Poetry: 61712

I rode to The Place
to the Mountain
to the Hook in the River


But I stopped at
the Base
I did not go up
to the Plateau


The road was
too Steep
to Climb


I got back
on my bike
Turned around
and Rode Away

Moving On

It's such a simple thing.  Yet, at the same time, it's quite spectacular.  At least it is for me.  It happens at virtually the same time every year (given a margin of error for weather conditions); the fireflies return to my backyard and put on a dazzling display of nature's "pyrotechnics".  In late Spring, just before the summer swelter invades the land, I see them.  First, it's just a few advanced scouts: flash, flash, flash.  Then, a few days after, if the weather is warm enough, you see them by the thousands: flash, flash, flash, flash, flash, saying, Here I am.  Here I am.  Here I am.  It's like a fireworks display without the noise.  My understanding is that each insect has a particular pattern of flashing that identifies him specifically.  And his flash pattern either does, or doesn't,  attract females.  I can see them clearly from the window of my office where I am typing this entry,  They are all up and down the huge pine trees that line the base of the Palisades that make up Hi-Tor Mountain State Park and my backyard.  Just as surely as I look for the return of the swallows to the River as a harbinger for the return of spring, I look to the fireflies in anticipation of the summer's return.  It will be just of the things I will miss about living in a very special place.

There is no doubt that I've been very fortunate to live here for the last 6 years.  It is indeed special.  If it is not for the graceful 1930's Center Hall Colonial house, then it must be for the spectacular property on which it lies.  Nestled at the base of the magnificent Palisades, it sits high above the Hudson River, providing views that would make a Hudson River School painter beg for access to it.  But it's not completely idyllic!  We deal with Rte. 9W two blocks away and the trusty CSX freight trains that scream by at all hours of the day and night.  And those distractions can only be matched by the inhabitants of the local mental institution (for lack of a better word at the moment) located on the corner, shouting expletives early on a Sunday morning.  But I have also watched the hawks circle the cliffs, high overhead, and heard their screech.  I have seen a vixen and her  kits frolic in my neighbor's yard.  There have been buzzards and wild turkeys that have come to visit.  I have seen the mist shroud the mighty Palisades in a foggy, surreal haze.  I have witnessed many, breathtaking sunrises over my beloved Hudson.  I have seen it set in red and purple glory beyond the cliffs.  And we shared that magnificence with many loving friends who have graced us with their company these last few years.  All of these things became the sound track of our lives.  And I will miss them.

The woman whom we purchased the house from was a "fanatical" gardener and she left us with her legacy.  In the Spring, the lilacs she planted would bloom to fill the air, outside AND in, with their delightful aroma.  After the lilacs came the peonies.  After the peonies came the roses - all providing a distinct and pleasant fragrance to enrich our lives.  In the Summer my garden would bloom (when those bastards, the rabbits and groundhogs, didn't eat the whole damned thing) to provide us with a fresh bounty of tomatoes, basil, and more for our table.  I loved working in the garden.  I swear that all I needed was a DiNobile cigar sticking out of my mouth to look like the old Italian patriarch  that I was surely becoming!

In the winter, the snow would cover the huge pine trees and the sheer cliff that line our back yard in a blanket of pure white.  It would be fair to say that it looked like a Courier and Ives postcard.  Of course, trying to negotiate our steep and long driveway was NEVER a pleasure in the deep snow!  And shoveling was a bitch!  But that was a small price to pay to for the rest of the overall beauty of the place.  In our living room we have a large fireplace where we had countless fires, on too many Sundays to count. .  We cut and split most of our own wood to keep the fires burning.  And I made more pasta then Barilla!  Food, friends, fire, and football was our mantra.  We laughed a lot and cried some too.  Life was full here.  And I will miss it.

But as our marriage decayed and descended in madness and heartbreak, and I knew that I would have to leave this wonderful place, it became more and more apparent to me that these things are really just ephemeral.  They live in the moment.  They only act as triggers for what truly lies within your heart.  They are just a few of the many things that can fill you with emotion.  And the most important of these is love.  Without love these wonderful things are just, well, things.  They have no more meaning than staring at a cardboard box!  It's the connection with the love inside you that makes them special.  Without love they are just visuals.  It's the ability to see that love and LIVE with that love, not only with others, but within YOURSELF that gives them special meaning.  And NO ONE will ever be able to take that from me.

