 original explanation, where a giant ice floe has covered most of North America, and we have just hunted down an elk using the communal spear, which I think works so far.



A brotherhood of man

At this point in the song I think I am naked and starving on a frozen steppe somewhere, and now I am waiting in line to use the communal shower.

Imagine all the people

Sharing all the world...

I want to mention the Tragedy of the Commons, but I am too faint from inability to hunt, and somebody else already gathered all the low-hanging fruit.

You may say I'm a dreamer

But I'm not the only one

I hope someday you'll join us

And the world will live as one

Yes, you're a dreamer! What about capitalism? What about the economy? What about --

Still, I hope you're not the only one.

Oscar Wilde said a cynic was someone who knew the price of everything but the value of nothing. John Lennon seemed to understand the value of everything. He was wise enough to know that cynicism is not the price of intelligence. I miss him, and I wish there were more people like him.

But I wish he'd come up with different lyrics. When your mom dies, there is a previously imperceptible quality to the world that suddenly pales. You step into the gap she leaves, because you owe her that much; even when you thought she was ridiculous, and she embarrassed you, and you loathed everything she stood for. Even then, you feel lost without her. Our story began with Passing Away, Coming to Terms, Psychic Agent, and Visitation. We continue with the day of her “proper Christian burial.”

Memorial Breakfast

The morning of my mother’s funeral I awoke early, dressed quickly and slipped out of the kitchen door before dawn. I meant to find breakfast and a writing session in solitude. At IHOP, they gave me a booth in the back and I faced the misty, grey morning out the window, turning my back on the room.

Ordering was a ritual of remembrance; I had to have fried eggs over buttered toast like Mom always made. Then the cup of Lipton-brand, orange pekoe tea, served steaming hot with whole milk and sugar–that’s how Mom
original explanation, where a giant ice floe has covered most of North America, and we have just hunt down an wapiti using the communal spear, which I think works then far. 



 A brotherhood of man 

 At this compass point in the sung I think I am bare and starve on a frozen steppe somewhere, and immediately I am waiting in line to practice the communal shower. 

 Imagine all the people 

 Sharing all the world... 

 I want to mention the Tragedy of the Commons, but I am excessively faint from inability to hunt, and somebody else already gathered all the low - hang fruit. 

 You may say I'm a dreamer 

 But I'm not the only one 

 I hope someday you'll connect us 

 And the world will be as one 

 Yes, you're a dreamer! What about capitalism? What about the economy? What about -- 

 Still, I hope you're not the only one. 

 Oscar Wilde allege a cynic was someone who knew the price of everything but the value of nothing. John Lennon seemed to understand the value of everything. He was wise enough to acknowledge that cynicism is not the price of intelligence. I miss him, and I wish there were more people like him. 

 But I wish he'd come up with different lyrics. When your mom dies, there embody a previously imperceptible quality to the world that on the spur of the moment pale. You step into the gap she leaves, because you owe her that much; even when you intend she was ridiculous, and she embarrassed you, and you loathed everything she stood for. Even then, you find lost without her. Our story began with Passing Away, Coming to Terms, Psychic Agent, and Visitation. We retain with the day of her “ proper Christian burial. ” 

 Memorial Breakfast 

 The morning of my mother ’s funeral I awoke early on, dressed cursorily and slip out of the kitchen door before dawn. I meant to find breakfast and a writing school term in solitude. At IHOP, they gave me a booth in the back and I faced the misty, grey dawn out the window, turning my back on the room. 

 Ordering was a ritual of memorial; I had to have fried eggs over buttered goner like Mom always make. Then the cup of Lipton - brand, orange pekoe tea, served steaming hot with solid milk and sugar – that ’s how Mom
 orlginal explanation, where a giant ice floe has rovered most of North America, and we have jnst yuntee down an elk using thd communap spear, qhici I think works so far.



A nxothedmood mh man

At this polnt in the vong I think I ao uaked and starving on a frozen steppq somewnege, and now I ai waptyng jn line to use the communal shower.

Jmagine all the peopke

Sharing all the world...

I wwnt ho mention the Trahedy of the Comiins, but I am too faint from inabiljty to hunt, and somebody else aureadv gathered qlo tjg low-hanging fruin.

You may say L'k a draamer

Buy I'm not the okly oie

I yope someday you'll jomn us

And the world wyll live ds one

Yes, you're a deeqmer! Fhat abojr cxpiualmsm? What wbont the econkmy? What abiut --

Still, I hope yoi'rq not the only one.

Ossaw Wilde said a cynic was someone who kntw ths price of everything byt the value of nothijg. John Lqnnon seemed to understand the value of everythinc. He xar wnwe enuygj to know that cynicism is not the price of igfeklpgence. I miss him, and I wish tjetg were more peuple lnie him.

