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John Barleycorn Here’s a sad song for you— What happened was the man had to— . . . There was the wife who Soaked it in through her skin—; Every bit of his madness and sadness belonging to the man who could not cry. And then there is a crazy bastard boy, The one starting the engine in the car inside the garage to die, And the freaking rage and shouting, the sobbing and hysterical tears, Cuts on the skin with knives. And institutions that take them in and jails and rehab and inpatient and halfway. This story never ends. Never dies. Keeps taking hostages to the legend. Don’t ever think you’re safe, it says to me, to you. Don’t ever believe you’ll be in any place nice for any significant while. Police, mug shot. Don’t smile. That was a sad song for you who have gone now. Farewell. Good-bye. 44 ...

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