(lyrics from Jacques Brel is Alive and Living in Paris)

SONS OF....

Sons of the thief, sons of the saint Who is the child with no complaint Sons of the great, or sons unknown All were children like your own The same sweet smiles, the same sad tears The cries at night, the nightmare fears Sons of the great, or sons unknown All were children like your own...

So long ago: long, long, ago...

But sons of tycoons, or sons of the farms All of the children ran from your arms Through fields of gold, through fields of ruin All of the children vanished too soon In tow'ring waves, in walls of flesh Among dying birds trembling with death Sons of tycoons, or sons of the farms All of the children ran from your arms...

So long ago: long, long, ago...

But sons of your sons, or sons passing by Children we lost in lullabies Sons of true love or sons of regret All of the sons you cannot forget Some built the roads, some wrote the poems Some went to war, some never came home Sons of your sons or sons passing by Children we lost in lullabies...

So long ago: long, long, ago

But, sons of the thief, sons of the saint Who is the child with no complaint Sons of the great, or sons unknown All were children like your own The same sweet smiles, the same sad tears The cries at night, the nightmare fears Sons of the great or sons unknown All were children like your own...

Like your own, like your own

Same song, in French, as originally written.

-- Tom Carey (tomcarey@mindspring.com), April 22, 1999

Answers

Thanks Tom,...my children are almost 22, and almost 27,...my nephew (12) was hit and killed by a car one year ago plus 2 days....I'd only sprinkle into Brel's lyrics "some daughters." My heart is hurting. I worry so, all the time...even before this week. Music helps, if only somewhat, sometime. Moments.

-- Donna Barthuley (moment@pacbell.net), April 23, 1999.

Tom, yes, Jacques Brel is a good fit to this tragedy. We mourn, the children are lifted away on wings of angels, and in Littleton the snow falls.

-- Hugh Morgan (how@sad.com), April 23, 1999.

Donna,

My heart to yours. dad died 2 years and a few days ago.

Chuck

-- chuck, a Night Driver (rienzoo@en.com), April 23, 1999.

"I'm Free"   Don't grieve for me, for now I'm free... I'm following the path God laid for me.   I took His hand when I heard Him call... I turned my back and left it all.   I could not stay another day... To laugh, to love, to work, or play.   Tasks left undone must stay that way... I found that peace at close of day.   If my parting has left a void... Then fill it with remembered joy.   A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss... Ah yes, these things I too will miss.   Be not burdened with times of sorrow... I wish you the sunshine of tomorrow.   My life's been full, I've savored much... Good friends, good times, a loved one's touch.   Perhaps my time seemed all too brief... Don't lengthen it now by undue grief.   Lift up your hearts and share with me... God wanted me now .... He set me free.

 
Author Unknown (to me...)
 


-- Dan (DanTCC@Yahoo.com), April 23, 1999.

I found this poem, when things like Columbine happen, and the burden of the knowledge becomes great, well sometimes....

To Whom it May Concern...

I am hereby officially tendering my resignation as an adult, in order to accept the responsibilities of a six year old. The tax base is lower. I want to be six again.

I want to go to McDonald's and think it's the best place in the world to eat.

I want to sail across a fresh mud puddle and make waves with rocks.

I want to think M&M's are money, because you can eat them.

I want to play kickball during recess and get up early on Easter morning to find my Easter basket.

I long for the days when life was simple. When you knew all your colors, the addition tables and simple nursery rymes, but it didn't bother you, because you didn't know what you didn't know, and you didn't care.

I want to go to school and have snack time, recess, gym & field trips.

I want to be happy, because I don't know what should make me upset.

I want to think the world is fair, and everyone in it is honest and good.

I want to believe that anything is possible. Sometime, while I was maturing, I learned too much. I learned of nuclear weapons, prejudice, starving and abused kids, lies, unhappy marriages, illness, pain and mortality. I want to be six again.

I want to think that everyone, including myself, will live forever, because I don't know the concept of death.

I want to be oblivious to the over complexity of life and be overly excited by the little things again. I want television to be somthing I watch for fun, not somthing used for escape from things I should be doing.

I want to live knowing the little things I find exciting will always make me as happy as when I first learned them. I want to be six again.

I remember not seeing the world as a whole, but rather being only aware of the things that directly concerned me.

I want to be naive enough to think if I'm happy, so is everyone else.

I want to walk down the beach and think only of the sand beneath my feet, and the possibility of finding that blue piece of sea glass I'm looking for.

I want to spend my afternoons climbing trees and riding my bike, letting the grownups worry about time, the dentist and how to find the money to fix the car.

I want to wonder what I'll do when I grow up, and what I'll be, who I'll be and not worry about what I'll do if this doesn't work out. I want that time back.

I want to use it now as an escape, so that when my computer crashes, or I have a mountain of paperwork or two depressed friends, or a fight with my spouse, or bittersweet memories of times gone by, or second thoughts about so many things, I can travel back and build a snowman, without thinking of anything except wheter the snow sticks together and what I can possibly use for the snowman's mouth.

I want to be six again.

-Anonymous Kickball anyone? ;-)

BTW, I'm planting a new Columbine plant in my garden this year(it's a perrennial). It will be a reminder for me to pray for those people, to never take my kids for granted, and to remember the things in life that really matter.

-- Deborah (infowars@yahoo.com), April 23, 1999.