I went to work last night at 6pm expecting a typical night at work. A little about me and the way I arive at work. I like to make the loudest entrance into the office I possibly can...banging, slamming, kicking, and swearing if necessary to make sure that EVERYONE knows I'm there. This serves a purpose...it let's everyone know I'm there...and if one of the other officers happen to be there questioning a suspect it lets the suspect know that the "bad cop" is there and they are under the protection of the "good cop" who is talking to them.

After making my usual entrance I go to the patrol office to check the bulletin board to see what is new, check for new warrants that might be out, etc. When I go in the office I see a girl, about 5'1", 115 pounds, and she's in uniform. Who is this person???? OK....if you know me...you'll know that when it comes to work, I hate suprises...at home I don't mind them as much....but at work I hate them. My first observation is that this officer is violating two rules that I have for female officers. Rule 1 - Make-up and perfect, teased hair. We're here to do a job...not get a date. Hair is something for someone to grab onto in a fight...the more it sticks up...the easier to grab. Make-up...when it's hot outside the only thing make-up does is run and gets on the uniform and makes you look like crap. Not to mention the fact that no matter what happens...make up will not rescue this one....face like a mud fence. Rule 2 - Jewelry. Never had an ear ring...but I can imagine that it would hurt like hell if it was ripped out. If you're wearing a bunch of wrings it's too easy to get them tangled up in something should you wind up in a fight. One of my best friends from the academy got his hand slammed in a car door trying to prevent a burglary suspect from escaping one night...his wedding band prevented him from pulling his hand free and he was drug about 300 feet across a parking lot before he was able to pull free....ever since then I quit wearing my wedding band to work.

The second problem I have is that she is sitting at my desk. I don't mind sharing....I really don't...but don't let me catch you rifling through my stuff when you sit there. After removing her from my work area....I had some things to do.....the Chief walked in and told me that his was our new reserve (name withheld to protect the innocent) and I was going to be her training officer. No problem there.....I'll make her a cop...or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof.

I introduce myself....show her all the paperwork that will concern her for now, mostly the training and evaluation forms that I have to fill out whenever she works and give her a number to get ahold of me to let me know when she will be working so I can plan my patrol car around her being there. I have to have some warning...generally, my patrol car is an organized mess. On the front passenger seat of my car is generally a ticket book, a warning book, a large clip board with all the forms I need, and a small regular clip board. On the front floor board I have a pair of binoculars, a night vision monocular, PBT (portable breath test) along with various other misc. items. Needless to say...unless the rookie is riding in the back seat....I have some organization to do when she comes to work.

We go out on patrol and go to a couple of minor calls...an EMS assist where a 61 year of age diabetic fell in her kitchen and was complaining of lower back and right hip pain. Blood sugar was a staggering 447...no wonder she collapsed. We also went to a minor disturbance call where some neighbors were arguing basically for the sake of arguing. It was at this call I had to teach her rule #1 of law enforcement.

I asked her to go meet with one neighbor while I spoke with the other...her simple mission was to simply write down their information. She asked to borrow a pen and something to write on. I don't care if you bring your gun to work....I don't care if you bring your handcuffs....I don't care what you bring....in order to be an effective police officer...the only two things you need is a pen and something to write on. 98% of what we do is paper work...and if you have nothing to record information with then you're screwed.

After we cleared that call I took her to DQ (Dairy Queen for those of you who don't know) so she could eat and I went to my house to cry......I mean eat. After dinner things slowed down and I tried to learn a few things about her that were important. No prior law enforcement experience....just graduated the academy. Thinks that the law should be enforced to the letter of the law...not the spirit of the law. Knows penal code numbers...know traffic code numbers....knows CCP numbers....thinks she knows it all. What she doesn't know is how to apply any of it.

I have trained police officers in the past....I am famous for doing arbitrary weapons inspections. I pull into the parking lot of the grocery store and ask her what she is carrying. A Glock 9mm. Combat Tupper Ware....WONDERFUL!!!! I hate Glock...hate 'em, hate 'em, hate 'em!!!!!! I take her gun from her to do an inspection. Clean, well oiled (maybe a little too well), a mag full of hydro-shock ammo...but nothing in the chamber. I ask her why she doesn't have one in the chamber? Glocks don't have an external safety and she doesn't want it to go off by accident. If it's in the holster....no fingers on the trigger....it's not going off by itself...period. In a shooting situation, you're not going to have time to rack the slide and put a bullet in the chamber...just won't happen...and chances are you will have lost the fine motor skills needed to work the action on the gun anyways.