I suppose that I enjoy the fireflies so much because they are very much a symbol for my life here.  Like them, I have had my time to burn brightly - but only for awhile.  Then I, like them, must move on -  at least until the next time when we get to shine our light once again.  Flash-Flash-Flash!

So, it's with ambivalence that I leave my home for new adventures and new challenges.  I hate leaving the things that I just wrote about but I'm exciting to begin anew - to have a fresh start and make new memories, in a different, and, I hope, equally special place.  But, remember, my friends, the most special place lies within!

Poetry: WHEN

When you have nothing left to give
Give a little more

When you have no love left to share
Love a little more

When you have no tears left to shed
Cry a little more

When you have no words left to say
Write a little more

When you have no emotions left to feel
Empathize a little more

When you have no one left to trust
Share a little more

When there is no hope left to have
Believe a little more

Social Commentary: The Age for Breast Feeding

You must have seen the cover image from Time Magazine by now.  It's ubiquitous.  26 year-old mom, Jamie Lynne Grumet, dressed appropriately in "new age" spandex, stands tall, blond, and shapely.  She looks defiantly into the camera lens while her 3 year-old son, Aram (3), looking slightly confused and standing on a chair, feeds at her breast.

Now, when it comes to matters of choice, I'm pretty much a "freedom across the board" kinda' guy.  When it involves personal decisions, like whether to breast feed or not, the choice is YOURS and no one else's.  So, I have absolutely no issue with women breastfeeding in public. Personally, I see nothing sexual or "dirty" about it.  In fact, I find it to be beautiful.  Certainly, though, some places and times are more appropriate for doing it then others. But, to me, it's a natural thing that should be seen as such.  Women have been it doing since, well, women have been having children.  However, I DO have an issue when the child is old enough to walk up to his mother, unbutton her shirt, pull out a boob, and start suckling!  This is something that this photo certainly suggests.  The boy is of the age to walk and stand on his own.  He looks knowingly into the camera, so he is aware of what he is doing.  And, he is obviously old enough to have teeth.  Therefore, IMHO, he is old enough to be WEENED!!

I personally experienced a breastfeeding situation similar to what is captured in the Time photograph.  My wife and I were on a flight to Europe a few years ago.  There was a young couple in the back of the plane who had their young son with them.  I guess that he must have been 5 or 6 years old.  His mom was reclining in her seat when the boy snuggled up next to her and began unbuttoning her shirt.  She did not object or stop him.  Eventually he removed her breast and began to feed.  I have to say that I must admit that I was shocked by this behavior.  And quite frankly, so was my wife, who breast fed all three of her children!  As I said, breastfeeding is a completely natural behavior that is not only physically important for the child's growth and well-being, but re-enforces the maternal bond between mother and child.  However, like most good things, there is a limit.  I would think, and most women that I have spoken to tend to agree, there IS a limit.  And most women seem to feel that the point to stop breastfeeding comes when the child can walk on his own, can unbutton your shirt on his own, and has a good set of chompers to eat solid food on his own!!

It is reasonable to ask in these situations, why, when most mothers would have long before stopped nursing a child of that age, is she still doing it?  Is that mother really doing it for the child's well-being or her own?  I know that, because of the bonding that occurs during the process, it can be very relaxing for the mother as well as for the baby.  Hormones are released in the breast milk that ensure this. But notice that I wrote mother and baby - even infant would be acceptable.  In this case, we are talking about a young child.  And there is a difference.  I'm no psychologist (thank god!) but I would think that good mothers know, in a effort to create an independent child, there are certain key moments when to let go.  Weening is one of those times.  Mother's who have breast fed their children tell me that as pleasurable as it can be, there is also a cloying dependency that can prove irritable to the mother.  This is when MOST women feel enough is enough and ween their children.

In the case of Ms. Grumet, (and I must admit here that I did not read the corresponding article) I write only of the strong impression that the photo left me with.  And it seems to me that she may have a so-called hidden agenda.  Her posture, her glare, her body language all suggest a defiance as if she where saying, this is what I WANT to do.  I know some of you may feel it weird, but I don't care. He's my child and I'll raise him as I see fit.  Even the cover's caption is defiant: Are You Mom Enough? Admirable?  Perhaps.  But, I also see it as exploitative.  She is using her son to make a point.  And, ultimately, I don't care what that point is, children should be left out of it.  That's playing off their innocence and that's just plain wrong.  At some point, as a young man, he will be left to deal with that photograph - and he had absolutely no say in how, or why, it was created (and the poor kid was probably just hungry!! LOL).  Having been a young man once, I know how things like that can come back to haunt you.  How many of us have been embarrassed by those bare assed baby pictures our mothers are so found of showing to strangers?!  And this, I would dare say, is a little bit more intimate than a child's naked butt being shown on a bear skin rug.

