Once upon a long ago, the music died when we read about the widowed bride. So went our homey apple pie, for something touched us deep inside that day on which all who were alive then, still remember where we were and what we were doing as we began to sing dirges in the dark.

Now recently, we have commemorated the day our freedoms died. One morning we woke up in innocence, enjoying our right to come and go without interference, and by evening, every American citizen had become a suspect. We've been stripped and searched, interrogated, audio and video taped. Our purchases are monitored while the media directs with fine choreography the grip of fear, moving from one event to the next, keeping the populace in a state of knowing. Knowing that if the terrorists don't get us, the birds will. We are the prey of the fear mongers and are oblivious to the fact that it is too late.

The terrorists have won, with every new method they discover to hide the makings of weapons. When lip gloss and medicines are contraband on a flight, dear ones, the jig is up. The terror cells must laugh, tho' I've never seen a smile on those faces. The mere suggestion of their threats and new determinations cripple our comings and goings now. We walk barefoot through metal detectors although it is illegal to be barefoot in public buildings. And baggage handlers go through our underwear - do they wear gloves and change them between suitcases?

A chevy at the levy would be suspect now. We've another day imprinted forever on our memories, where we were, what we were doing, how some of us escaped and stories of those who did not and those who still suffer and die from the fumes of ground zero. We have new rumors of lies and conspiracies, yet the largest conspiracy is likely that of those who hold the secrets, as it was when we sang "Bye, bye, Miss American Pie."

In as much as some things never change, is that how Orwell saw it coming? Others, too, whispered of the reds under the bed, but now it seems, terrorists sleep in our beds. Peace keepers carry rifles and homeland security knows exactly where we are. Yet, some of us still think We Shall Overcome. Instead of tanking up the Chevy, there's a song worth singing. Loudly.