Marshall

His face is drawn, cheeks hallowed out from years of hunger and suffering, his eyes, which were once soft and innocent, have long ago lost their luster for life and love for anything. His body pulses with muscle and anger, dyed hair hidden with a hat or gleaming in the sunlight, as he sings and yells about everything wrong with the world. I wonder, has anyone ever seen him smile? This man's mouth seems to be frozen into a frown, even when everyone else is smiling and laughing, he seems to fade into the background, as if he prefers it this way, as if he doesn't ever want to talk to someone. How can it be that the whole world knows his name, but he seems so lonely? He has everything this world says he needs, but I don't ever want to end up like him, miserable and alone, bitter and always wanting. His own daughters are all that he loves in this life, and nothing and no one else. Because all the money in the world can't buy happiness, no matter what they say. A dozen f words scatter across each song he produces, and each one only comes out angrier than the last. Will it ever get any better for him? I pray for him. Even though my opinion will never matter to this man, who seems to have everything, yet acts as though he has nothing. No matter how much influence I end up amassing, it will probably never compare to all he has built up in the years since his first words were heard. I pray someday his eyes will be opened, because he can gain the whole world, but if he loses his soul, he will die with the rest.