Two little boys had two little toys
Each had a wooden horse
Gaily they played each summer's day
Warriors both of course
One little chap then had a mishap
Broke off his horse's head
Wept for his toy, then cried with joy
As his young playmate said
"Did you think I would leave you crying
When there's room on my horse for two?
Climb up here, Jack, and don't be crying
I can go just as fast with two!
When we grow up we'll both be soldiers
And our horses will not be toys
And I wonder if we'll remember
When we were two little boys."
Long years had passed, war came so fast
Bravely they marched away
Cannons roared loud, and in the mad crowd
Wounded and dying lay
Up goes a shout, a horse dashes out
Out from the ranks so blue
Gallops away to where Joe lay
Then came a voice he knew
"Did you think I would leave you dying
When there's room on my horse for two?
Climb up here, Joe, we'll soon be flying
I can go just as fast with two
Did you say, Joe, I'm all a-tremble?
Perhaps it's the battle's noise
But I think it's that I remember
When we were two little boys."
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My brother nearly got disowned by my cousins because he wore earrings to the Eid gathering.
He plans on getting a fake tattoo next year.
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Me and My Brother (Robert Frank, 1969)
Mental illness at the exploit of relatively mentally well artists who, while giving a level of care they can resolve time, principle and ego to provide, can't offer the care required, conventional or not. Here: beatnik poets and new wave documentarists. Poor guy doesn't stand a chance. Life must be art, art must prevail, to the extent of replacing schizophrenic brother with an actor when he disappears. But art's delivered, an interesting piece of art i'll give it that. These dweebs just rubbed me the wrong way.
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