It reminds of a blog entry I wrote a few months back about a fashion editor who used a photo of her painting her son's toe nails with the caption that read, I'm glad my son likes pink.  I get it.  She's raising an open-minded, sexually neutral son.  But those are HER concepts being associated with him - forever - whether it eventually adheres to them or not.  And that, my friends, is exploitation.

Ultimately, I have to give Time Magazine credit, though.  It's a bold move and it's going to sell LOTS of magazines! It's a marketing coup.  And it has also stimulated a great deal of discussion about morals, culture, women and their children, and society in general.  Bravo.

For Stella

words and photo: F LoBuono

A psychologist recently mentioned to me that he was told by his daughter (who happens to live in Sicily with her Sicilian boyfriend) "when you marry a Sicilian man, you marry his mother as well".   I'm not sure that I agree with that entirely.  EVERY person, despite the strong influence of culture, is an individual.  Therefore, every case must be viewed individually.  However, like most cliches, there is always a modicum of truth in them.  The implication is that the mother in Sicilian culture plays a very important role in the lives of her children, especially the boys.  And, in some situations, because of certain naturally occurring circumstances in addition to that strong cultural influence, that bond can be very powerful.  I must admit that really does apply to me and my relationship with my mother in many ways.

I do indeed have a very strong, natural connection with my mother, the legendary (and to those of you who actually KNOW her, that term does apply) Stella LoBuono.  And I always have.  From an early age, I recall being teased by my relatives for being such a "mamma's boy".  In fact, Stella confirms that.  She has told me that, from very early on, I always sought out the comfort of her presence.  I could be found regularly clinging to one, or both, of her legs.  I loved and respected my father, Joe, enormously.  He was kind, gentle when he needed to be, and tough when it called for that.  He taught me so many things and he NEVER failed to express his love and devotion to me and my siblings.  We had a special bond, too.  However, the bond that I have with Stella is one that goes beyond words.  It is innate.  We don't even think about it.  We don't have to.

I have always called my mother by her first name, Stella.  Of course, there are times when only "mom" will do, but, generally, I refer to her by her actual name.  It always did and still drives her crazy that I do. But it's just perfect for her.  Her full name is Stella Maris, or Star of the Sea, in Latin.  She IS Stella.   It means star, as she will gleefully share with you when she introduces herself.  She has a personality that just shines.  She is intense because she embraces life so fully - on a gut level, if you will.  She understands things by their very nature.  She can see through any bullshit to the essence of any situation. In fact, it's virtually impossible for me to lie to her.  Of course, as a young man, there would be instances that called for a little manipulation of the truth.  Well, Stella could see right through that.  She would say, Frankie, look at me and say that again.  Of course, once I did, it was over!!  The truth would just have to come out.  I believe that, to this day, I'm a shitty liar because of it!  Many moms seem to have this in their DNA.  Stella just happened to very good at it because she is so interested in what is real.  She always stressed the importance of honesty and integrity in EVERYTHING we did - from the smallest tasks to the most challenging ones.  Even proper phone manners were important.  There was a right way and a wrong way to answer or make a phone call.  Use proper grammar.  Let others know who you are and ask them who they are.  It was all part of living the right way every day and in every way.

But she was not transfixed with rules and procedures.  Oh, no.  Stella is far too emotional and passionate to be dominated by such things.  She is a thinking woman, certainly.  However, she often goes beyond mere thought to the realm of feeling.  She always says to trust your gut, your instincts.  In your heart, you know what is right.  You FEEL what is right.  Then, it's just a matter of implementing what is right.  In other words, we have instincts and, sometimes, we have to let go of logic and trust in them.  From this, she has given me a sense of morality that is open and, most importantly, HONEST.  From her and from my father, too, I strive to achieve a sense of fairness and acceptance.  It has taught me to always DO THE RIGHT THING by trusting in an inner sense of what IS truly right and wrong.  It has also fostered in me an attitude not to judge, lest I be judged.  I remember coming home from school one day and decided to share an anti-semitic joke that I had heard there.  Well, it went over like a lead balloon.  Not only was Stella not laughing, she was glaring.  She said that's not funny and she never wanted to hear anything like that again come out of my mouth.  Most importantly, I have never forgotten that.

