A Thousand Men

See 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

He needs at least a hundred more

See the able-bodied student in his laboratory coat

Whispering calculations like prayers stuck in his throat

Soon he will discover some flawless medicine

But right now he needs an oven that holds 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