Friday, June 20
Tayrn -- Twenty-Twenty Hindsight
It's a cold winter's day in downtown L.A.,
Mother-daughter in the park, they're hard
at play.
Three men in van, take all they can,
And that mother and daughter's life speeds
away.
Key in the door, the tumblers roll, and the
daughter walks in first.
The whole damned neighborhood hears her scream,
and the mother's reaction rehearsed.
Jenny, darlin', call 911, I'm gonna see what
they took.
The T.V., stereo, VCR, and the coffee table
book.
Somethin' snapped that day and Mrs. Smith's
morality blew away.
They didn't take the shotgun, big mistake
for those braindead sons.
How much more did you think she could take
before she couldn't take no more?
Twenty-twenty hind-sight for the man in cemetery
plot number six-oh-four.
It was her ex-husband-to-be and his gutter-trash
brother-men.
They thought it would be so funny to see her
life go down the drain.
She called it self defense when the trial
began, twelve women said a-men to that.
Her life is normal again, or so she thought.
Jenny's dad is a spot on a wall, and she won't
forgive her mom.
Mrs. Smith has a book deal and a spot on a
new sitcom.
Jenny's got a brother now, and she thinks
she's second-best.
It's time to put a mother's love to the ultimate
test.
Jenny gets some piercings and a new tattoo.
It's all on mommy's credit card, the bill
comes in a week or two.
Jenny's hangin' with the wrong crowd, ditchin'
school ev'ry other day.
No one wants her around, or at least that's
what she thinks they say.
Somethin' snapped that day and Mrs. Smith's
morality blew away.
Her daughter's dead to her, she thought it
should be official now.
How much more did you think she could take
before she couldn't take no more?
Twenty-twenty hind-sight for the girl in cemetery
plot number eight-oh-four.
It was a mis-understanding is all, her daughter
commited suicide.
The jury saw the glycerine tears forming in
her eyes.
She sobbed and whined for another couple o'
days, at least until she was alone.
Her life is normal again, or so she thought.
Baby brother's all grown up now, he's got
himself a wife.
A house, a dog, and a baby on the way, what
a perfect life.
Mrs. Smith's on reruns, her t.v. career didn't
last.
Young Mr. Smith takes in his father's footsteps
and put's his mother's past to the past.
Third generation of little Smiths, and daddy
loves his girl.
Mommy's got a brand-new sports car, and takes
baby for a whirl.
Hit-and-run while DUI, plead insanity and
wave bye-bye.
That's not enough for Mr. Smith, the widower
whose lost his little Beth.
Somethin' snapped that day and Mr. Smith's
morality blew away.
His wife is dead, his daughter a vegetable
now.
How much more did you think he could take
before he couldn't take no more?
Twenty-twenty hind-sight for the old man in
cemetery plot number nine-oh-four.
That bastard deserved it, he said, but the
jury wouldn't hear of it.
They thought nothing could justify the murder
of a human being.
Mr. Smith's on death row now, awaiting a call
from the governor that will not come.
His life was a normal one, or at least, so
he thought.
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