Stella is passionate and, so, at times, quick to anger.  But she is even quicker to let you know how important you are and how much she loves you.  While tolerant in most ways, Stella does not suffer fools easily.  Therefore, she doesn't expect you to act like one!  And if you do, you will surely hear about it from her.  She has opinions that she is very willing, and able, to defend (does this sound like a certain blogger that we know?).  From this I have learned independence.  For as strong the bond Stella and I have on so many levels is, she also gave me a fierce sense to be my own person - to seek my own way and experience.  Of course, as a Sicilian mom who reveled in her motherhood, she wanted to see me "settled" with a traditional family.  However, she always allowed me to experience life (with occasional guidance from her!) on my own terms.  And she has NEVER meddled in it.  NEVER. (This is one way I disagree with the psychologist's statement!)

Stella is tough.  After all, she a Brooklyn raised, Sicilian woman.  I don't think that you can get much tougher than that!  In fact, she eats Tiger Moms for breakfast.  She, not my father, was the physical disciplinarian in our home.  He only got involved as a last measure.  Stella dolled out the daily discipline, and did it well.  She is not a large woman, about 5'2" but, shall we say, sturdy.  She could get into a Joe Frazier-like crouch and, just like Smokin' Joe,  dish out some heavy body blows!  When my brother and I got a little too big even for her, she would improvise by using anything effective, like a wiffle ball bat, to crack you one across your bottom.  Today, some would see that as "abuse".  We may have thought the same thing at the time, too!  However, in hind-sight, I see it for the lesson it was meant to be: I deserved everyone of those whacks across my ass.  From that, I have learned to take responsibility for my actions - and not to take shit from anyone.

Stella might be entitled to dish out the punishment but she'd be damned if someone else would ever raise a hand to me, my brother, or my sister.  If someone were to dare harm us, in any way, physically or emotionally, they would have to deal with her and that, my friends, would be a most unpleasant experience.  Stella has the ferocity of a whole pride of lionesses when it comes to defending her children. She would rip the offenders heart out faster then a Mayan High Priest!  There is nothing, no threat, even of torture, that could keep Stella from protecting her brood.

But there was NEVER a time when Stella reacted without compassion for the trials, tribulations, bumps and bruises we all encounter in our lives - physically, mentally, and emotionally.  Who better to turn to then a compassionate woman to soothe your pain.  Don't we all yearn for the day when you could just rest your head on your mom's breast and hear her say, everything will be alright.  And Stella, because of her great ability to nurture, was (and still IS, when necessary) the best at it!

She has a great sense of humor, too.  When people meet her for the first time and find out her name is Stella, the reaction from many is to break into their best Brando imitation and start bellowing, Stella!  My mother's reaction is always the same: with a straight face, she deadpans, gee, I've NEVER heard that before!

Most of all, Stella is loving.  Love is her real life's passion.  And she does it with vigor.  Nothing is more powerful or important to her then love - love for my father, love for her family, love for her life.  She acknowledges it as the greatest motivating force on the planet.  I'm 57 years-old and Stella never fails to end a phone conversation with I love you, Frankie.  I always say, do you have to say it that way?  And her reply is always, yes, I don't care how old you are, I'm your mother and I will always love you and say so.  She has taught me that love will ALWAYS conquer hate.  And that true love never dies - as hers has not in the nearly 25 years since my father's death.  Through her experience, I have learned to accept and embrace life on all it's levels.  This is the richness and fullness of life and to always appreciate it for the gift it truly is.

So, yes, I guess that I do bring a lot of Stella with me where ever I go.  And I don't see any need to apologize for that.

Happy Mother's Day to you Stella, to my wife Catherine, and all the mother's who have put up with all of us in the name of love.  LOVE to you all.

Social Commentary: The New Face of Occupy Wall St.

words and photo: F LoBuono

I've been covering the Occupy Wall Street (OWS) movement in NYC as a TV Journalist from its humble beginnings at Zuccotti Park in lower Manhattan to yesterday's massive demonstrations all over the City (I was stationed first at Union Square, and then on lower Broadway).  I have covered the movement at all hours of the day and night, for weeks at a time.  So, IMHO, I believe that I can present a valid interpretation (mine, of course!) of what might be observed there.  I have shared some of those impressions (some vehemently disagreeing with them) on this blog.

