Up on darland banks lived a thousand men dressed in grey suits for most of their lives.
Up on darland banks they all had closed eyes
Up on those streets there was a man dressed in rags.
I had no grey suit. Nor did he.
Stan didn't dress quite like the average guy.
He didn't dress or smell like them.
Did I care more about the dispossessed than the trapped and limited minds? I didn't have the darland mind.
I helped him tell his story
I helped him find his place.
I wish others sometimes would embrace that simple grace.
Something I wrote once. As part of two tunes. Way back in the day. Now I am ill will I be the new stan?