everything new?
Well I’m here to tell you something that’s known,
from someone who’s lived it from someone who’s grown,
the somebody who somebody once loaned a home to.
The grass is always greener, the past is always cleaner,
the present is crap and everyone’s meaner.
They say we’re moving towards something
but I think we’re moving from something.
There are some folks who are more apathetic
and then there are some folks who are more money grubbin’.
Well, I know there’s always been greed and green acres,
and war and peace makers.
And then there’s your takers and your leavers,
your havers and your needers.
And in this great froth as we skim through the batter,
there’s now many more of the former and less of the latter.
Help us climb out of this pitfall disaster
led by dynasties, charlatans, but not poetasters.
Where there is a mortal disconnect spawned by gluttonous connection,
where you pick your own culture without viewer discretion.
Where there is no more history and nothing is learned.
Where you shun all your kin and all your bridges are burned.
Where you are what you buy and you’re who what you own;
and you think of yourself and you live all alone.
You make yourself feel fine when everything’s wrong.
The world keeps turning but you’re brittle as bone.
So to all you future dreamers and lovers and leavers,
to all those who know there’s still something between us that binds us
and reminds us of times that passed,
I appreciate you listening to this one man’s last gas.
In spite of all the words that we can’t fit to song,
I’d thank you to take off your eye shades, please… sing along.

________________________

May we sing along.

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