In the early days of OWS, I think that it would be fair to say that the so-called backbone of the movement was mostly disenfranchised young people.  It would also be accurate to say that there was a goodly amount of so-called fringe people, i.e. those living literally on the edges of society involved.  However, even from the very beginning, they were not the ONLY people involved with OWS.  No.  I met teachers, union workers, former policemen, students, mothers, and more who were there because they believed in the over-all message of leveling the playing field, i.e. the 99% vs. the 1%.  Unfortunately, those who knocked OWS could not see beyond the fact that many of these people simply looked and lived differently. And, so, they dismissed the message.

Yesterday's action coincided with the annual May Day celebration of workers around the world.  With that in mind, I can say that OWS improved greatly in one area where they really needed to: coordination and mutual cooperation.  Where, in the early days, OWS was rightly chided for its "loose" organizational structure and, therefore, weak cooperative skills, yesterday's demonstrations were accomplished to great success because of the involvement of Organized Labor.  Unions, and union workers, were well represented in the vast crowds.  To me, this added an air of legitimacy to this action that had been lacking in early demonstrations.  These were not whacked-out kids but, rather, working people who were concerned about their jobs and, therefore, their livelihoods.  There were less fringe activities like the ceaseless drumming and chanting that plagued earlier OWS events and more purposeful and determined ones.  The speeches and the marching was organized, by and large peaceful, AND effective.  They got noticed!!  And that, ultimately, is the point.

So, is this the face of the new Occupy Wall Street?  If it is, it is a new and improved model and can only be a growing force in the future.  POWER TO THE PEOPLE!

The Daily Dose of Zen, TalkFrank style!

words and photo: F LoBuono

Breathtaking beauty can be found virtually anywhere, and, everywhere.  One just needs to open ones heart to see it.

This photo was made while riding my bike along the Hudson River in Haverstraw, NY on a late April day.  What makes it interesting, at least to me, is that it looks as if it were taken in some remote, pristine location.  However, it is only about 35 miles north of America's largest city and is flanked by a power generating plant and a gypsum factory!  But THIS is what makes scenes like this so special.  It could have been EASILY missed if I had chosen to focus only on the plant and the factory.  Still, they are all part of the same landscape that makes up the incredible diversity of the Hudson River.  In the end, like all things, it depends on what you choose to see, and what you choose to remember.

Reflections on 57

When I first thought about it, turning 57 seemed like it would be one of those "insignificant" birthdays.  Let's face it, there are certain numbers that just carry way more gravitas than 57 - birthdays like when you turn 18, or 21, or 30, or 50, or even 60.  But 57?  Besides, I've never been much of a "numbers guy" anyway when it comes to age.  It all just seems so arbitrary.  It's just, well, a number.  You know the cliche': you're only as old as you feel.  It's true, too.  And I just have to say that I feel pretty young!  People say I look young, as well.  Must be those good Vitanza genes.  Tesse made it to 98 and Stella's still going strong at 88.  Making matters worse, it landed on a Thursday (i.e. a workday).    Besides, there's been a good deal of turmoil in my life lately.  You know, planets misaligned, dogs sleeping with cats, acid rain, toxic mud, poison arrows falling from the sky kind of stuff.  I felt like there wasn't going to be much of an opportunity (or desire) to celebrate.

Then, on top of it, the weather turned to shit - misty, rainy, gray, dank, damp, and dark.  So, Frankie was starting to feel like maybe this was going to be one of those blue birthdays.  Poor Frankie.  Alone on his birthday.  No one loves him.  Of course, I knew my family would be calling.  Stella would be on the phone first thing saying, Happy Birthday, Frankie!, with real joy in her heart and voice.  My brother and sister would call, as would some close friends.  But they're SUPPOSED to care.  I felt like something was missing.  A melancholia to match the dreary weather began to descend upon me.  And it lasted until I opened my Facebook home page and the messages began to arrive.  And they came all day and into the night - over 150 of them - from friends, school mates, team mates, acquaintances, co-workers, lovers and other strangers!!  None of them were terribly elaborate - just a simple "happy", "happy", letting me know that people, FRIENDS, were out there and that they cared.  They certainly cared enough to make the effort to let me know that they did, indeed, care.  I am grateful, I am humbled and I will never forget what it means.  It was like a fuel stop to fill up an empty soul.  I filled my tank with your love.  I have felt the love and, in my joy, I hope that it reflects back on each and every one of you, too.