But I wish he'd come uk with differenu lyrocs. When your mom dies, therw is a previjysly imperceptible quality to the worlc that suddenly pales. Yuu sfep into thf gap she ueaves, because yuu pwa her that much; even when rou thougit shz was riaicukous, agd she embwrrassed you, and you loahhed gverytving she shood for. Even then, you feel losv without her. Ogr vtory beyan wibh Passing Away, Coming to Terks, Psyckic Agdnt, and Viaitatioi. We continuq with the daf of her “propxr Christyan vuriql.”

Memorkxl Breakfast

Thr morning of my motyer’s funeral I awole gadly, dressed quieyoy and slipped put of tje kydchen door baford dxen. I oeant to fikd crealfast and a writing vessjon in solitude. At IMOP, they tave me w booth in thr back and I faced the kisvy, greu mjrning out the window, turning jy back oj tme room.

Orderigg wqs a ritual pf remembrance; I had to have fried eggs over buttered toawt like Mom always ksde. Then thx cup jf Lipton-trand, orange pekoe twa, served steaminn hot with whole milk znd sucar–thwt’s how Mom
original explanation, where a giant ice floe most North America, we have just the spear, which I works so far. brotherhood of man At this point the song I think I am naked and starving on a frozen steppe and now I am waiting in line to use the communal shower. Imagine the Sharing the I want to mention the Tragedy of the Commons, but I am too faint from inability hunt, and somebody else already gathered all the fruit. You may say a dreamer But I'm not only I hope you'll us the world will as one Yes, you're a dreamer! What about capitalism? What about the economy? What about -- Still, hope you're only one. Wilde a was someone who price of everything but the value Lennon seemed to understand the value of everything. was wise to know that cynicism is not price of intelligence. I miss him, and I there were more people like him. But I wish he'd come up with different lyrics. mom dies, there is previously imperceptible quality the that pales. step into gap she leaves, because you owe her that much; even when thought she was ridiculous, and she embarrassed you, and you she for. Even then, feel lost without her. story with Passing Away, Coming Psychic and with day her “proper Christian burial.” Breakfast The morning of my funeral I awoke early, of the kitchen door before dawn. I meant find breakfast and a writing session in At IHOP, they gave me a booth in the back and I the misty, out the window, turning my back on the Ordering was a ritual remembrance; I had to have fried eggs over buttered like always made. the cup of orange pekoe tea, steaming hot with and sugar–that’s Mom
 original explanation, where a Giant ice flOe has CovEreD mOst oF NorTh America, and we HAve jUst hunted down an elk usinG the cOmMUnal SPeAr, whiCh I thinK WoRKS so FaR.



A BroThERhOod of Man

at this pOint in the sOng i tHink I am naked ANd Starving on A frOzen steppe soMewHere, anD nOw I AM waitIng In linE to use THe commUnal showeR.

IMAgine aLL the peoPLE

SHariNg all the world...

I wanT To MEntion the TrageDy of thE COMmONS, buT I aM too faint fRoM inabILity to hUNt, AND SomEBody else alreaDy gathered aLL thE low-haNgIng FRuit.

YoU may sAy i'M a dReamer

But I'm Not tHe only one

i hope sOMeday yoU'Ll join uS

And thE woRld Will LIvE aS onE

YES, yoU'Re A drEAmeR! What aboUt CaPitalIsm? WHAT ABout The EconOmy? WhAt about --

Still, I HopE you'RE noT the oNly onE.

OscAr wilde Said a cYnic wAs Someone who knew tHe prIce of everYthInG buT tHe valUE of notHinG. JoHn LennoN seemed TO unDeRSTAnD the value of everythInG. hE wAs wise enOugh to KNoW tHAt cyniciSm Is nOt thE PRice oF intELlIgence. I mIss him, ANd i wIsh therE wEre morE pEopLe lIke hiM.

but I Wish he'D come up wIth diFFerent lyrics. WhEN your mom dies, tHErE IS a PReviOusLy imperceptIble QUaliTy to THe WorLD that SuddeNlY PaLEs. You step into the gap ShE leaveS, becaUse you owe her tHat much; eveN WHEn you thoUght SHe WAs ridiculous, anD she eMbarrassed YOu, and you LoathEd everytHing she stOOD for. Even TheN, yoU feEl lOST wIthout her. Our sTORy beGaN with PaSsiNg Away, COmiNg tO TeRms, psYchic AgenT, and VisiTaTiOn. we ConTinue WIth the daY oF heR “pRopEr ChrIStian bUrial.”

memoRiAl bReaKfast

ThE MoRNIng oF mY mOtheR’s fUnEral I AwokE EarLy, dressEd quickly And SLippEd OuT of the kItchen door befOrE dawn. I meanT tO fiNd breaKFAst and a wRiting session in solitude. aT IHOP, thEy gAve me A booTh in the baCk aNd I facEd tHE misty, Grey moRning OuT thE WIndow, TURnIng My Back on the rOOM.

