We Will Haunt You
Four ghosts, one reckoning
I thought of this idea too late to get it produced in time for Halloween, so better late than never, I guess. I wanted to dramatize the actual deaths that are resulting from Trump’s cruel program cuts, most prominently the closing of USAID.
This was my first attempt using Suno’s new Studio tool. The nice thing about it is the ability to generate different voices for different parts of the song. I wanted each verse to be a distict voice reflecting each charater portrayed in that verse.
Before the Suno’s Studio, you had to try really clever prompt combinations and tactics and even then, the results were hit and miss.
There are still challenges but now using distinct singers is much easier.
I did try many times to make the singer of the first voice that of a young boy but could not get Suno to produce one. It kept making the voice an adult female. I suspect that problem has to do with the sparsity of young boy voices in the training material.
This one took a long time to produce, so no alternate genres (though I may try later with a waltz). Sorry.
Lyrics
My name was Peter, ten years old;
The clinic hummed along the road.
PEPFAR kept the fevers low,
My sunrise in a daily dose.
Then Trump he canceled all the aid;
My mother’s hope began to fade.
The nurses searched an empty fridge
For any bottle, just a smidge.
The health worker knelt by me,
Clean hands, wide eyes, a breaking plea:
“If US AID were here today,
Peter would not fade away.”
Trump cut. We bled.
You turned your head.
We stayed. We knew.
We will, we will haunt you.
We will, we will haunt you.
We will, we will haunt you.
I am Maria, fifty-three;
Two jobs, a daughter counting on me.
Medicaid kept my sugars tame,
The clinic knew me by my name.
You pushed the work rules, closed the door,
And vowed Obamacare no more.
A letter came, my card was done;
My choice was ambulance or none.
I lay down “just to catch my breath,”
The lights went dim upon my death.
“With Medicaid,” my doctor cried,
“She would still be here to fight this fight.”
Trump cut. We bled.
You turned your head.
We stayed. We knew.
We will, we will haunt you.
We will, we will haunt you.
We will, we will haunt you.
I am Mr. Lewis, sixty-two;
My warehouse back finally blew.
SNAP card, EBT, saw me through,
Beans and rice to our Sunday stew.
You cut food stamps and work rules too,
And said that hunger builds some grit.
Too many days and dollars too few,
I split my pills and called it quits.
The pantry line was two miles long;
I skipped my meals to feed my son.
“With SNAP,” the nurse said at my bed,
“You would have made it through this one.”
Trump cut. We bled.
You turned your head.
We stayed. We knew.
We will, we will haunt you.
We will, we will haunt you.
We will, we will haunt you.
I am Destiny, fourteen years;
With my alto sax and asthma fears.
The nurse kept spacers in a tray;
I measured breaths to make them stay.
Trump told the EPA to freeze,
And scrapped the clean air guarantees.
Republicans slowed fuel standards for our cars;
The smokestacks thickened up the stars.
I tried to run a final lap;
The siren found me on the track.
The doctor whispered by my bed,
“With clean air rules, she would not be dead.”
Trump cut. We bled.
You turned your head.
We stayed. We knew.
We will, we will haunt you.
We will, we will haunt you.
We will, we will haunt you.
Peter whispers, foreign aid is breath.
Maria answers, coverage beats death.
Mr. Lewis says, food heals hunger’s scar.
Destiny says, clean air is who we are.
You sold us all to prove you are hardcore,
You priced our coffins as a budget score.
But ghosts do not tire and ghosts do not bluff.
We are the reckoning. Enough. Enough.
Trump cut. We bled.
You turned your head.
We stayed. We knew.
We will, we will haunt you.
We will, we will haunt you.
We will, we will haunt you.