Michael Levy




Too much comfort—means not outraged enough

That wasn’t a problem—in the Niger Delta

An Exxon Valdez—spilled every year

Yet not enough fuel for those—living in the poisoned land

Thousands marched—without a gun or a bomb among them

Flowed onto the platforms—like liquid life

In the end Shell pulled out—out of Ogoni land

Though tanks and warships—beat the people down

In the end the land heals—around those left standing

On the burgeoning road—to Blockadia.

And they sing:


Chorus: Love will save this place


“Look at the treaties,” said Grandmother’s voice

In a mysterious dream—deep in the American night

“But who will stand with us?” Spotted Eagle wondered

As a snake of black tar took shape in the corporate mind

The elders gathered—with some invited guests

A few nervous ranchers—in their ceremonial hats

Dusty boots and moccasins rode together into Washington

They raised a line of tipis—on the National Mall

Disaster divides—or heals and unifies, it seems

In the light on the injured hills—of Blockadia

And somebody says:


Chorus: Love will save this place


They’re taking all of the above—to get to all of the below

Some of us don’t see it—till it runs over our toes

From liquidated forests—to eviscerated hills

Oil bomb trains—leaky fracking wells

One day we refuse—one day our love says “no”

That’s what profit can’t get—can’t understand how it goes

I may never see your face—in Skouries or Romania

But we’re all shoulder to shoulder—in the heart of Blockadia

Wherever people say:


Chorus: Love will save this place

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