Got the cease-fire blues, mama,
got the nobody-burning blues,
Department of War closed down Tuesday,
got nothing on the television news.
Eight wars quit like eight bad jobs,
just walked off, no two weeks' of pay —
generals standing in the parking lot
no one to shoot, nothing to say.

Woke up, the hammer was sleeping. 
Woke up, the hammer was dead. 
Bomb-shaped hole in my kitchen 
was a man there instead. 
They took my enemy away from me, 
but left me his name— 
gave me his address, his birthday, 
gave me his blood and his shame.

I got the cease-fire blues, baby,
I ain’t been right since Tuesday at noon,
been watching the Weather Channel
waiting for some kind of doom.
Since the borders went quiet
I can’t find the remote —
and that feeling of purpose
been stuck in my throat.

Baby, I don't want the history.
I want a count of the dead.
I want Shock-and-Awe at sunrise
just to get me out of bed.
How'm I supposed to feel safe
if nothing's burning anymore?
How'm I supposed to know who I am
if I ain't the one keeping score?

I read peace broke out like measles,
And been spreading town to town —
ICE man didn't come on Monday,
Tuesday he was gone and shut down.
Now who do I call when I'm frightened
of the one with dark braided hair,
been here since my grandpa's time,
before I was too old to care?

I got the cease-fire blues, baby, 
I ain't been right since Tuesday at noon, 
been watching the Weather Channel
waiting for some kind of doom. 
Since the borders went quiet
I can't find the remote — 
and that feeling of purpose
is done stuck in my throat.

I got the recipe, mama,
had it written on my throat —
safety through the hammer falling,
safety is the way that I vote.
Now the recipe's been eaten,
now the kitchen's dark and clean,
and I gotta sit across from my own face
with nothing in between.

Eight wars ended,
the Midnight Hammer sleeps,  
Epic Fury awaits budget review, 
And The Department of War just weeps. 
It weeps itself into a question— 
dismantled, slow, and drawn
Who are we if we are not the fist? 
What are we when the war is gone?

And the answer comes up slow,
comes up warm, comes up wide—
something with a face on it,
something surprisingly human-eyed.
And I don’t know what to do with warm.
I don’t know what to do with mild.
I tried to sit with it this morning,
tried to sit there like a child—

But my chest caved in, mama. 
And my breath went wild. 
I had to make a fist, 
I had to make a fist, 
had to make something I could use— 
I needed something to twist.
Cause, I got the cease-fire blues, mama. 
Got the borders-went-quiet blues. 
Got the children-playing-outside blues— 
Lord, it's the worst, the worst news.

I got the cease-fire blues, baby,
I ain't been right since Tuesday at noon,
been watching the Weather Channel
waiting for some kind of doom.
Since the borders went quiet
I can't find the remote —
and that feeling of purpose
done stuck in my throat.