Song of Why ...

{Melody - Click Here}

Why do people love?

                           'Cause it hurts to be alone.

And why do people care?

                         Because your pain looks like my own.

Then why don't people help?

                  'Cause sometimes it's just too far to go.

And why do people hate?

'Cause you can't love what you don't know.

                                 This life is fast and delicate,

                                     so we flinch and dodge to deal with it—

                                      we put our faith in shields and capes.

                                       And we want to believe there's some escape:

                                      to heaven, or something permanent;

                                   to a perfect and honest government;

                                to a safe and accepting society.

     

     What else do you need to know from me?

Why do people laugh?

                   Because we can't hold on to joy—

             It pours out and warms our friends,

… the same way that fear destroys.

And why are we afraid?

            Because we want to stay alive

       and, sometimes as we cling, forget

the reason we survive.

                                 All living things, the large and slight,

                                    they reach for something—plants for light,

                                      and bugs for leaves, and birds for twigs.

                                       These acts are small, but lives are big:

                                       for every goose is too a flock,

                                      and ant too a hive, and hollyhock

                                   too a field of flowers and grass. All kinds,

                               they carry each other: 

     I'm yours; you're mine.

Then why do people fight?

                             'Cause we get lost inside our selves

                           and pretend we're heroic victims

                who've earned more than living well.

       So we fight to prove we're best:

            most right, most strong, most good.

                 And then we take that space, that prize,

                       that praise—and hide the blood.

                                 So people will tell you histories,

                                    full of wars that made men enemies,

                                      and they'll say “This was the better side”

                                       where fewer were cut down and traumatized.

                                       But these made-up lines hide bandages:

                                     how we've blended traditions and languages,

                                  how the best any battle has ever done

                            was show us life is precious, and all are one.

So why do people hug?

                          Just to feel each other's breathing.

And why do you watch my eyes?

                                                      'Cause one day, I'll be leaving.

                                                           And on the day I close my doors,

                                                      I'll have nothing here inside me

                                           except echoes of the breaths I've felt—

                                  and your shining eyes—

                        to guide me.