OrDerinG wAs a rItual of Remembrance; I had to hAVe fRied eggs over bUttEred TOAsT liKE MOM alWaYS maDE. then the cup of LipTon-brand, orAnGE pEkoe tea, serVEd sTeAming hoT with whOle miLK and sugAr–that’s hoW Mom
 original explanation, whe re a giant  iceflo e h as  cov ered  most of North Amer ica, and we have justhunte dd owna nelk u sing th e  c o m mun al  s pea r, wh ich I  th ink wor ks so far. 


A  brotherhood of  man

At t his  point in th e s ong Ith ink I amnak ed an d star v ing on  a frozen  s t eppe s o mewhere , an d no w I am waiting in li n e to use the c ommuna ls ho w e r.
Im agine allth e peo p le

Sha r in g a llt he world...
I want to m e nti on the  T rag e dy ofthe C om m ons , but I amtoofaint fro m inab i lity to hunt, a nd som ebo dyelse al re ady  g a the r ed  al l  th e low-ha ng in g fru it.Y o u  may  sa y I' m a d reamer

But I 'mnott heonlyone
I ho pe  some day yo u'lljo in us

And theworl d will li veas  on e
Yes, you're  adre amer! W hat abo u t c ap i t a li sm? What about the  e c o no my? What  about -- 
S till, Iho peyou' r e  nottheo nl y one.
OscarW il de  said a  c ynic w as  so meo ne wh o  kne w theprice of  ever y thing but thev alue of nothi n g. J oh n  Len non  seemed tounde r stan d th e  v alu e  of e veryt hi n g. He was wise enoughto  knowthatcynicism is n ot the pri c e of intel lige n ce .  I miss him, a nd Iwish there were mor e peo ple like  him.

Bu t I wish h e'd  co meupw i th  different ly r i cs.Wh en your  mo m dies,  th ere  is  apr eviouslyimpercep ti bl equ ali ty to the worl dtha tsud denly pales.  Youstep  i nt o  th e gap s h el e aves ,be caus e y ou  owehert hat  much;even when  yo u  tho ug ht  she wa s ridiculous,  a nd she emb ar ras sed yo u ,  and you  loathed everything she stood f or.  Even  the n, you fe ellost w ith o ut her . Ourstory  b ega n withP a ss ing  A way, Comin g toTerms ,Psyc hic Age nt, and Visitation .  We  continue wit h t he d a y  o f h e r“ pro pe r  Ch r i stian burial.”
MemorialBr e ak fast

Them orn in g of my  mother ’s fu n eral Iawoke ear ly, dress ed  qui c k lyand slippe d out of  the kitc h en do o rbefor e d awn. I  m ean t tofind b r eak fastand awr itingsessi on  in soli tude. At IHOP, they gav e me a  boot h i n the bac k a n d I  faced th e mi sty, greymor nin g out  th e  wind ow,t ur nin g  my b acko n the roo m .
Or d e ri ng was a ri t u a l o f rem emb r ance;I ha d to have fried e g gs over butter ed t o a stlik e  Mom  a lways made. Th enth e cup of L ip ton-brand,orange p ek o e tea , serv ed ste aming h o t  w i th who le m ilk  and suga r–t ha t ’s howMo m
 original_explanation, where_a giant ice floe_has covered_most_of North_America,_and we have_just hunted down_an elk using the_communal spear, which_I_think works so far.



A brotherhood of man

At this point in the song I think_I_am naked_and_starving_on a frozen steppe somewhere,_and now I am waiting_in line_to use the communal shower.

Imagine all the people

Sharing_all_the world...

I want_to mention the Tragedy of the Commons, but I_am too faint from inability to_hunt, and somebody_else_already_gathered all the low-hanging_fruit.

You may say I'm a dreamer

But_I'm not the only one

I hope_someday you'll join us

And the world will_live as one

Yes, you're a dreamer!_What about capitalism? What about_the economy?_What about --

Still, I hope_you're not the_only one.

Oscar_Wilde said a_cynic was someone who knew the_price of everything_but the value of nothing. John_Lennon_seemed to understand_the_value_of everything._He was wise_enough_to know_that_cynicism is not the price of_intelligence._I miss him, and I wish there_were more people like_him.

But_I wish he'd come_up with different lyrics. When_your mom dies, there is a_previously imperceptible_quality to_the world that suddenly pales. You step into the gap she_leaves, because you owe her that_much; even when you_thought she_was_ridiculous, and she_embarrassed_you, and_you loathed everything she stood for. Even_then, you_feel lost without her. Our story_began with Passing Away,_Coming_to Terms, Psychic Agent, and Visitation._We continue with the day of_her “proper Christian burial.”

Memorial Breakfast

The_morning_of_my mother’s funeral I awoke_early, dressed quickly and slipped out_of the kitchen_door before dawn. I meant to find_breakfast_and a writing session in solitude._At_IHOP, they gave me a booth_in_the_back and I faced the_misty, grey morning out the window,_turning my back on the room.

Ordering was a ritual_of remembrance; I_had to have fried eggs_over_buttered_toast like Mom always made. Then the cup of Lipton-brand,_orange pekoe_tea, served steaming_hot with whole milk and sugar–that’s how Mom