Coward of the county

Ev'ryone considered him the coward of the county.
He'd never stood one single time to prove the county wrong.
His mama him called Tommy, the folks just called him yellow,
But something always told me they were reading Tommy wrong.

He was only ten years old when his daddy died in prison.
I took care of Tommy 'cause he was my brother's son.
I still recall the final words my brother said to Tommy:
"Son, my life is over, but yours has just begun.

Promise me, son, not to do the things I've done.
Walk away from trouble if you can.
Now it won't mean you're weak if you turn the other cheek.
I hope you're old enough to understand:
Son, you don't have to fight to be a man."

There's someone for ev'ryone and Tommy's love was Becky.
In her arms he didn't have to prove he was a man.
One day while he was workin' the Gatlin boys came callin'.
They took turns at Becky.... n' there was three of them!

Tommy opened up the door and saw his Becky cryin'.
The torn dress, the shattered look was more than he could stand.
He reached above the fireplace and took down his daddy's picture.
As his tears fell on his daddy's face, He heard these words again:

"Promise me, son, not to do the things I've done.
Walk away from trouble if you can.
Now it won't mean you're weak if you turn the other cheek.
I hope you're old enough to understand:
Son, you don't have to fight to be a man."

The Gatlin boys just laughed at him when he walked into the barroom.
One of them got up and met him halfway 'cross the floor.
When Tommy turned around they said, "Hey look! ol' yellow's leavin'."
But you coulda heard a pin drop when Tommy stopped and locked
the door.

Twenty years of crawlin' was bottled up inside him.
He wasn't holdin' nothin' back; he let 'em have it all.
When Tommy left the barroom not a Gatlin boy was standin'.
He said, "This one's for Becky," as he watched the last one fall.
And I heard him say,

"I promised you, Dad, not to do the things you done.
I've walk away from trouble when I can.
Now please don't think I'm weak, I didn't turn the other cheek,
and Papa, I sure hope you understand:
Sometimes you gotta fight when you're a man."

Ev'ryone considered him the coward of the county.

-Lyrics by Kenny Rogers

a dog will always have a smile

refresh the most fatigued of minds
light up the worst, most fuck-all days
a simple lick
will do the trick
rare a human, so I'd praise

Recollection

You live a fairy story for a few fleeting days.
Real life then does intervene and changes everything.
From what we were to what we are, there's such a large expanse.
Who is to blame for this rift, there is no questioning.

But...

This note is not to toss the blame or dwell on old-time pain.
This note is not to cause a thought, a feeling nor emotion.
An accident did bring to mind an age-old conversation;
A conversation that did lead to some recollection.

Say your prayers, turn off the light, close your eyes and go to sleep.

You're afraid to take a helping hand?
You're afraid to release what's in your head?
You're afraid to do the logical thing?
You'd rather wake up screaming instead?

What if there is something wrong with your head?
What if there are real demons in bed?
What if you find, when you look too deep,
That you dream when awake and the truth's in your sleep?

Photographs show what mirrors don't:
That which is seen from a third party's view.
Not veiled by pride, ego or fear,
They show the honest, actual you.
(...explains the reason why, being in front of the lens appalls you.)

Moral: Don't read the moral!

There were never any stories whose moral read: You, be happy! Screw the rest of the world!

However, it is fair, because this usage of the word 'screw' would never get past the censors and into the comic book.

Damn those stories told when one is young! For, that is a time when the mind is most malleable and susceptible to suggestion. Teaching it, then, the vices of nobility, integrity and selflessness is probably the surest way to make the hardened, adult version a complete misfit in the hardened, real world.

Take me to a time when there were no morals.
Take me to a place where there is no saint.
It takes a lot of beating when the mind is hardened.
It doesn't make a difference to put a coat of paint.

The tools of metal-smiths once had a conversation.
One worked with iron and the other dealt with gold.

Said the gold to the iron, "Why make so much noise?"
"My own kind, do I beat, and not some fancy toys."

To change a solid state is the toughest proposition.
To change the time gone by, impossible, I'm told.