A Rest for Emily

And now, another tale well calculated to keep you in. A wreath for Emily by Barrow Firestorm. Isn't that pile of sock on the table? You, uh, my dear.

Just my dear. Well, I laugh, you are ornery. Thirty years of slaving on a dried up farm. Thirty years of hatin' what you do in the woman you're livin' with. in your living with 30 years of death and drudgery, and you still say my dear, weak.

Weak and a man of habit, that's a char or a reed. Don't stop tonight, family. There's paperwork to be done, so let's not stop it tonight, please. Paperwork figuring out your million dollar income tax.

Paperwork. Ah, please, good best. No, what's that? Set my finger with a needle. Don and socks, don and socks and cooking meals, with an enough food, talking to myself, living in this miserable place. I'm dried up to our and it's like the land out there, dried up in tires.

We do the best we can, Emily. The good Lord made it so it'd be hard for us. There's no use trying to make it out. It can be any other way. The good Lord, that you made it hard for us, Oran Reed.

The poor man in spirit, the poor are wondering what he can do. Where are you going? I don't want to listen no more. I'm going out for a minute. You come back here. You listen to what I say.

poor man. You hear me husband, a poor man, a poor farmer. There's nothing inside your own wreaths. So you listen to what I say. There'll be more tonight, my next night in the next. Till you're in your grave with the words I say, still out of your head. You've given the only life to the land. And you come back and you listen to me. That's better.