Born this way.

Sometimes something makes me remember

how different my interests are.

 

Usually I forget.

 

But let me tell you a story about my life.

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.

.

.

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When I was little, and lying in my little bed,

sometimes my dad would lay down on the floor next to me.

 

I would hang my little arm over the side

and he would hold my little hand.

 

And he would sing me songs.

 

 

Not primary songs.

 

No Rock-a-bye Baby.

 

My dad sang me folk songs.

 

They were about war

and politics

and being so far from home you could never go back.

 

He sang me those great songs sung by

Peter, Paul & Mary

Pete Seeger

Bob Dylan

The Kingston Trio.

 

 

 

He sang me a song that went like this:

 

"Go ahead and hate your neighbor.

Go ahead and cheat a friend.

Do it in the name of heaven:

You can justify it in the end.

 

There won't be any trumpets blowin'

come the Judgment Day.

On the bloody mornin' after,

one tin soldier rides away."

 

Can you even imagine?

 

What a cool little girl I must have been,

with those thirty-year old songs all in my head

and weaving themselves into my dreams.

 

They've woven themselves into my life.

 

I love folk music that I'm now 50 years too young to like.

 

But how can't I?

 

It's telling the story of America,

the story of your life,

with just a banjo

and a couple of voices.

 

Stories that can be sung by bedsides

and walking down roads

leaving on jetplanes

thinking about your old man

or mankind in general

until the end of time.

 

It makes you think about all those

humble, beaten-down men and women who came before

and learned their lessons

and sang about it.

So here I am today.

 

And they don't do it like that no more.