Finally...the question of defensive tactics and violence. She detests violence....can't stand it...that's why she became a cop. I explain..in no uncertain terms....that in order to be a police officer, you have to accept violence as a way of life. You need to embrace it....learn about it...and study it....and maybe more importantly...learn how to apply it when necessary. There are people out there who love the police...the vast majority of society does...but for every thousand who like the police...there is one who doesn't like the police....dislikes them to the point that they are willing to kill them to get away from them. I put it to her simply like this...one expression that my training officer told me and I never forgot it. "Be professional with everyone you meet....be polite...and make a plan to kill them. They may be making the same plan about you."

All in all...it wasn't a bad day...I did explain how I felt about the jewelry, the make-up and the ear rings...and if she expects to get a good evaluation on her dress and appearance they will not be there the next time she comes to work.....if they are...then chances are we will have a problem.

Went to work at 6pm last night....did my usual...went in service...stopped at the local gas station and got the biggest Dr. Pepper they carry....and dropped into the office to see what was new on the bulletin board. As soon as I walk out the door get a call from Lubbock Dispatch...Code 3...Assist EMS.....20 month old male not breathing!!!! HOLY CRAP!!!! Lights, siren, and a near accident getting to the scene (they just chip sealed and Avenue E is covered in loose gravel...meant to go north and almost wound up going south). Get on scene...find a very distraught mother and a child who was thankfully screaming his lungs out. It seems that the child pitched a fit and was so upset he got locked up in mid scream and couldn't breath....went unconscious momentarily and his body took over and he got some wind in him. Glad it worked out the way it did......the alternative was unthinkable. I hate it when the day starts with a call like that!!!!

Got a call last night at about 2:30 AM of a domestic. Nothing new....it's Saturday night...the clubs just closed...and the drunk husbands and wives are home to let the "real" festivities begin. I meet the female subject in the front yard...she tells me her husband started cussing her for no reason, grabbed her by the hair and shoved her to the floor. OK, no problem....I go to speak with the husband who is still in the house. I knock on the door and he decides to pull a David Koresh....he's not coming out of the house.

I call for additional units...Lubbock SO gets a deputy headed my way...Hale County SO gets a couple headed my way and they call my Sgt. to bring the K-9 to the scene. All eyes on kicking the door in and dragging this guy kicking and squealing out of the house.

All units get there...plans are made...and the female victim tells us that there are no weapons in the house. That's ALWAYS A LIE....if there's a kitchen in the house and they own any untensils...there's weapons. We begin knocking on the door and the male subject informs us that he has a SWORD and anyone comes through the door is going to get their (insert your favorite explicative) head cut off. We ask the female...she tells us there's no sword. Their teen age son informs her that he bought a ninja sword at the Gun and Knife show in Lubbock this afternoon. GREAT!!!!!

Lubbock SO calls their tactical team and negotiators....we now have a good old fashioned armed standoff. The problem is....our turd in the house brought a knife to a gun fight. LSO shows up with a ten man tac team.....eight entry guys....one sniper and a negotiator. The electric company, phone company and the city water department are called and all utilities are cut to the house. 5:30 AM rolls around....three hours into the standoff....the chief comes up to me...."Go home....get some sleep....if things turn bad we'll call you out"

"But Chief...this is my call....I want to finish it." "GO HOME....we will call you." Well...he's the boss....I go back to my patrol car...take my toys..go to the gas station and fill my unit up to go back to work and I 10-42 at 6AM. They never called me and I would have loved to have been there when this thing ended. 11:30 AM this morning the guy told the negotiator he was hungry and thirsty. Arrangements were made for a burger and a coke from DQ to be brought to the house. When it was placed on the front porch the negotiator coaxed the guy onto the porch to get it.....when he opened the door he came out and was definately armed with a "ninja sword" and when he bent down to pick up the food and drink he was immediately pelted with 12 gauge bean-bag rounds and pepper balls....forgot all out his sword and was swarmed by the aforementioned 8 man entry team who took him into custody. I'm glad it's over...bad guy went to jail and none of the good guys got hurt.....but I REALLY REALLY wanted to be there. That part of the whole thing stinks!!!!!

On Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs - Dave Grossman

By LTC (RET) Dave Grossman, author of "On Killing."

Honor never grows old, and honor rejoices the heart of age. It does so because honor is, finally, about defending those noble and worthy things that deserve defending, even if it comes at a high cost. In our time, that may mean social disapproval, public scorn, hardship, persecution, or as always, even death itself. The question remains: What is worth defending? What is worth dying for? What is worth living for? - William J. Bennett - in a lecture to the United States Naval Academy November 24, 1997

One Vietnam veteran, an old retired colonel, once said this to me:

"Most of the people in our society are sheep. They are kind, gentle, productive creatures who can only hurt one another by accident." This is true. Remember, the murder rate is six per 100,000 per year, and the aggravated assault rate is four per 1,000 per year. What this means is that the vast majority of Americans are not inclined to hurt one another. Some estimates say that two million Americans are victims of violent crimes every year, a tragic, staggering number, perhaps an all-time record rate of violent crime. But there are almost 300 million Americans, which means that the odds of being a victim of violent crime is considerably less than one in a hundred on any given year. Furthermore, since many violent crimes are committed by repeat offenders, the actual number of violent citizens is considerably less than two million.

Thus there is a paradox, and we must grasp both ends of the situation: We may well be in the most violent times in history, but violence is still remarkably rare. This is because most citizens are kind, decent people who are not capable of hurting each other, except by accident or under extreme provocation. They are sheep.

I mean nothing negative by calling them sheep. To me it is like the pretty, blue robin's egg. Inside it is soft and gooey but someday it will grow into something wonderful. But the egg cannot survive without its hard blue shell. Police officers, soldiers, and other warriors are like that shell, and someday the civilization they protect will grow into something wonderful. For now, though, they need warriors to protect them from the predators.

"Then there are the wolves," the old war veteran said, "and the wolves feed on the sheep without mercy." Do you believe there are wolves out there who will feed on the flock without mercy? You better believe it. There are evil men in this world and they are capable of evil deeds. The moment you forget that or pretend it is not so, you become a sheep. There is no safety in denial.

"Then there are sheepdogs," he went on, "and I'm a sheepdog. I live to protect the flock and confront the wolf."

If you have no capacity for violence then you are a healthy productive citizen, a sheep. If you have a capacity for violence and no empathy for your fellow citizens, then you have defined an aggressive sociopath, a wolf. But what if you have a capacity for violence, and a deep love for your fellow citizens? What do you have then? A sheepdog, a warrior, someone who is walking the hero's path. Someone who can walk into the heart of darkness, into the universal human phobia, and walk out unscathed

Let me expand on this old soldier's excellent model of the sheep, wolves, and sheepdogs. We know that the sheep live in denial, that is what makes them sheep. They do not want to believe that there is evil in the world. They can accept the fact that fires can happen, which is why they want fire extinguishers, fire sprinklers, fire alarms and fire exits throughout their kids' schools.

But many of them are outraged at the idea of putting an armed police officer in their kid's school. Our children are thousands of times more likely to be killed or seriously injured by school violence than fire, but the sheep's only response to the possibility of violence is denial. The idea of someone coming to kill or harm their child is just too hard, and so they chose the path of denial.

The sheep generally do not like the sheepdog. He looks a lot like the wolf. He has fangs and the capacity for violence. The difference, though, is that the sheepdog must not, can not and will not ever harm the sheep. Any sheep dog who intentionally harms the lowliest little lamb will be punished and removed. The world cannot work any other way, at least not in a representative democracy or a republic such as ours.

Still, the sheepdog disturbs the sheep. He is a constant reminder that there are wolves in the land. They would prefer that he didn't tell them where to go, or give them traffic tickets, or stand at the ready in our airports in camouflage fatigues holding an M-16. The sheep would much rather have the sheepdog cash in his fangs, spray paint himself white, and go, "Baa."

