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Desert sand in my veins
I have seen so much pain
Felt the fire felt the rain
Of bullets

Cold as ice
Hot as hell
Going in
Wish me well
Like the wind in my sails
Of bullets

Better days yet to come
Miss my wife
Miss my son
But I cant see them
Until I face
The bullets
Introduction

The fundamental premise is to envision history as a sequence of "dialectical" conflicts. Each dialectic begins with a proposition, a thesis ...which inherently contains, or creates, its opposite - an antithesis. Thesis and antithesis. The conflict is inevitable.
But the resolution of the conflict yields something new - a synthesis - eliminating the flaws in each, leaving behind common elements and ideas.
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Poem

­I am the nomad, no home, no family no friend's, I am as the melancholy sound of music striking nostalgia like a match.

I am the vagabond, with no place to cling to, no one to sing to, no place to stay, no things to say.

I anticipate the hate.... The heat of the sun burns my skin, the flesh beneath my flesh is sin incarnate, I am a nomad.... I am no good.

I smell of embers burning hot like coal in a stack, train cars rumble across the tracks like thunder, rumbling slowly quietly softly, so long song, I am a vagabond.
I looked for trouble and I found it son
straight down the barrel of a law mans gun
they try to catch but they know they can't
I keep on running from a long neck man

This dream i'm living is a way to die
this fame and fortune brings tears to eyes
these nights of lonesome they haunt me to this day
spent my life running from the men in grey

I wake up in the morning hear the work bell ring
look upon the table just the same ole thing
Ain't no food upon the table, and no pork up in the pan.
But you better not complain, boy,
you get in trouble with the man.
Today is now done with my writing
for truly has been in-sighting
I bid you farewell
till tomorrow has shown
I will be
forever grateful
To those I have hurt
to the dreams I have stoked
to the girls I left stranded
to the men that I broke
to the enemy killed
to the jobs that weren't done
to time's that were missed
to all I have wronged
I have but these words to leave and to give
I am sorry my love
I am sorry as ****
Why do we write
why do we jot down our lives
our thought our dreams
they are not hidden anymore

Why do you write what's your confession
is this site a priest
is a place to confide inn

No I think not it's but a blot
Of history
I revered it
and I've feared it
What??

MY PAST
Smoking an endless line of cigarettes
Or drinking an endless bottle of *****
We all have addictions
They are who we are
A wise man once said a man without vices
is a man without virtue
but I disagree
I wish my addictions would let me be

I wake in the morning to the 5:30 bell
my back it hurts from digging wells
im just an old cowboy it's plain to see
their aren't to many men like me
But sure as come the first thing I do
A Marlboro red to get me through
A snort of *****
A pinch of dip
A sip of Johnnie walker
Now that's the ****

But it's getting bad
it's my convictions
I struggle with demons and many addictions
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