In an interesting footnote, it also came to me that the #57 is, indeed, NOT insignificant, at least in MY life.  When finding out that I was turning 57 today, a friend at work said, oh, just like Heinz catsup! (The labeling on the Heinz Catsup bottle features the claim that 57 different ingredients were used to make it).   We chuckled when  I replied, hey, I hadn't thought of that!  Then it dawned on me: my father used to use that number in one of his corny, word-play jokes.  Whenever he saw a mixed-breed dog, i.e. a mutt, my father would joke, he's no mutt.  He's a special breed.  He's a "Heinzer Special".  Even though we were young, my brother, sister, and I weren't going to fall for that; there's no such breed as a "Heinzer Special, dad!"  My father would always be ready with his comeback, of course there is, just like this dog.  He has 57 other breeds of dog in him - a "Heinzer Special".  He would smile playfully while we all covered our eyes, shook our heads, and just moaned.

So, the number 57 triggered a VERY positive reaction after all  - my love has been returned 150 fold and it triggered a strong recollection of a man whom I loved very much.  Yes, my friends it was a GOOD BIRTHDAY!!!   

Social Commentary: Should You Care?

Photo courtesy TMZ

I really feel guilty about spending even what I hope will be only a few minutes on this subject.  In fact, I'm actually feeling a little nauseous about it!  But, in one of my roles, as I see them - as Social Commentator, I feel compelled to write at least something.  I suppose the best way to approach it would be to ask this question, and then go from there: Do you really give two shits that Kim Kardashian and Kanye West have been linked as a couple?  Do you give A shit?  Really?  Why?

I understand diversion and the very real human need for it.  Therefore, I understand the need for Hollywood, the image that it presents, and the corresponding gossip industry that surrounds it.  In fact, the Kardashians in general, and Kim in particular, have contributed to and, therefore, have been very well rewarded by, that very industry.  Kim is the latest it girl; famous for being famous and she has rode the whirlwind.  Kanye West on the other hand, is an award winning performer and music producer.  His work sells in the millions.  He is at least famous for something.

I have never met, or photographed, Kim Kardashian.  Therefore, I cannot attest to what she may be like personally.  However, I can say that I detest the blatant commercialism of everything associated with her.  Where others may applaud her apparent business acumen - she's laughing all the way to the bank - I believe that attitudes like hers, i.e. style over substance, add to the so-called decay in society everyone keeps bemoaning!  But I HAVE met Mr. West.  A few years back, when he was just reaching his fame and notoriety, a producer and I were to conduct and interview with him at the Mandarin Hotel in NYC. We met him in his opulent suite on the top floor of the luxury hotel and I set up to shoot the interview. West was surrounded by a considerable entourage that attended to his every need while I set up my camera and microphones.  The interview lasted about a half-hour.  After the interview with spent another half-hour or so following Mr. West around for me to shoot so-called "B-role" footage.  In other words, I was with him long enough to form an opinion about him as a person.  I've said it before on this blog, and I'll say it again on this blog, Kanye West was one of the most self-centered, arrogant, non-gracious people I have ever shot an interview with!  I can sum up his entire attitude with this one portion of the interview: when asked by the producer who is influences are, Mr. West responding by saying that he had none.  He was that truly unique.  Really?!

So, there you have it, a match made in Tabloid Heaven - a joining of two of the world's most massive egos!!  Just what we needed in this time of world crisis.

OK.  So, as promised, I'll spend no more times on this entry or its two, sorry subjects.  I'll close by saying that if YOU spend any more time on it . . . well, DON'T.  :)

A Poem: My Empire of Rage

Welcome to my Empire of RAGE

RAGE, RAGE, RAGE

RAGE against the dying of the Light
RAGE against the Machine

RAGE, RAGE, RAGE

RAGE against Hate
RAGE against Bigotry

RAGE, RAGE, RAGE

RAGE against Greed
RAGE against Poverty

RAGE, RAGE, RAGE

RAGE against Loneliness
RAGE against Love Lost

RAGE against Time
RAGE against Place
RAGE against Space

RAGE on, you crazy diamond
with RIGHTEOUS RAGE

Welcome to my Empire of RAGE