Ghosts in the Graveyard

This is a song/poem I have been thinking about, but haven't started to write. Here are my words as they streamed from out somewhere between my mind and my throat.

There are Ghosts in the Graveyard and they're rattling bones,
casting their curses out across the unknown.
An old man in a white shirt walks up to you
hands you his phone and says
“Do you know which way you are headed?”

Meanwhile the meaningful progressives are all gathering in shacks
talking about how the white man needs to learn to relax.
And gathering together a great collection of facts
as their elbows turn to dust amongst the cobwebs.

Bob Dylan’s whispering love songs in the presidential ear
In the revolutionary ballroom, Elton John calls someone queer.
The audience all turns away and trembles in fear
thinking that poor man he is so delightful.

The wise children cling to their newspaper scripts,
translate the verses onto their lips.
Develop the notion that they are now equipped
and well rounded and concerned and free thinking.

a free man runs to some master and says, come enslave me
the master turns his head and says you are no property.
So the free man throws on shackles and beats himself to sleep.
Says to live as I want is my desire.

And the papers roll on and the time wheel turns
the sun passes through the sky
the whole city burns
to rise again tomorrow
to see if it will learn
or will it circle circle circle on forever.