Until the wolf shows up. Then the entire flock tries desperately to hide behind one lonely sheepdog.

The students, the victims, at Columbine High School were big, tough high school students, and under ordinary circumstances they would not have had the time of day for a police officer. They were not bad kids; they just had nothing to say to a cop. When the school was under attack, however, and SWAT teams were clearing the rooms and hallways, the officers had to physically peel those clinging, sobbing kids off of them. This is how the little lambs feel about their sheepdog when the wolf is at the door.

Look at what happened after September 11, 2001 when the wolf pounded hard on the door. Remember how America, more than ever before, felt differently about their law enforcement officers and military personnel? Remember how many times you heard the word hero?

Understand that there is nothing morally superior about being a sheepdog; it is just what you choose to be. Also understand that a sheepdog is a funny critter: He is always sniffing around out on the perimeter, checking the breeze, barking at things that go bump in the night, and yearning for a righteous battle. That is, the young sheepdogs yearn for a righteous battle. The old sheepdogs are a little older and wiser, but they move to the sound of the guns when needed right along with the young ones.

Here is how the sheep and the sheepdog think differently. The sheep pretend the wolf will never come, but the sheepdog lives for that day. After the attacks on September 11, 2001, most of the sheep, that is, most citizens in America said, "Thank God I wasn't on one of those planes." The sheepdogs, the warriors, said, "Dear God, I wish I could have been on one of those planes. Maybe I could have made a difference." When you are truly transformed into a warrior and have truly invested yourself into warriorhood, you want to be there. You want to be able to make a difference.

There is nothing morally superior about the sheepdog, the warrior, but he does have one real advantage. Only one. And that is that he is able to survive and thrive in an environment that destroys 98 percent of the population. There was research conducted a few years ago with individuals convicted of violent crimes. These cons were in prison for serious, predatory crimes of violence: assaults, murders and killing law enforcement officers. The vast majority said that they specifically targeted victims by body language: slumped walk, passive behavior and lack of awareness. They chose their victims like big cats do in Africa, when they select one out of the herd that is least able to protect itself.

Some people may be destined to be sheep and others might be genetically primed to be wolves or sheepdogs. But I believe that most people can choose which one they want to be, and I'm proud to say that more and more Americans are choosing to become sheepdogs.

Seven months after the attack on September 11, 2001, Todd Beamer was honored in his hometown of Cranbury, New Jersey. Todd, as you recall, was the man on Flight 93 over Pennsylvania who called on his cell phone to alert an operator from United Airlines about the hijacking. When he learned of the other three passenger planes that had been used as weapons, Todd dropped his phone and uttered the words, "Let's roll," which authorities believe was a signal to the other passengers to confront the terrorist hijackers. In one hour, a transformation occurred among the passengers - athletes, business people and parents. -- from sheep to sheepdogs and together they fought the wolves, ultimately saving an unknown number of lives on the ground.

There is no safety for honest men except by believing all possible evil of evil men. - Edmund Burke

Here is the point I like to emphasize, especially to the thousands of police officers and soldiers I speak to each year. In nature the sheep, real sheep, are born as sheep. Sheepdogs are born that way, and so are wolves. They didn't have a choice. But you are not a critter. As a human being, you can be whatever you want to be. It is a conscious, moral decision.

If you want to be a sheep, then you can be a sheep and that is okay, but you must understand the price you pay. When the wolf comes, you and your loved ones are going to die if there is not a sheepdog there to protect you. If you want to be a wolf, you can be one, but the sheepdogs are going to hunt you down and you will never have rest, safety, trust or love. But if you want to be a sheepdog and walk the warrior's path, then you must make a conscious and moral decision every day to dedicate, equip and prepare yourself to thrive in that toxic, corrosive moment when the wolf comes knocking at the door.

For example, many officers carry their weapons in church.? They are well concealed in ankle holsters, shoulder holsters or inside-the-belt holsters tucked into the small of their backs.? Anytime you go to some form of religious service, there is a very good chance that a police officer in your congregation is carrying. You will never know if there is such an individual in your place of worship, until the wolf appears to massacre you and your loved ones.

