Hope lives in the West,
Her hair is a golden sun;
The wonder of life seems to fill her,
She oozes potential and fun.
Hope lives in the West,
But you'll never catch her;
She shifts from city to town,
Her eyes on the tallest buildings
And the greenest of trees.
Hope lives in the West,
And she goes to church every Sunday;
She doesn't really believe,
But she's making a candid effort.
Hope lives in the West,
And she has a fabulous boyfriend;
She keeps a girlfriend too,
But she never wanders.
Hope lives in the West,
And she has a fantastic new job;
There are no glass ceilings
And she's thinking of getting a dog.
Hope lives in the West,
But there are some things she's not quite sure of:
Climate change, Kasich and that place,
in the Middle East.
Hope lives in the west,
But she doesn't quite understand:
Why can't she be free if her skin is brown?
Why do they say 'no' if she's not a man?
Hope lives in the West,
She sleeps under the bridge, near town;
Things will brighten up, she's sure,
If tomorrow ever comes.
Hope died in the night,
And she's not quite sure how it was.
An accident or deliberate act?
A stranger or her own hands?
Hope died in the West,
But she lingers there still;
Her echoes wander the streets,
Her laughter is all that you'll feel.
Hope is a ghost in the West,
She haunts the cities at night;
But to look in her eyes, it means death,
And still, there are many who try.
