Bread (heftybread)

Well, we're doing mighty fine, I do suppose, in our streak of lightning cars and fancy clothes. But just so we're reminded of the ones who are held back, up front, there ought to be a man in black. I wear it for the sick and lonely old, for the reckless ones whose bad trip left them cold. I wear the black in mourning for the lives that could have been. Each week we lose a hundred fine young men.