You Don't Plow Under The

This World Belongs To The Strong, My Friend! The Ritual Of Our Existence Is Based On The Strong Getting Stronger By Devouring The Weak. We Must Face Up To This. No More Than Right That It Should Be This Way. We Must Learn To Accept It As A Law Of The Natural World. The Rabbits Accept Their Role In The Ritual And Recognize The Wolf As The Strong. In Defense, The Rabbit Becomes Sly And Frightened And Elusive And He Digs Holes And Hides When The Wolf Is About. And He Endures, He Goes On. He Knows His Place. He Most Certainly Doesn't Challenge The Wolf To Combat. Now, Would That Be Wise? Would It?

His Whole Body Shakes With The Strain As He Tries To Lift Something He Knows He Can't Lift, Something Everybody Knows He Can't Lift. But, For Just A Second, When We Hear The Cement Grind At Our Feet, We Think, By Golly, He Might Do It.

Then - As He Was Talking - A Set Of Tail-lights Going Past Lit Up Mcmurphy's Face, And The Windshield Reflected An Expression That Was Allowed Only Because He Figured It'd Be Too Dark For Anybody In The Car To See, Dreadfully Tired And Strained And Frantic, Like There Wasn't Enough Time Left For Something He Had To Do.

I Lay In Bed The Night Before The Fishing Trip And Thought It Over, About My Being Deaf, About The Years Of Not Letting On I Heard What Was Said, And I Wonder If I Can Ever Act Any Other Way Again. But I Remembered One Thing: It Wasn't Me That Started Acting Deaf; It Was People That First Started Acting Like I Was Too Dumb To Hear Or See Or Say Anything At All.

This World… Belongs To The Strong, My Friend! The Ritual Of Our Existence Is Based On The Strong Getting Stronger By Devouring The Weak.