In the Blood (self-portrait)

In the Blood

By JOHN MAYER

How much of my mother has my mother left in me?

How much of my love will be insane to some degree?

And what about this feeling that I'm never good enough?

Will it wash out in the water, or is it always in the blood?

How much of my father am I destined to become?

Will I dim the lights inside me just to satisfy someone?

Will I let this woman kill me, or do away with jealous love?

Will it wash out in the water, or is it always in the blood?

I can feel the love I want, I can feel the love I need

But it's never gonna come the way I am

Could I change it if I wanted, can I rise above the flood?

Will it wash out in the water, or is it always in the blood?

How much like my brothers, do my brothers wanna be?

Does a broken home become another broken family?

Or will we be there for each other, like nobody ever could?

Will it wash out in the water, or is it always in the blood?

I can feel the love I want, I can feel the love I need

But it's never gonna come the way I am

Could I change it if I wanted, could I rise above the flood?

Will it wash out in the water, or is it always in the blood?

I can feel the love I want, I can feel the love I need

But it's never gonna come the way I am

Could I change it if I wanted, can I rise above the flood?

Will it wash out in the water, or is it always in the blood?

Just a pond

Big Chicken

 

STUBBORN SODA Pineapple Cream Soda

Grandma D

 

Captain Max

 

Pig

Rose #5

Grandma's Valentines

 

A Rooster for Asklepios

Then he uncovered his face, for he had covered himself up, and said—this was the last thing he uttered—“Crito, I owe the sacrifice of a rooster to Asklepios; will you pay that debt and not neglect to do so?”

Old Friends

 

She Walks in Beauty

She Walks in Beauty
BY LORD BYRON

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!