Now, this is Music!!!!! Ahhhhhhhhh......

The Cry Of The Wounded Man

The Cry Of The Wounded Man

I am a wounded man

With cuts and bruises

Scars and sores

Living in less
 But longing for more

Hoping against hope

Dreaming bad dreams

Drowning in sorrow

Deafened by screams.

I am a wounded man

Walking crippled

Lame and limp

Living in poverty

Scrimping to scrimp

Hurt and broken

Torn and worn

Bearing the burdens

That can't be unborne.

I am a wounded man

I don't know

What to do

I don't believe

That I will receive

I don't know what is true.

My faith has failed

My enemies railed

My soul has been

Torn asunder

Tomorrow I

Won't even try

Tomorrow

I'll go under.

I am a wounded man

I am no good to me

I am so lost, can't find the Cross

I am too blind to see

I do not know the way to go

I cannot find my way

If God would send to me a friend

I wouldn't know what to say.

My mind, it lies unto my heart

It tells me I am scum

I lie here in the cold and die

While begging for the warm

I am a wounded man

I travel a weary path

I fall and fail and live in hell

And all God does is laugh.

And yet...and yet..I travel on

I cannot seem to end

I look behind me and I can't see

Where I've even been

My life is some comedian's joke

No punchline, no refrain

In my life there's only strife

And all it does is rain.

Where are You, God???

Do You hear me???

Do You know I'm here??

Do You see me??

Where are You, God??

Do You not hear???

I can't feel You

You are not near.

Where are You, God?

Do You understand?

I am a broken

Wounded man

I can't go on unless You come

To change my life

Or bring me home.

Oh, God! Oh, God!

I'm begging You!

Let me see something that's true

Let me hold it in my hand

Heal this wounded 

Wounded man.

©by Voo

 March 22, 2004 

Ever Wished You'd Done Things Differently?

Mama Won't Make Pants

Mama Won't Make Pants

Mama is a wonderful girl

There's nothing that she can't

Fix or do or make come true

But Mama won't make pants.

                         

When I was in Junior High School

Mama made my clothes

And all my school friends laughed at me

'Cause they always seemed to know.

              Now, Mama would make the prettiest shirts

And jackets fit for kings

But Mama wouldn't make me pants

She just couldn't do those things.

So I walked around in my hometown

My bare legs hanging out

I'd freeze in winter and when I went into

A restaurant, they'd throw me out.

 No girl would escort me to the prom

They didn't want to be seen

With a bottomless boy without his pants

And they treated me real mean.

I often complained to Mama back then

But she never paid me mind

She sewed and glowed and covered my back

But barely my poor behind.

Now, where was my dad in all of this?
Was he in or out or neither?
Well, mostly he stayed in the back of the house
(And I never saw him wearing pants either.)

One day I joined the army

And to my great surprise

They handed me a suit with long pants to boot

And the sarge stared into my eyes.

"Boy, we got some rules 'round here

And you better learn 'em fast

You better learn to shoot this gun

And you better cover your a--!"

Well, time went on and I adjusted

And I learned to dress myself

But in my closet there were all Mom's suits

With no pants upon the shelf.

Every Christmas, she'd send me stuff

That she'd sewed with joy and pride

And I sent her letters with pictures of me

Wearing that stuff inside.

And all around her living room

Hanging on her walls

Are photos of her fair haired boy

And even down the halls.

A bottomless boy in evening wear

A bottomless boy in tux

The Halloween costume she made for me

When I went as a bottomless duck.  

The graduation picture that I took with delight

When my Mom was so proud of me

There on my nap sits my mortar board cap

And there is my gown and my knees.

My wedding picture on that glorious day

When I wedded the girl of my dreams

And took her away down to Honeymoon Bay

(I can still hear her mother's sad screams.)

"He has no pants!" I heard her exclaim

"How can you marry that boy?"

But my bride didn't mind if I showed my behind

'Cause back then, I was her love and her joy.

Now, there's the picture I'm most fond of

Yeah, that's my little lad

Wearing his shirt and boots and looking so cute

Standing beside his dad.

But my lady love, she left me
Some years ago, you see
For a rich man in pants at the Masquerade Dance
And she turned up her nose at me.

And Junior never calls me now
In fact,  he's disappeared
Left this town and can't be found
Just like I always feared.

As he grew older, he grew ashamed
Of his Daddy and he strayed
His friends made fun of me for years
But an old man can't change his ways.

And Mama, she still sews a little bit 
But mostly she fusses at Pop

And cooks me nice things and makes rags out of jeans

And I can't make her stop.  

  My life has changed, been rearranged

And I can't change that, I can't

And if there's a reason for the way I turned out

It's 'cause Mama would not make me pants.

At least, that's what I tell myself

As I sit here in "The Home"

Wearing a shirt and tie and looking so spry

But the nurses all leave me alone.

And every Sunday, my Mama comes

To bring me food and stuff

And makes me try on some new garment

('Cause Mama still is tough.)

Little socks and flowered shirts

And I let her or she rants

She dresses me like a baby doll

But she never brings me pants.

 ©By Voo

Dec 11, 2004

3 p.m.

(Inspired by a true story about a man who shall remain nameless

as long as he keeps sending me a monthly check!! )
Oh, okay, his name is Dirk...................Something.

So She Dances