cokeconfessional

Olde Tyme Mem'ry

Ever get in one of those "take on the world" moods? Like, where you feel like standing on top of a mountain with an acoustic guitar strapped to your back, hair blowing in the wind and your fist defiantly in the air.

When father bought the farm we sold the farm thick as blood for rustic charm, sold his ghost as an antique to the city. Kids today can't hold a spade, rest in peace your weary trades. In this world there is no place, such a pity. Well the barman shakes his head and fills my glass, yes we're living in the past. Why preserve a dying craft, end it's misery. We sigh and say another modern man, one of property not land. So I'll hold out this battered hand, will you listen?

I'm excited about a party a friend of mine is having on Memorial Day weekend. Drunken bbqs are quite possibly my favorite way to spend an afternoon. Nothing like a sing-along with a bottle in your hand alongside a bunch of friends.

Come sit down, we're lamenting about yesterday's sad ending. About the water in your whiskey. The brass passed off as gold. Another round, we're descending into old time memory of a day when wood was wood, silver was silver, gold was gold. Sweet home was home.