Um. I called this angst, but it's almost anti-angst. Owell. I don't know
if I like this or not, but I have not liked things before and they have
been well received, so I thought I'd give it a try and see what everybody
thinks. Thanks.
Skittles
~~~
I am sick and tired of all us newsies here. We are brothers, but do we have to be so damn negative all the time? Sure, the future's bleak. Sure, there's not much chance for us once we're too old to sell, and sure it's scary because that time is approaching f a s t e r a nd faster andfastereveryday.
But if we'd look around us, we'd not only find the starving kids begging on the streets, kids working their hands to a pulp shoe shining, sweatin' blood in the shops, and getting torn up in the factories, but stories.
Look at that man over there. Not the one in the bowler hat, the one behind him. The one smiling as he's buying an apple from a vendor, with one very small, very dirty hand clutched in his much larger one. His daughter's hair is dark auburn, and she will probably never see the country she was born in, Ireland.
He will buy his fair skinned daughter an apple, and she'll munch on its juicy meat all the way back to their dirty tenement. But at least she has an apple to eat, and a home to go back to.
If you'll look over there, where that man is selling jewelry, there is a young lady. You can tell by her soft periwinkle skirt and delicate blouse that she's rich. You can tell by the way she walks that she's scared to death. She's just arrived from London, where she left her parents and came to the great USA, her one true love leading her through the crowd. She'll follow him to the ends of the earth and back.
And if you'll turn and look at me right now, you'll see curly hair stuffed into a cocked hat, bright brown eyes, pale olive skin, dirty, dusty shirt, and a smile. You'll see the boy is carrying newspapers that he reads everyday, and by them knows more about life than that delicate young thing from London who's trying to find out what life's about. You'll see he's watching the Irish man and his daughter, thinking of days when he might have a beautiful daughter of his own. You'll see hope.
He's asking himself "What do I do next?"
He's answering himself, "Whatever you want. You'll work hard, fight it out from the bottom, and you will be whatever you want."
My dream is to be the President of The United States. But for now, I'll shoot a bit lower. I'll settle for being a newspaper man. I know enough about it, and I can rise to power. I'm smart enough, I know it.
What do the man and his daughter, the young English lady and I have in common? Four words.
I Can Do It.
Skittles
~~~
I am sick and tired of all us newsies here. We are brothers, but do we have to be so damn negative all the time? Sure, the future's bleak. Sure, there's not much chance for us once we're too old to sell, and sure it's scary because that time is approaching f a s t e r a nd faster andfastereveryday.
But if we'd look around us, we'd not only find the starving kids begging on the streets, kids working their hands to a pulp shoe shining, sweatin' blood in the shops, and getting torn up in the factories, but stories.
Look at that man over there. Not the one in the bowler hat, the one behind him. The one smiling as he's buying an apple from a vendor, with one very small, very dirty hand clutched in his much larger one. His daughter's hair is dark auburn, and she will probably never see the country she was born in, Ireland.
He will buy his fair skinned daughter an apple, and she'll munch on its juicy meat all the way back to their dirty tenement. But at least she has an apple to eat, and a home to go back to.
If you'll look over there, where that man is selling jewelry, there is a young lady. You can tell by her soft periwinkle skirt and delicate blouse that she's rich. You can tell by the way she walks that she's scared to death. She's just arrived from London, where she left her parents and came to the great USA, her one true love leading her through the crowd. She'll follow him to the ends of the earth and back.
And if you'll turn and look at me right now, you'll see curly hair stuffed into a cocked hat, bright brown eyes, pale olive skin, dirty, dusty shirt, and a smile. You'll see the boy is carrying newspapers that he reads everyday, and by them knows more about life than that delicate young thing from London who's trying to find out what life's about. You'll see he's watching the Irish man and his daughter, thinking of days when he might have a beautiful daughter of his own. You'll see hope.
He's asking himself "What do I do next?"
He's answering himself, "Whatever you want. You'll work hard, fight it out from the bottom, and you will be whatever you want."
My dream is to be the President of The United States. But for now, I'll shoot a bit lower. I'll settle for being a newspaper man. I know enough about it, and I can rise to power. I'm smart enough, I know it.
What do the man and his daughter, the young English lady and I have in common? Four words.
I Can Do It.