So Little Has Changed

What are the numbers, does anybody know?
Does anybody care how many we have to go?
Can anyone, anywhere believe it’d get this high?
Probably so, as we continue pretending to try

How many incidents are recorded each week?
Not just in the world, but also of here I speak
This time it’s one and that time it’s twenty plus
But hey, you cannot control us, what’s the fuss?

For fifty years, more the total has gotten higher
Those who deny it would torch you, not yell fire
They have aught but their own interests at heart
They are more than likely to cause all to depart

What are these mystic numbers to which I refer
To most I could tell them without causing a stir
The question asked in a 60’s song, about cost
How many human lives would have to be lost

What total we would need, our madness to end
How many more to the ranks of death we’d send
How many deaths would it take our laws to rescind
The answer, my friend, is still blowing in the wind

A million, five hundred and sixty thousand, about
Fall annually to the gun, won’t that make you shout
Nine hundred sixty thousand die from gun suicide
You’d think this would make gun lovers run, hide

These numbers are approximates and hard to find
Even trying to compile them just one year at a time
That we should even have to look seems tragic to me
So little has changed here since nineteen sixty-three

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