"The Middle of Nowhere" "Now and then, I'll get into a conversation, with some lifelong urbanite type, We might speak of the weather, maybe what's new in the world, or what we've got planned for tonight. But occasionally, the topic turns to "where do you live?" And they'll say "why on earth do you live out there? Out in the middle of nowhere?" Well I think that question would be better put, not to me, but from me to them, Because I was just about to ask them much the very same thing. Because these people live on cookie cutter streets, where you can barely tell each house apart, Where you look out your window, straight in through your neighbors', and there's hardly any room to park, Where blades of grass are outnumbered by cars, and humans outnumber the trees. And that's the middle of nowhere to me. Where a traffic light can cycle 3 times, but you won't move the length of your car, Well at that rate, guess it's no wonder they think a 40 mile drive is so far, Where a brat in a civic cares more about his cell phone, than his own safety, let alone yours, Where the driveways are lucky to be 20 feet long, and the parking lots have about 10 floors, Where the scent of the air is gasoline fumes, instead of the smell of the sea, And that's the middle of nowhere to me. Where your neighbor is 8, maybe 10 feet away, but you don't know who lives 3 doors down, Well how do you know who you have to watch out for, if you don't know the whole damm town? No wonder there's news of a robbery, every night on the TV, And that's the middle of nowhere to me. And their idea of nature is a manicured trail, with boardwalks just like their own decks, And finely landscaped paths of crushed stone composing all of the rest? Don't get me wrong, I love swans and ducks, but do these ones realize they're free? And that's the middle of nowhere to me. Where you almost need a permit to mow your own lawn, or plaster a hole in your wall, Where you spend less on a reno at the building supply store, than you do at city hall, Where there's taxes on taxes, and you can barely breathe the smog ridden air for free, And that's the middle of nowhere to me. Sometimes I must venture into these streets, and I'd just as soon be in a maze, The houses all look like one building, they're so similar, so narrowly spaced, Half a million a piece, and if I were to bet, I'd say the bank owns them all, After all, I don't think my road is as long as the bank building downtown is tall. If I can ever find my way back to the highway, I'll feel like a prisoner set free. And that's the middle of nowhere to me. It's crazy how someone can feel all alone, surrounded by a million of their own kind. I'd rather be surrounded by a million birch, juniper, spruce, fir and pine. 2 is company, 3 is a crowd, a city damm sure don't need me. And that's the middle of nowhere to me."
The Demon, Part I (The Promise Of A Monster) "Tonight, I will reveal my true form to the blissful ignorant. I will take the form of the savage demon. I will catch you unaware. I will make everything you've ever done a mistake, Then I will punish you for every mistake you ever made, And then I will punish you for every mistake mankind has ever made. You will never have a moment of peace again. You may have a roof over your head, but you will never be truly at home again. I will follow you at all times, I will be with you forever, but happiness will elude you. Try as you like, you'll never escape. You'll look in the mirror and see my face. I will be a glowing demon, my face will burn bright, But you will be a skeleton, a withered shell. The life will be drained from your eyes, The spirit will be drained from your heart, The energy will be drained from your soul. Your body will be useless, Your mind will lose its edge. You'll fail because you'll have no drive to succeed. I will rule your world, I will not let you leave. You'll walk in invisible chains forever. You'll have no hope, you'll have no control. You'll have nothing. You'll wish there is no afterlife, just the final rest of death. You'll have nothing to live for. You'll beg for mercy that will not come. I'll never be through with you. I'll be with you. I'll be staring you in the face, and when you turn to run, I'll be behind you. I will suck your tears dry, and I will keep sucking until your eyes see nothing but my face. I will burn you out. I will surround you. I will crush you. I will choke you with invisible fingers. I will suck the life from you. I will suck the spirit from you. I will suck your soul until you fade to nothing. I will suck your memories from you. I will kill you little by little. I will torture you. I will destroy you. And I will destroy everything you love." The Demon, Part II (Ode To The Man Who Ruined My Life) "I never thought I'd be where I am now. This is one of those things that happens to someone else, Till it happens to you. You don't know suffering till you're the victim. To the outside world, I'm spoiled and ungrateful. They don't understand, but I hope they never do. I wish I didn't. But I do. I know nothing but suffering. I suffer in silence, I bottle up oceans of emotions. I have no will, I have no energy. I have no plans, for I have no future. I regret everything I've done, I regret everything I haven't done. My chance for success is gone. My life is over, I'll never be myself again. I'll try to go home, But it will just be a house. I worked so hard to make a home, And now it's a house of pain. A warm dry bed where I will try to count my blessings, But you've stolen all that made me happy. My keepsakes are reminders of a past I must forget. Walls I built for sanctuary have turned to bars, Terrifying free fall in a bottomless pit, A tunnel with no light and no end. I finally understand the mind who can't live with itself. I fight the temptation to take the most desperate measures daily. I try to tell myself life is to short