To each his own. To me my own.

A Young Troubadour

You’ll forgive a BS blog today. Well, not totally a BS blog, maybe more of a bs blog. Yeah, that’s it. Lower-case bullshit.

And really, it’s not a bad thing when one feels the need to rattle on about a not-so-important subject. It simply means either a) there are little to no catastrophic events to cover today, or b) the Bonster’s already ranted and raved enough already for a week. I can go ahead and tell you it’s not the latter of the two…

Good ole’ George Strait. Here’s a man who doesn’t have a bad song in his entire arsenal. So this song was in my head pretty much all of yesterday. For some reason, even though I’m not MALE, I can partially relate with the lyrics. If you haven’t ever heard it, check it out – it’s a pretty catchy tune.

I still feel 25, most of the time
I still raise a little cain with the boys
Honky tonks and pretty women
Lord, I’m still right there with them
Singing above the crowd and the noise.

Chorus:
Sometimes I feel like Jesse James
Still trying to make a name
Knowin’ nothing’s gonna change what I am
I was a young troubadour
When I rode in on a song
And I’ll be an old troubadour
When I’m gone.

Well, the truth about a mirror
It’s that a damn old mirror
Don’t really tell the whole truth
It don’t show what’s deep inside
Oh, read between the lines
And it’s really no reflection of my youth.

Chorus:
Sometimes I feel like Jesse James
Still tryin’ to make a name
Knowing nothings gonna change what I am
I was a young troubadour
When I rode in on a song
And I’ll be an old troubadour
When I’m gone.

I was a young troubadour
When I rode in on a song
And I’ll be an old troubadour
When I’m gone.

I’ll be an old troubadour
When I’m gone…

So I got curious.

Troubadour:
1 : one of a class of lyric poets and poet-musicians often of knightly rank who flourished from the 11th to the end of the 13th century chiefly in the south of France and the north of Italy and whose major theme was courtly love.
2 : a singer, especially of folk songs

the truth about a mirror
It’s that a damn old mirror
Don’t really tell the whole truth
It don’t show what’s deep inside
Oh, read between the lines
And it’s really no reflection of my youth.

Mirrors. Yeah, I get this. It doesn’t take much of the ole’ thought process to figure out that mirrors provide a very limited view of ourselves. They only provide an external view, a visual of what’s on the outside. Nothing on the inside. Nothing of how we might be feeling. Nothing of our past. Like The Young Troubadour said, you must read between the lines for that.

Can you imagine looking in the mirror only to see your past, your emotions, your transgressions in life, all staring right back at you?

Yep, God is good, all right. 🙂

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