Still know... Danny Farrell, he's a man.
A couple of weeks ago, I was watching video of people fighting on the street in Washington. A group of Trump guys surrounded an Antifa kid and started pounding the living shit out of him. It was three against one, at least. Jumping a guy like that is dishonorable obviously. It’s not how white men fight. Yet suddenly I found myself rooting for the mob against the man, hoping they’d hit him harder, kill him. I really wanted them to hurt the kid. I could taste it. Then somewhere deep in my brain, an alarm went off: this isn’t good for me. I’m becoming something I don’t want to be. The Antifa creep is a human being. Much as I despise what he says and does, much as I’m sure I’d hate him personally if I knew him, I shouldn’t gloat over his suffering. I should be bothered by it. I should remember that somewhere somebody probably loves this kid, and would be crushed if he was killed. If I don’t care about those things, if I reduce people to their politics, how am I better than he is?
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* I knew Danny Farrell when his football was a can
With his hand-me-downs and Welliers and his sandwiches of branBut now that pavement peasant is a full grown bitter man
With all the trials and troubles of his travelling people's clan
He's a loser, a boozer, a me and you user
A raider, a trader, a people police hater
So lonely and only, what you'd call a gurrier
Still know, Danny Farrell, he's a man
I knew Danny Farrell when he joined the National School
He was lousy at the Gaelic, they'd call him amadan — a fool
He was brilliant in the toss school by trading objects in the pawn
By the time he was an adult all his charming ways had gone
I knew Danny Farrell when we queued up for the dole
And he tried to hide the loss of pride that eats away the soul
But mending pots and kettles is a trade lost in the past
"There's no hand-outs here for tinkers" was the answer when he asked
He's a loser, a boozer, a me and you user
A raider, a trader, a people police hater
So lonely and only, what you'd call a gurrier
Still know, Danny Farrell, he's a man
I still know Danny Farrell, saw him just there yesterday
Drinking methylated spirits with some wino's on the quay
Oh, he's forty going on eighty, with his eyes of hope bereft
And he told me this for certain, there's not many of us left...
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