<<This so-called credit-and-real-estate-bubble can't be blamed on Greenie, entirely. It's a disease which has many sources and many causes, in my humble opinion. We live in an era of RISING EXPECTATIONS.>>
I agree, we are all responsible ultimately for our own actions. That said, the Fed and the lenders are like parents who leave an open bottle of fine tequila on the table at a party of 16 year olds, encouraging them to "have a taste". Unfortunately in this instance, the rambunctious teens have drained the bottle, emptied the liquor cabinet, tied up the parents and are currently downtown ransacking the liquor store...there will be a BODACIOUS hangover in the morning when they wake up in jail!<G>
...or as Kris Kristoffersen once put it:
Well, I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
Then I washed my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.
I'd smoked my mind the night before
With cigarettes and songs I'd been picking.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Playing with a can that he was kicking.
Then I walked across the street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken.
And Lord, it took me back to something that I'd lost
Somewhere, somehow along the way.
On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.
In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughing little girl that he was swinging.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the songs they were singing.
Then I headed down the street,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing,
And it echoed through the canyon
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.
On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down. |
