ME

some of you know me as the third string holder on the football team.

I just want to thank you all for reading my crappy blog.

this is me in 5 years
     
 Bronson Berry

The music of life

Music has the power, 

to help and to heal, 

It's truly amazing, 

how it makes us feel. 

It brings us hope, 

and a positive mind. 

Motivates us, 

to be friendly and kind. 

Music offers messages, 

about others and earth, 

Guides us with purpose, 

assures that we're worth. 

A single song, 

countless hearts it may touch, 

Will help us love others, 

so very much.

Music is here, 

to entertain and inspire, 

Has the potential, 

to ignite our inner fire. 

Together with music, 

we can create good, 

We have what it takes, 

we definitely should.

My Heart's In The Highlands

Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, 
The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth; 
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, 
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; 
A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe, 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 

Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow; 
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below; 
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods; 
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; 
A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe, 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

Flying West

I hope there's a place, way up in the sky,

Where pilots can go, when they have to die-

A place where a guy can go and buy a cold beer

For a friend and comrade, whose memory is dear;

A place where no doctor or lawyer can tread,

Nor management type would ere be caught dead;

Just a quaint little place, kinda dark and full of smoke,

Where they like to sing loud, and love a good joke;

The kind of place where a lady could go

And feel safe and protected, by the men she would know.

There must be a place where old pilots go,

When their paining is finished, and their airspeed gets low,

Where the whiskey is old, and the women are young,

And the songs about flying and dying are sung,

Where you'd see all the fellows who'd flown west before.

And they'd call out your name, as you came through the door;

Who would buy you a drink if your thirst should be bad,

And relate to the others, "He was quite a good lad!"

And then through the mist, you'd spot an old guy

You had not seen for years, though he taught you how to fly.

He'd nod his old head, and grin ear to ear,

And say, "Welcome, my son, I'm pleased that you're here.

When the day is new

When the day is new,
Hopes are also new,
Like the clear blue sky,
And fresh little dew, 
Make it the most amazing day,
As it's a lovely day, 
Have a good day!