A portrait of the forgotten man.
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A series of one nights stands, always leaving after passion, anger, rage. The inner pain that pushes to self destruction. A man’s land scape of suppressed pain turns to rain of depression. Only the crows come to pick the final scraps. Tom Waits doesn’t have a cheery tune for us here, he has an honest tune. The possible story of veteran of who knows what war. Did we lose good men because we forgot about them?
A Good Man in Hard to Find
Tom Waits
I always play Russian Roulette in my head
It’s seventeen black and twenty-nine red
How far from the gutter; how far from the pew
I’ll always remember to forget about you
A good man is hard to find
Only strangers sleep in my bed
My favorite words are good-bye
And my favorite color is red
A long dead soldier looks out from the frame
No one remembers his war; no one
remembers his name
Go out to the meadow; scare off all the crows
It does nothing but rain here, and nothing
will grow
A good man is hard to find
Only strangers sleep in my bed
My favorite words are good-bye
And my favorite color is red
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