Too Bad

Posted: July 26, 2011 in Uncategorized

Too Bad

by Darrell Wallace

 

Another day goes by; still locked inside a mind I just can’t change.

Still don’t know why it makes me want to cry and scream in rage.

You should’ve been a dancer

Or daddy’s Little Queen

You should’ve been a child

And had childhood dreams…

That’s too bad. That’s too bad.

 

You had your secrets, but you loved him anyway,

Because that’s the way things are supposed to be.

The game stayed the same, but you changed each day

And you never told anyone but me.

You should’ve been a baby

You should’ve been safe

There should’ve been an answer

There should’ve been a way…

But that’s too bad. You know that’s too bad.

 

Daddies don’t hurt their children in the stories that we read

And children aren’t afraid to go home.

You always awaken from bad dreams at night

And you are never afraid to be alone.

You should’ve been a dancer

Or daddy’s Little Queen

You should’ve been a child

And had angel’s dreams

But that’s too bad. That’s just too damn bad.

Someone Lost

Posted: July 26, 2011 in Uncategorized

Someone Lost

by Darrell Wallace

Someone lost his life tonight, it doesn’t matter much, I suppose.

If it makes the evening paper, the truth still won’t be told.

You can love, you can lose, and you can have what you choose.

You can run, you can lie, and you can find a place to hide.

Someone lost his life tonight,

Doesn’t matter much, I suppose…

If you didn’t have to see it,

You will probably never be told.

 

Someone had a child tonight:

Doesn’t matter much, I suppose…

She has no home or family

To keep them from the cold.

You can’t laugh, you should cry, you just tightly shut your eyes.

You can’t share if you can’t feel, it’s not really real.

Someone had a child tonight,

Doesn’t change a thing, I suppose;

That the mother is just a child herself

And the baby is left alone…

 

Someone found a baby boy, wrapped in an old coat:

With a note pinned to the top… Please give this boy a home.

Who cares who is to blame, too much to feel a little pain?

You run, you hide, you know that you should cry…

Someone found a baby boy,

Doesn’t matter much, I suppose…

That the baby never had a chance, out in the cold alone.

The Other Side of Hell

Posted: July 26, 2011 in Uncategorized

The Other Side Of Hell

by Darrell Wallace

 

He’s talking to someone like she standing there

He doesn’t seem to notice there’s nobody here.

He sees her very clearly, he hears her as well;

Standing behind his eyes on the other side of hell.

 

He’s talking to someone but there is nobody here,

a 10-year-old child with the thousand yard stare.

An imaginary friend is the only one he can tell,

there’s a place for lost children on the other side of hell.

 

She whispers to someone she wishes were here,

Both sides of the conversation, as she brushes her hair.

She can explain the heavy makeup if she says that she fell,

Because everyone believes her on the other side of hell.

 

All your lost toys,

All your lost dreams,

All your best friends,

And all your failed schemes!

 

He’s shouting at someone but there’s nobody here.

How can he be so angry, when nobody cares?

Look away when you pass him,

Turn your eyes away now…

Or you might catch a glimpse of the other side of hell.

 

Some Things You Have To Keep

Posted: July 26, 2011 in Uncategorized

Some Things That You Have To Keep

by Darrell Wallace

I walked down to the river; it was late and dark at night.

I stared into the water and wondered if I were right?

An old man appeared beside me: I turned to look his way.

He said “Listen to me. I’ve got something I need to say.”

“Maybe you have some problems, and life hasn’t been real kind,

So I’ll tell you a secret, it might ease your mind.”

He looked down at the water and shivered from the cold.

He pulled his coat tighter around him, and then said, “I must be getting old.”

“This is easy to understand, if you listen to what I say.”

“There are some things that you have to keep,

And some things you throw away.”

 

 

 

“I keep pictures of my children locked inside my head,

The sound of my wife’s laughter lasted long after she was dead.

I’ll never forget Korea, or the 32nd parallel.

All the faces of my dead friends, I remember too damned well.

For while I drank too much, to remember what went on,

And I found myself standing here, by this river, all alone.”

Swift waters run deep, it’s true

I learned my lesson that day,

There are some things you have to keep,

And some things you throw away.”

 

“You keep the things that make you smile and you keep the lessons you’ve learned.

You try to forget the anger and the times that you been burned.

Forget the things you leave behind, they don’t fit you now anyway.

Keep what you need to carry on and don’t throw your life away.”

 

I looked up and he was gone, just the river and me.

The dark of night was fading and it was easier to see.

