The Ballad of Goodman John/Ode to Sam Pt. 2

On a normal day or so it seemed

John went to work, on a day that beamed. 

He opened the shop and emptied the bins 

But saw some men, looking in. 

Oh John, you have to look them in the eye, 

But that cold sharp steel, 

It doesn’t lie. 

Cautiously approaching, he asked them why, 

In shear suspicion, they’re passing by. 

Grudgingly, they went away 

And didn’t return again all day. 

Goodman John, Goodman John, are you a hero of a man? 

Goodman John, Goodman John, are you a hero of a man? 

Or are you just a fool, 

Who doesn’t understand? 

Goodman John. 

Oh John, you have to look them in the eye, 

But that cold sharp steel, 

Doesn’t lie.

At nine o’clock, dark figures appeared, 

They ganged up with weapons, attacked and jeered. 

By half past nine, all till cash gone 

And so was the air 

From the lungs of John, 

From the lungs of John, 

From the lungs of John.

Goodman John, Goodman John, are you a hero of a man? 

Goodman John, Goodman John, are you a hero of a man? 

Or are you just a fool, 

Who doesn’t understand? 

Goodman John. 

Oh John, you had to look them in the eye 

And that cold sharp steel,

It didn’t lie.

Goodman John, Goodman John, are you a hero of a man? 

Goodman John, Goodman John, are you a hero of a man? 

Or are you just a fool, 

Who doesn’t understand? 

Goodman John. 

Goodman John. 

Goodman John. 

All pictures taken on 15th January 2017 somewhere around Bexley, Kent, England, United Kingdom. Special thanks to the great Derek Preston and extra special thanks to Sam Jam because, on top of all her well-known awesomeness, she's also a genius lyric-writer, and her birthday should be celebrated as one of the greatest landmarks and feats of humanity.

Auf Kosten der Gesundheit

“I’d rather you shot at tin cans in the back yard, but I know you’ll go after birds. Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit ‘em, but remember it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.” 

To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee

Found the dead body of a pigeon (or that, at least, is what it looked like, kind of difficult to determine with certainty due to a lack of head) on my way back from Flohschanze flea market last Saturday at around 1 pm, the second most useless hour of the day just surpassed by 11 am. The innocent creature of our Lord had been decapitated by something or someone who surely had nothing to do with our Lord, probably due to various reasons, usually whiskey. The poor thing's guts were all scattered on the ground, with subtle touches of blood and dog's urine here and there. People passing by glanced at it without amazement, and none of them took their hats off to say the Lord's Prayer to it. I can't imagine what this flying being existence was like, the struggles it went through, the lights and shadows of its lifetime, how many bread crumbs offered by mammal strangers it declined. But its trivial, worthless death looked like the most passionate, graceful thing I saw that day. One can never be thankful enough for the truth and the beauty.

All pictures taken on 23rd April 2016 in the surroundings of Uhlandstraße U-Bahn station in Hamburg, Germany.