When I hear the term "Mean Old Man"
the finger usually points at me.
That old man's against all progress,
he'd have us crawl back in the sea.
The old man's seen many changes
of this we shall all agree,
his way of life robbed from him
his mind turns back to use to be.
He once knew every name and face
in the village and farms around,
shook hands and passed the time of day
with loving friends so true and sound.
Year after year the grim reaper
has taken toll upon his friends,
the few now left he seldom sees
lost in a crowd that has no end.
Seen the loss of natures creatures,
destruction of wildlife habitat,
plunder and waste of resources,
watched money weave its evil mat.
Did history not teach us a lesson
when we cut down all God's virgin pine?
Left the landscape cold and barren,
again trees cut with ease of mind.
The lake without a home or cabin
never again will it appear,
surrounded now by tiers of dwellings
weed filled, water no longer clear.
The small farm no longer lingers,
pickle barrel stores do not exist.
Mom and Pop's family grocery
have been crossed off today's list.
The past lies alone in memory,
left only his time capsule land.
He fears poison fangs of progress
will strike the deed from his aging hand.
The old man's new world is strange
it's way's he does not understand.
Waste and pollution run rampant
blessed by government command.
Yes! The old man's hurts are many
robbed by the progress band,
just what made the old man bitter
you may now understand.
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