Children give your life a resonance that it can't have without them.
I'm a cold winter morning, y'all Summer's Eve.
I'm pain in the spoken form; This new strain came from where hope is gone.
Took a vow to protect and serve, All you do is disrespect and murder. I ask that you not hurt my kids; This is where you work. . . this is where I live.
Up against Goliath, to bring butter home. I'm David on pavement, sling another stone.
You named them: hustlers, killers, fiends, ex-cons. I called them: cousins, aunts, pops, moms. To you? Hoodlums, crackheads, gunmens. To me? Just neighbors, classmates, young friends.
A simple right or left can mean life or death, Epic fail or nice success, Days of pleasure or nights of stress.
I know I'm known for singing some of those high notes but that's really not what giving someone goose bumps is all about. It's about really trying to find what makes you unique. . .
My daddy's face is a study. Winter moves into it and presides there. His eyes become a cliff of snow threatening to avalanche, his eyebrows bend like black limbs of leafless trees. His skin takes on the pale cheerless yellow of winter sun; for a jaw he has the edges of a snowbound field dotted with stubble; his high forehead is the frozen sweep of the Erie.
Death is the ultimate weapon of the tyrant; resurrection does not make a covenant with death, it overthrows it.
When the customer makes contact, he does not want a quote. He wants a commitment.