This song started with a question I couldn’t shake: What would Lincoln think if he saw America today? Malice Toward All, Charity for None turns one of his best-known lines inside out.
I pictured him not as a statue or a speech, but as a man—alive again, watching the country he died for fall back into the same old fight. The words he used to bind us now get used to tear us apart. The party he helped build speaks in his name but acts like he never lived.
This song came from that disconnect. Not just from politics, but from the feeling that history is being bent out of shape. That a legacy can be stolen, twisted, even used to justify the opposite of what it stood for.
A lot has happened in the last few years to make this feel urgent.
Writing it was my way of asking how far we’ve drifted from what we say we believe—and whether we still care to find our way back.
[Verse 1]
I rose from rest, not called by grace, But by the sound that split this place. They claim the Union still holds fast— I see a house that will not last. The party formed by blood and law Now serves a creed I never saw. And mercy lies beside the track— A coin upon a soldier’s back.
[Verse 2]
They speak my name, but not my creed— They pluck the fruit and burn the seed. He smiles as though the truth were jest, Then speaks the lie and leaves the rest. He wears the crown, denies the yoke, And wraps the flag in smoke and joke. He speaks of God with poisoned breath— Then fans the flame that feeds on death.
[Pre-Chorus]
I pled for union, you preach divide— You strike the match and call it pride. If this is how you lift the flame, Then be not shocked to scorch the name.
[Chorus]
Trump, thou hast turned my words to ash, With flattery cloaked in thunder’s crash. You bear the flag as one bears flame— Not for the nation, but thy name. You walk where tyrants used to tread, And wake the sins I thought were dead. A jester crowned, with blood-stained hands— Still cheered across the broken lands.
[Verse 3]
I passed through fields once filled with song— Now choked with myths that don’t belong. The children mouth what hate has fed, While old men praise the proud and dead. A waitress asked to see my name, A soldier scoffed and cursed my fame. They speak of pride, but not of grace— And turn their backs to every face.
[Bridge]
I bled so brother might know brother, Not raise his hand to strike the other. I swore the bond was forged forever— But now they chant, “Divide forever.” You cannot rule through scorn and lies, Nor drape your cause in widow’s cries. I walked through war to hold one land— You’d break it with your slight command.
[Outro]
Lay me back beneath the stone, The war I fought is not yet done. Not every battle ends in flame— Some die in silence, shame by shame. If truth returns, let it speak plain. Let it name the wound, and not the vein. But mark this voice, though cold and still— A house divided always will.
hillpoet56
Gene Scott grew up on an Illinois tenant farm where kitchen-table tales mixed magic with hog farms and strip mines. After 40 years in East Tennessee, he’s witnessed nature’s raw power—and its quiet grace to heal what’s broken.
Malice Toward All, Charity for None
This song started with a question I couldn’t shake: What would Lincoln think if he saw America today? Malice Toward All, Charity for None turns one of his best-known lines inside out.
I pictured him not as a statue or a speech, but as a man—alive again, watching the country he died for fall back into the same old fight. The words he used to bind us now get used to tear us apart. The party he helped build speaks in his name but acts like he never lived.
This song came from that disconnect. Not just from politics, but from the feeling that history is being bent out of shape. That a legacy can be stolen, twisted, even used to justify the opposite of what it stood for.
A lot has happened in the last few years to make this feel urgent.
Writing it was my way of asking how far we’ve drifted from what we say we believe—and whether we still care to find our way back.
[Verse 1]
I rose from rest, not called by grace,
But by the sound that split this place.
They claim the Union still holds fast—
I see a house that will not last.
The party formed by blood and law
Now serves a creed I never saw.
And mercy lies beside the track—
A coin upon a soldier’s back.
[Verse 2]
They speak my name, but not my creed—
They pluck the fruit and burn the seed.
He smiles as though the truth were jest,
Then speaks the lie and leaves the rest.
He wears the crown, denies the yoke,
And wraps the flag in smoke and joke.
He speaks of God with poisoned breath—
Then fans the flame that feeds on death.
[Pre-Chorus]
I pled for union, you preach divide—
You strike the match and call it pride.
If this is how you lift the flame,
Then be not shocked to scorch the name.
[Chorus]
Trump, thou hast turned my words to ash,
With flattery cloaked in thunder’s crash.
You bear the flag as one bears flame—
Not for the nation, but thy name.
You walk where tyrants used to tread,
And wake the sins I thought were dead.
A jester crowned, with blood-stained hands—
Still cheered across the broken lands.
[Verse 3]
I passed through fields once filled with song—
Now choked with myths that don’t belong.
The children mouth what hate has fed,
While old men praise the proud and dead.
A waitress asked to see my name,
A soldier scoffed and cursed my fame.
They speak of pride, but not of grace—
And turn their backs to every face.
[Bridge]
I bled so brother might know brother,
Not raise his hand to strike the other.
I swore the bond was forged forever—
But now they chant, “Divide forever.”
You cannot rule through scorn and lies,
Nor drape your cause in widow’s cries.
I walked through war to hold one land—
You’d break it with your slight command.
[Outro]
Lay me back beneath the stone,
The war I fought is not yet done.
Not every battle ends in flame—
Some die in silence, shame by shame.
If truth returns, let it speak plain.
Let it name the wound, and not the vein.
But mark this voice, though cold and still—
A house divided always will.
hillpoet56