I looked all around me, but the only thing I found

Was a note in a bottle lying on the ground.

I almost didn’t read the words, afraid of what I find.

The note was addressed “to anyone” and it only had four lines.

“I can’t forget; I can’t go on.

There is nothing left to say.

There are some things you have to keep,

And some things you throw away.

This is easy to understand, if you listen to what I say…

There are some things you have to keep,

And some things you throw away.”

Chance to Dream

Posted: July 26, 2011 in Uncategorized

Chance to dream

by Darrell Wallace

Can I go to the place where children are still born from the dreams of man

To carry on the good life and build a better land?

Can I have a family to teach me?

Can I be a better man?

Can I keep what’s inside and still give it away?

Without forgetting where I stand?

Do I keep my mother and father,

When they’re too old to make their way?

Do I love my brothers and sister

Though they all lived far away?

Can I build my home with my own hands,

And have no one else to pay?

Can I speak as loud as I want to

When I have something to say?

Will my children and their children

still have a chance to dream?

Will my children and their children

still have a chance to dream.?

Big Brother

Posted: June 7, 2011 in Uncategorized

I wrote and copy-righted this song in 1994; it amazes me how clear the prophecy was written. We are re-recording this on a cd that I am working on with some folks here in Mobile. Soon as the tracks are completed, I will publish it on my site at Mississippi River Crooks | Mobile, AL | Alternative | Music, Lyrics, Songs, and Videos | ReverbNation . There is a MP3 player there with several home-spun tunes.
Big Brother
Copy Right D. Wallace, 1994

We will take care of you when you’re ill
We will pay your bills when you are over the hill….
We will watch over you in your home.
Big Brother will take good care of you.
(you and I….you and I)
You won’t need money, just your debit card
to buy all the nice things, if you Work real hard
at the career that You are allowed to choose…
Big Brother will take good care of you
(you and I….you and I)
You don’t worry about what your children see:
We’ll carefully edit all the books and TV
to make them less harmful to our youth!
Big Brother will take good care of you.
(you and I….you and I)
You won’t need a gun to defend yourself.
That job has been given to somebody else.
The police are very good at what they are trained to do.
Big Brother will take good care of you.
(you and I….you and I)
Thanks to all the break-through in technology,
we now have home access through interactive TV;
it makes our job much easier to do.
Big Brother will take good care of you.
(you and I….you and I)
We have them in our homes and in our Malls.
We have them in Parking Lots and Meeting Halls.
So that we may be of service to you….
Big Brother will take good care of you.
(you and I……you and I)
For those few that decide to break the rules,
We are committed to send them back to school
to learn how to become “Part of the Crew”.
Big Brother will take good care of you.
(you and I……you and I)
There will always be a number you can call
to report any violations of the Law.
It is dangerous, what dissonance can do!
Big Brother will take good care of you.
You and I
Take good care of you
you and I
Take good care of you….

I think I’m going to call the CD “Drink the Coolaid”.
__________________

Shooting Stars

Posted: April 18, 2011 in Uncategorized

A dumb toy pink elephant once made me cry; actually, it made me cry twice. It began with a shooting star.
There was a meteor shower in November. The papers said it would peak around 05:00 with as many as 13 shooting stars visible per minute. Just ten minutes of watching would make open the door for 130 wishes that might come true and try as I might, I could not come up with even one minutes worth of wants, unless I decided to waste something as powerful as a wish on specific guitars for my collection. I guess that made me realize that I was pretty much a happy man. Life now has a quality that no amount of money can buy or no amount of envy could steal. So I sat out to make at least a ten minute wish list and soon discovered that I had to get into things for people that I didn’t even especially like and still hadn’t quite made five minutes worth. I figured at the peak of the meteor shower, I would call out numbers from the wish list “9, 36, 71…”etc. Shooting stars can be very fast and tricky.

04:00 was cold and clear. Bug and I were in our night clothes. We lay out on the deck of our shanty-boat and watched the skies until daylight hid the stars behind the grey of morning.We lay side by side, her head on my shoulder, holding hands and counting pieces of the sky as they burned and fell towards earth. One final star split into two separate firey streamers, something that I had never before seen.