for this, But my life is over, you stole everything. I'm a walking hulk, an empty soul. I can't fight anymore, I've come to accept it. I love nothing, because you've turned my whole world into triggers. I look in a mirror with 20/20 hindsight, I should never have given you a chance. But I can't change the past that stole my future. I must forget the past I should remember fondly, For even my memories are haunted by your horrible face. I try to let my mind go blank, When I think at all, I think of you. You're everywhere I go, an invisible demon on my shoulder. I see you in everything I once loved. Now I hate it all. I hate you. I was taught forgiveness, But also an eye for an eye. I wonder if you'll come to understand what you've done. My only wish is to never see your face again. You wouldn't stand a chance if we fought in flesh and blood, I could physically destroy you. But I see you around, and I collapse. The sight is more than i can bear. You sick, weak man, you have all the strength in the world choking my spirit. My only hope of escape seems beyond my reach. Could I somehow start over, forget my whole past? Take on a new identity and live freely once more? Is there hope? Would your death give me any relief in life?"
"Shangri La" "Once I was a boy of five years old, And I believed most everything that I was told. I believed Saint Nick brought most my Christmas gifts, And I believed that fairies really did exist. I feared the bogeyman, the monster under my bed. And the skeleton in the closet filled me with dread. I guess I even might have thought the moon was made of cheese, And while I slept, sometimes a pixie would collect my teeth. And my daddy made a hundred bucks a day, And I believed it always went a long, long way. And I believed he could protect me from anything, So I slept soundly, I didn't fear a thing. And with the likes of looney toons around, I believed I could walk on air if I didn't look down. And a movie once told me there was a place, Protected from the worst of the human race. Across an ocean, over a mountain, hidden safe, A dimension where the locals hardly age, Where the sun shines down on clean and fertile soil, And all nature's creations are unspoiled. Where peace reigns supreme and every soul is free, Where there's no pollution in the land or sea. Where there's no such thing as jealousy or greed, Where no living soul is ever left in need. But I'm no longer a child, I'm a young man. And I no longer believe in Peter Pan. I can live without two dollars for my tooth, If there's no bogeyman, well that's a welcome truth. I've spread my wings, and moved out on my own. The value of a dollar now hits home. Well, I guess that didn't quite go as planned. I've grown out of my childhood dreamland. I've stopped believing in them all, Except for one. And I pray I never will get down to none. Should have known the monster under the bed was fake, They're all outside my door, for old Pete's sake. I've gone from riches to rags, and just for growing up. But I can handle that, I'm tough enough. And I can do without the likes of Santa Claus. But I don't want to believe That there is no Shangri La. Some years later, I had a child of my own. If he asked for anything, I could not stand to say no. I thought my dad was rich as a small kid, And I'd like for him to have everything I did. I paid a fortune for a pile of Christmas gifts, But my son thought most of them were from Saint Nick. I spoiled him the best I could allow, But then I had to teach him right from wrong somehow. So the bogeyman filled my boy with dread, And he no less feared the monster under the bed. He saw cartoons defy physics, and he asked if he could too. I said try hard enough, you'll do anything you want to do. And I told him that somewhere there was a place, Protected from the worst of the human race. Across an ocean, over a mountain, hidden safe, A dimension where the locals hardly age, Where the sun shines down on clean and fertile soil, And all nature's creations are unspoiled. Where peace reigns supreme and every soul is free, Where there's no pollution in the land or sea. Where there's no such thing as jealousy or greed, Where no living soul is ever left in need. But time flies fast, I seemed to blink and he was twelve. Seems like yesterday I was that age myself. He was just like me, I'm usually proud to say. And he called me on my bluff one autumn day. The bogeyman was a fraud to keep him safe, A figment of my mind kept him behaved. He may have still thought I was filthy rich, When he realized Santa Claus did not exist. And he asked me, "dad, just tell me the truth. You don't believe all those stories either, do you?" I couldn't lie to my young man now, he's grown too wise. I briefly paused, then looked him in the eyes. "I've stopped believing in them all, Except for one. And I pray I never will get down to none. We both know the monster under the bed was fake, They're all outside our door, for old Pete's sake. I've gone from riches to rags, and just for growing up. But I can handle that, I'm tough enough. And I can do without the likes of Santa Claus. But I don't want to believe That there is no Shangri La." I blinked again, and a man replaced my boy. Then one day I woke, and a grandfather was I. And my son, like me, has come to realize The necessity of telling little white lies. By the time my grandchild reached the age of ten, I'd told the stories so much, I believed myself again. Hasn't Santa Claus brought gifts for centuries? And in my twilight years, I realize he'll outlive me. It was only another year or two, And the question came back just like deja vu. He said "I don't think all those things are real, do you?" And I couldn't do a thing but tell the truth. "I stopped believing in them all, Except for one. and that faith is likely how I've lived this long. If millions of kids believe in old Saint Nick, Then in a sense, he