You're rather a private little creeper,
now don't get me wrong,
there's nothing better than a heavy sleeper,
but there's some thing rather right,
when you finally know you get to keep her.

The ring that spins,
all the way round her thin little finger,
and the looks she gives you when she becomes your favorite singer!
That blush she gives every time you make her laugh,
how you like the weirdest part about her,
from her nose and ears, to even maybe,
uhh....her calf?

Well my friend,
I must say again,
you're rather the private creeper,
since you know just about everything there is to know
about her!

But that's alright,
if it's legitimate,
because love should really be,
really be quite intimate.

I'm back to the place,
that brought me up indeed,
this is where ma and pa,
made fruit from their...seed.

Aye, a wee little tot was I,
just after I was only a mere
twinkle in me mother's eye.

Now we see that years have flown past by,
and the ones we used to know have just about,
yet to die.

And so we hold our dear ones close,
as we search for closure,
as we find that,
another life is almost over.

Don't cry,
be strong,
stay true to God's word,
so you won't do no wrong.

Aye, I'll do it.

Protect the family, the house I've raised,
not the house you've grown in, but the home you've made,
weather you are in mountains with streams,
or in the everglades.

Aye, I shall.

And son, promise me, that when the song is through
that you know you've always made me proud,
because you've always done the best in everything that you do.

Aye...I know.

So Home again, the house has all but toppled down,
the trees have been stripped,
to build a bigger town.

The faces that had such spark for life,
now are drained and empty,
covered in misery and strife.

The friends I knew are either gone, dead, or seemed to have forgotten,
just what it was like back then,
before this life had turned out to be so rotten.

Live a life, full of wonder and joy,
and enjoy to suffer the children, down to ever lass, and boy.

Of course, always know, that there are people worst than disasters,
but give them time, and they'll just leave a little faster.
Now not to wish them, ill will, no heavens far from it!
But I'm just giving you my boy, my last little tid-bit.

I've learned a lot, yet know nothing still,
enjoy your life, and don't worry about the bill.
You'll pick it up later, son, so long as you don't forget,
and don't waste your life, on placing it on bets.

Welcome home, surrounded by your loved ones so dear,
if your eyes get blurry and tired, come back on home,
and we'll help make it clear.

Son, I love you.
You've always done me proud,
and God's granted me the time to raise you,
the time that he's allowed.

Now I must come home, to His embracing arms,
now I'll see you up there, and I'll tend to the farms.

So long, farewell, I'll see you later I would hope!
Now go and live my son, and waste not time on me for mope!

*Home again am I, with memories of my ghosts.
'Tis only the wind that blows now,
and the sun that proudly boasts.

The cars fly by on the route traveling fast,
but I hear them not
even as they **** on past.

For they miss the views of an old and decrepit town,
for which I had grown up in,
for which Home...I have found.

I am.
Home Again.
My friend.

It took countless generations,
of hit and miss,
**** and be killed,
to see of those of us who are skilled,
those of us who are
rather strong willed.

But now here we stand,
divided and confused,
feeling that we are privy to such want in life,
as we conquer through demand.

Yet we supply so little,
yes it's...rather quite a shame,
how our young boys and girls now grow to be
following the ones of fame,
and idolatry.

Girls will love boys,
with muscles and the hair,
boys will love girls,
for the curves and...elsewhere.

Far and few, are the days of chivalry,
no more products of our older generation,
where we strove for civility.

The children whip out their I phones
and I toys.
All about the I and not about the other.
They've even gone as far as to go insult their mothers!

Where has the time gone,
our generations of our past,
where the wars were fought,
so that our generations could last.

Now we fight them,
by picking senseless battles,
and we send our young dear children,
to feed our worn out dreams of yesterday,
as easy as slaughtering the cattle.

Gone are the days where the world stood still,
now we know it spins round and round,
where death and taxes are the toll,
and after that, comes the bill.

The right track is hard,
it's long and narrow.
But the reward at the end,
is sweeter than the song
of a flightly little sparrow.

I've done my fair share of side tracks and u-turns,
and every time that I've gone wrong,
I got a few scrapes, bruises
broken bones, and plenty of burns.

How many times have I looked back,
and stumbled going forward?
Well, too many times to count, that's for sure
and no 'mount of prayers and repentance
can ever make me pure.

So Lord above,
that watches us from above the skies,
Here this poor boy's prayer's
a gruff little man,
crying in disguise.

I want to be on the right track,
I don't want to look back any more,
let me feel the wind,
open the windows,
unlock the door.

Give me back my life,
away from pain and misery,
Lord give me ears to hear,
and eyes
that see.

No one's laughing when you get the call,
that sooner or later,
you have just
lost it all.
Your money is gone,
gone in the wind,
or you believe you're finally paying
for that last committed sin.

And then you ask yourself,
"When did it all go wrong?"
but you already saw the signs,
and they're all miles and miles long.

When we find that the call is short,
to the point.
Very blunt.
And sharp.
No heavens shall sing,
not a pluck of a single harp.

No one's laughing,
as a love one is put to rest,
and all we have to say,
is nothing but the very best.

Or nothing at all.

No one's laughing,
no not anymore.

Not as we all begin to cry,
behind closed doors.

No one's laughing.
No not any more.

The Grass is Greener,
when you see the world
just a little bit clearer.

There it is, sitting out the window,
past the barbed wires,
and picket fences,
penny for your thoughts,
or even six pences?

The grass is green,
while it lives in the garden or out of bed,
out there and in here,
in the lawn or in your head.

Aye indeed,
The Grass is Greener
they say, on the other side instead.

Aye the Grass is so much Greener
while it blankets the dead.

There are people out there,
that are undoubtedly,
not the best, that they could be,
there are people out there,
that one would rather, really not see.

But that's because you know they're there,
and you are here,
so long as you keep your distance,
you've nothing to fear.

Right?

Now that same people,
not to condemn them all,
are the same kind of people,
who from their high horse they sit,
standing one or two feet tall.

Oh how high and mighty they are,
looking down upon us with their haughty eyes,
how it's everything about us they hate,
the way we live, that they despise.

But it's not us or them that we need to worry,
it's the innocent caught in between,
where they say, "The Lines get blurry."

Like Hell.

They say Autism is just a child that hasn't been taught to behave,
they say Asburger's an exucuse,
so they make the system their slave.
They say ADD and ADHD,
are nothing more then children not growing up,
"Unlike you and me."

They say the homeless are stupid,
that's why they're there,
they say they volunteer, to feed them,
but when they pass them by,
they can only stop and stare.

They say violence is needed,
to keep the children in line,
I agree some punishment is needed,
but abuse is never the answer,
and was never mine.

They all say they didn't know,
when the numbers out weigh their yelling match,
so then they eat their words,
Down the hatch!!

Feigning ignorance for stupidity,
is like lighting a match,
it burns, nice, bright and hot,
but once it's turned to ashes,
ashes is all you got.

You've wasted your temper,
your moment to shine,
for even the 15 minutes of fame,
claiming it saying, "ALL MINE."

I do not wish to hate them,
those who commit such atrocities,
but would it be fair of me,
to call their actions,
those of monstrosities?