Back inside our warm boat, lying in bed trying to warm our cold feet on each other’s back-side, we laughed like children.
“Did you get all you wishes made?” she asked me?
“Only made one”.
“Just one? That whole list you been writing all day…just one?”
“Yep. Just one. Good night, Angel.”
She poked me in the ribs sharply, “Hey!”
“What”?
“The one…your wish?”
“It’s kind of silly. Wasn’t even on my list, in fact. Not important. Good night”.
“Nope!” She grabbed a particularly sensitive part of me. “Won’t work; give it up Mister!”
“I just wished I could keep the feeling that if I made a wish on a shooting star, it would come true, just a little bit longer.”
“Good Night.” She smiles when she sleeps.
I went to sleep thinking about that stupid pink elephant. His name was Toppy. My Father showed me my first shooting star when I was three.

“Make a wish and it might come true,” he explained. All I could think of that I wanted at that moment was a pink elephant, having just gone to the movies to see Fantasia.
“I wish I had a pink elephant,” I said , most solemnly. I don’t remember if my Father laughed or not.
The Christmas when I was about to turn 10, there was a package under the tree with my name on it. I didn’t really expect much of a Christmas that year. My parent were about to be separated and fighting a lot. I was the oldest child and had to be a buffer between them and my younger brothers and sister, as much as a 10 year old can be. I had to grow up fast and there wasn’t time to be ten and wishes on stars wouldn’t keep my parents together and neither would presents and I didn’t give a rat’s ass if Christmas came or not. But Christmas eve night, I opened my box and there was a stuffed pink elephant. “Toppy” was printed on a circus blanket covering it’s back. I stared at it in disbelief,” a stupid fucking toy..”
I carried it to bed with me that night, seven years after I had wished for it, and I held it to me as I listened for the dreaded arguments to begin but my parents didn’t fight that night and I cried myself to sleep holding that toy.
Years later, while packing to move, I last saw “Toppy” in the bed of a pickup going to the city dump. Faded, more white than pink, one ear missing, batting leaking from split seam, I picked it up and held it for a minute before tossing it back into the rest of trash going to the dump, with a mild flush of embarrassment. I was getting married tomorrow and nothing would ever happen to my family. We would never fight and would be together for ever and our children would never be afraid and I would take them to see Fantasia and buy them stupid toys to play with and I found myself thinking about pink elephants with tears in my eyes for the second time.

When The Shit Hits the Fan

Posted: April 13, 2011 in Uncategorized

Unemployment and inflation will make us more dependent on .gov and redistribution of wealth. More terrorist acts, real or false flag, will further tighten restrictions on travel, dissemination of news, and free speech. More will be forced by necessity to move into tightly controlled urban areas or refugee camps. Jobs will be offered that will feed the children of those that help enforce the new social mandates. Rewards will be paid for ratting out non-compliant persons, much like the already tried and true D.A.R.E. Program on steroids. Riots will mandate marshal law and most of us will support it as American, since the most likely to riot are minorities that are more highly dependent on the social tit. The two party system will continue to swap licks to divert our attention from the real problems. If Jesus returns during all this, he’s likely to shake his head and mutter “WTF?” and go back home.

This word has lost it’s meaning, to the point of ridiculous.  It has become a single-word oxymoron, if it were possible.

I am quite content with being a “Racist” if that means that I have an aversion to gangsta, droopy-panted, ghetto homeboys, et al. I base my judgment of people on a personal qualification and merit system that most, if not all, of that genre of folks fail to meet. It is actually more of a cultural thing rather than race but I don’t have the time or desire to argue semantics with those that decided I was a racist so I’ll just accept the title and go on. I listened to folks making dire predictions about what would come to pass if we allowed this system of entitlement to progress and heard them all labeled as paranoid racist southern white trash and, low and behold, if you took the word nigger out of the conversation, pretty much everything they predicted is here today and you read about it in the news.

Special Interest Groups

Posted: May 21, 2010 in Uncategorized

Dammit! If I could just find one special interest group to belong to, I’d feel, well “Special”. The white supremacists didn’t like my floral sheets, the neo-nazis were out cause with my banged up knee, just couldn’t get that goose-step down, the Panthers said, well never mind what they said….the religious right took offense at my mathematical dimension and ballast calculations to Noah’s ark, the Jehovah Witnesses thought that I might better apply my skills with telemarketing. Acorn didn’t agree with my ideas of organizing communities to take over Mall Santa operations. I offered to spy on the ACLU for the CIA and they told me to GFMS. I’ve been married to a Jew and a Catholic but neither one of them thought I might fit into any ceremony that involved wine, fire, and speaking in any dialect other than Southern. And while I’m on this subject, why do those African-American folks want to confuse me so? Are they African or American? And what about Obama’s pappy? He’s Kenyan or maybe, African-Kenyan? They keep calling him an African-American but he wasn’t from here so I get confused. Can ya’ll just be negroes again?