And what they don't see, Is what is killing me. It's blessing and a curse That love is blind. - Garth Brooks

When the last child cries for a crust of bread;
When the last man dies for just words that he said;
When there's shelter over the poorest head,
We shall be free. When the last thing we notice is the color of skin,
And the first thing we look for is the beauty within,
When the skies and the oceans are clean again,
Then we shall be free.

And the white line's getting longer and the saddle's getting cold.
I'm much too young to feel this damn old.
All my cards are on the table with no ace left in the hole,
I'm much too young to feel this damn old.

Mama was a looker,
Lord, how she shined.
Papa was a good'n,
But the jealous kind.
Papa loved Mama;
Mama loved men.
Mama's in the graveyard;
Papa's in the pen.