so take me from the valley
of the shadow of death
and I'll lie in green pastures
'til you carry me home

when every road to your home seems like another walk down the green mile
when everything you create seems like a carbon copy of all that you've been exposed to
when there's no better way to grow up than to act like you already have
when you're all out of patience and your girl just left and you're workin' all night just to keep up
when you're searchin' for something but you don't know who, where, or what
but you know that you just haven't found it yet
and life's creepin' up on you, inch by inch, day by day
and those letters you've been receiving don't have that much to say
you're asking, why? why's it gotta be this way? what am I doing here? why do I have to go out every Saturday night runnin' from something that's not even there?
and your written word's missin' a certain verb that would tell you just what to do
but it's hard to concentrate in this intoxicated view
and your banjo strings are always outta tune
and every night you're up late croonin' under the blue moon
you might as well just up and leave, head on down to Tennessee

there's trouble on the train and there's pancakes on the table and there's love in the forest and nobody's shootin Abel there's coffee in the cup and my hair got cut and everyone's goin' up but the rain's comin down like it's supposed to do


and I just want to read Kerouac all day but I have to learn how to live

Whatever you think, whatever you believe, whatever you know to be true - it's all just ideas. It won't affect the nature of reality and it won't affect your neighbour. Anything put to debate is not a constant, and we're all ignorant. There's no need to be angry in the face of conjectural decisions; such a state would lead nowhere. Everybody's right in their own eyes, so maybe there's something to what they have. The only way is to love and listen, you might find out a thing or two. But then again, this is just an idea.

when in doubt, cook.