A Thousand Men

A THOUSAND MEN

1000 MenSee Thomas Jefferson on the eve of Bunker Hill
Writing words to die for, writing sentences to kill
They’ve come to paint his portrait so he grabs a chair and sits
As the surgeon orders cotton for a thousand tourniquets

For god and country, for us and them
Every good idea kills at least a thousand men
At least a thousand men

See the able-bodied Christian in a dark and savage land
Telling all those who will listen that god was once a man
Through needle’s eye so narrow he will lead them four by four
He’s got nine hundred shackles, needs at least a hundred more

A thousand men, A thousand men
Every good idea kills at least a thousand men
At least a thousand men

See the able-bodied student in his laboratory coat
Whispering calculations like prayers stuck in his throat
Soon he will discover some flawless medicine
Right now he needs an oven that holds at least a thousand men

Some are the means, some are the ends
Every good idea kills at least a thousand men
At least a thousand men

One thousand one, One thousand one
Every man I know thinks that he’s one thousand one
Nine hundred nine, his day is done
Every man I know thinks that he’s one thousand one
I know I’m one thousand one

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