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From Where I Sit

You talk of what you’ve done

and have the nerve to criticize me

You speak of missions failed and how much you despise me

You laugh at my defeats, savoring each downfall with great pleasure

Knowing all the time, it’s you who lost―you’ve done nothing to be measured


Myself, I’ve never been content seeking safety from the storm

Stagnation and―a mundane life―result from living in the norm

I took my chances; refused to hide

Sometimes I lost; but I always tried

Sometimes I fell

But I always got up

Always answered the bell, always came back tough


You . . . you’ve made a career out of playing it safe

Gambled only when the odds were in your favor

And you had nothing at stake

I took the long road; you took the short

I’ve come a long way

You’re still docked at the port


It’s easy to laugh at another’s mistakes―

Laugh with your friends and sling mud in my face

While you live with your mother―grow old and get fat

Sip chardonnay with the girls and think you’re where it’s at

Well, if it’s at the bottom―you’re there


But I’m on the high road and when I get to the top

Don’t remember my name, don’t give me a thought

Don’t worry, don’t fret, for I won’t forget you

Nor the things I have learned or the things I’ve been through


One thing before I close, before I’ve said my last word . . .

Let me pause  . . . . . . . . .

And say, thanks

For the comeback you’ve spurred


For without your company down in the pits

I’d be doing my time in an assembly line hitch

Living in a trailer with an obese old bitch

Drinking cases of Stroh’s  . . .

Scratching my one year―seven year itch





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