Mow the Deliberate Whaler

I spent the majority of my Saturday tending to my lawn. While I was mowing, I saw the dad who lives across the street play basketball with his two young sons. He and his family are wealthy, and they pay people to tend to their pretty lawn.

Then this thought crept into my mind: There comes a time, maybe a moment, maybe many moments, when a man decides whether he wants to be a man who mows his own lawn or pays someone to do it for him. Women must decide which of these men they want to partner with.

Maybe that's too broad and untrue, but I believe it.



Thrice - The Whaler

My lover's arms,
they beg me to stay.
But I know the storms,
they will sweep me away.

My daughter's eyes,
they are two tiny seas,
whose water will rise
and then run down her cheeks.

"Father where do you go,
so far out upon the sea,
when are you coming home to me?"
"Darling why do you leave,
as the north wind begins to blow?
Will you be coming home to me?"

The boat and the blade,
they are all that I know;
the sea calls my name,
and so I must go.

And while they still sleep,
I slip out through the door;
but how can I leave,
with my anchors ashore?

"Father where do you go?
It's farther than I can see,
when are you coming home to me?"
"Darling why do you leave,
as the north wind begins to blow?
Will you be coming home to me?"