Mighty Favog Posted January 28, 2017 Share Posted January 28, 2017 I lived there from the time I was born (65') to 85', so yea, you could say I grew up there. Found out the house was now on the market and real estate agent is a cousin of mine. So he was kind enough to let us in this morning and trapes around. This was written on the stairwell from the second to third floor by one of my sibs. One of the attic rooms was remodeled to an additional bedroom which, I guess, was an early version of a man-cave. With that sibs' emense interest in Jethro Tull, he/she took pen to plaster and wrote out these lyrics. Not only has it been there for over 38-years, I give greatest thanks that the three families that have lived in the house since then and have left it alone. 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Coytee Posted January 28, 2017 Share Posted January 28, 2017 Nice story! (you did however, misspell grew in the title) Maybe you caught that. Did YOU write that in the fancy font? Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Mighty Favog Posted January 28, 2017 Author Share Posted January 28, 2017 No, one of my sibs drew/wrote it. My thing back then was skateboarding. LOL!! Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Mighty Favog Posted January 28, 2017 Author Share Posted January 28, 2017 Ooopppsss.....I was having trouble posting this the first time but now see it went up anyway in another thread. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Mighty Favog Posted January 29, 2017 Author Share Posted January 29, 2017 I eventually moved into that same "man-cave" room when the sib moved out. Our family would also listen to Simon and Garfunkel to pass the time. The lyrics to "Patterns" fit that room perfectly: The night sets softly With the hush of falling leaves Casting shivering shadows On the houses through the trees And the light from a street lamp Paints a pattern on my wall Like the pieces of a puzzle Or a child's uneven scrawl Up a narrow flight of stairs In a narrow little room As I lie upon my bed In the early evening gloom Impaled on my wall My eyes can dimly see The pattern of my life And the puzzle that is me From the moment of my birth To the instant of my death There are patterns I must follow Just as I must breathe each breath Like a rat in a maze The path before me lies And the pattern never alters Until the rat dies And the pattern still remains On the wall where darkness fell And it's fitting that it should For in darkness I must dwell Like the color of my skin Or the day that I grow old My life is made of patterns That can scarcely be controlled Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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