We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
Bob has in his own words, a need for a dump truck to unload his head. I can relate to having an old mind , still clear, but with phantoms and ghosts and days of rage and joy. I skipped through it because of time, but it is hauntingly beautiful. It reminds me of "Workingman's Blues # 2" from "Modern Times" I found it haunting and reflective and am still moved by it.
“Unto thine ear I hold the dead sea shell cast up thy life’s foam-fretted feet between...” The brilliance. Past comment. (The voice, “improved with age.”). Isn’t this the soul’s catalogue I’ve leafed through as well? Thanks, BD.
Ralph Kinney Bennett
I read these lyrics as an allegory. A man noted for the phrase 'don't look back' is not suddenly giving us history lessons. The allegory concerns the relationship between presidents and the deep state. The primary clue is the line 'we live on the street down the street from where you live'. Is the FBI HQ not down the street from Mr Trump's White House?
I think he's hit one nail firmly on the head-we've just entered the Age of the Antichrist.