really does exist. Those monsters that your daddy warned you of, They really did you a whole world of good. Your daddy didn't just lie to make you scared, He was protecting you from the real monsters out there. So don't quite throw those spirits to the wind, Because if you have kids, you'll need them all again. As for me, I'm to old to argue now, I'll believe most anything at all. But I've seen evil on the news for 70 years, And I don't want to believe That there is no Shangri La." If Robin Hood didn't really exist, then I wish he did. And I'd like to think King Arthur really lived. And I've no wish to put John Henry down, Aren't we all the best till something better comes around? On a hospital bed, I know my time is near. But it hasn't been a bad ninety-two years. All the same, I can't quite shake this little fear. I wonder where we really go from here? Some believe we're burned or buried, then there's nothing else, But I'd find that disheartening to have to think myself. Two more generations, I'd be lucky if I'm a distant memory. And Santa Claus will be closer than I to my family. And some believe the good folks will live on streets of gold, But I don't care for anything that fancy, truth be told. And some think once our body is too old and worn, We move on and return in a different form. Nine lives to live, just like my old black cat? I'm not sure exactly what I think of that. If I could choose my own destination, and make so bold, I don't need any jewels, let alone any streets of gold. I'd take planet earth all over again any day, If only all the evil forces were taken away. Yes, that's my kind of eternal resting place, Protected from the worst of the human race. Across an ocean, over a mountain, hidden safe, A dimension where the locals hardly age, Where the sun shines down on clean and fertile soil, And all nature's creations are unspoiled. Where peace reigns supreme and every soul is free, Where there's no pollution in the land or sea. Where there's no such thing as jealousy or greed, Where not a soul is ever left in need. Some people crave for gold, others for power. Some want a fortune, and without working an hour. Some people value themselves by material stuff, But no matter how much they have, it's never enough. Some young people already want to die, And sadly, I've come to understand why. Some people want to live in Golden walls, And leave all the less fortunate to fall. As for me, I just want to get away from them all, And I don't want to believe That there is no Shangri La."
My all time favorite: The Cremation of Sam McGee BY ROBERT W. SERVICE There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee. Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows. Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows. He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell; Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell." On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail. Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail. If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see; It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee. And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow, And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe, He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess; And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request." Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan: "It's the cursèd cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone. Yet 'tain't being dead—it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains; So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains." A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail; And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale. He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee; And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee. There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven, With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given; It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains, But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains." Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code. In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load. In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring, Howled out their woes to the homeless snows— O God! how I loathed the thing. And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow; And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low; The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in; And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin. Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay; It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May." And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum; Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum." Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire; Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher; The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see; And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee. Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so; And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow. It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why; And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky. I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear; But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near; I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside. I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; ... then the door I opened wide. And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar; And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door. It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm— Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm." There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee.