I was training a group of police officers in Texas, and during the break, one officer asked his friend if he carried his weapon in church. The other cop replied, "I will never be caught without my gun in church." I asked why he felt so strongly about this, and he told me about a cop he knew who was at a church massacre in Ft. Worth, Texas in 1999. In that incident, a mentally deranged individual came into the church and opened fire, gunning down fourteen people. He said that officer believed he could have saved every life that day if he had been carrying his gun. His own son was shot, and all he could do was throw himself on the boy's body and wait to die. That cop looked me in the eye and said, "Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself after that?"

Some individuals would be horrified if they knew this police officer was carrying a weapon in church. They might call him paranoid and would probably scorn him. Yet these same individuals would be enraged and would call for "heads to roll" if they found out that the airbags in their cars were defective, or that the fire extinguisher and fire sprinklers in their kids' school did not work. They can accept the fact that fires and traffic accidents can happen and that there must be safeguards against them.

Their only response to the wolf, though, is denial, and all too often their response to the sheepdog is scorn and disdain. But the sheepdog quietly asks himself, "Do you have and idea how hard it would be to live with yourself if your loved ones attacked and killed, and you had to stand there helplessly because you were unprepared for that day?"

It is denial that turns people into sheep. Sheep are psychologically destroyed by combat because their only defense is denial, which is counterproductive and destructive, resulting in fear, helplessness and horror when the wolf shows up.

Denial kills you twice. It kills you once, at your moment of truth when you are not physically prepared: you didn't bring your gun, you didn't train. Your only defense was wishful thinking. Hope is not a strategy. Denial kills you a second time because even if you do physically survive, you are psychologically shattered by your fear helplessness and horror at your moment of truth.

Gavin de Becker puts it like this in Fear Less, his superb post-9/11 book, which should be required reading for anyone trying to come to terms with our current world situation: "...denial can be seductive, but it has an insidious side effect. For all the peace of mind deniers think they get by saying it isn't so, the fall they take when faced with new violence is all the more unsettling."

Denial is a save-now-pay-later scheme, a contract written entirely in small print, for in the long run, the denying person knows the truth on some level.

And so the warrior must strive to confront denial in all aspects of his life, and prepare himself for the day when evil comes. If you are warrior who is legally authorized to carry a weapon and you step outside without that weapon, then you become a sheep, pretending that the bad man will not come today. No one can be "on" 24/7, for a lifetime. Everyone needs down time. But if you are authorized to carry a weapon, and you walk outside without it, just take a deep breath, and say this to yourself...

"Baa."

This business of being a sheep or a sheep dog is not a yes-no dichotomy. It is not an all-or-nothing, either-or choice. It is a matter of degrees, a continuum. On one end is an abject, head-in-the-sand-sheep and on the other end is the ultimate warrior. Few people exist completely on one end or the other. Most of us live somewhere in between. Since 9-11 almost everyone in America took a step up that continuum, away from denial. The sheep took a few steps toward accepting and appreciating their warriors, and the warriors started taking their job more seriously. The degree to which you move up that continuum, away from sheephood and denial, is the degree to which you and your loved ones will survive, physically and psychologically at your moment of truth.

Blood Upon the Shield

Blood Upon The Shield

Confrontation in an alley. The Centurion does not yield.

But this time the good guy loses;

there is blood upon the shield.

And the mournful sounds of bagpipes

play out across the land,

drowned out by the sobs of a lonely young wife

and a child too young to understand.

While the killer pleads his case in court,

the thin blue line is one man short.

And we're one step closer to society's fall;

another cop's name is engraved on the wall.

Another state funeral, with an army in blue,

and we know it could've been me and it could've been you.

We all look ahead to what the future has in store,

front line troopers in a country that's at war.

At war with itself and at war with its cops and we're

out there every day 'cause the battle never stops.

It's not the way it is on TV shows or like

we learned in school; no cool music in the background,

no playing by the "rules";

We're disillusioned warriors,

but for right we'll always strive.

We just pray that at the end of our stress-filled day

we'll get back home alive.

You stand out on the corner

ignoring the insults and the stares,

close to the point of believing that no one really cares,

when a six year-old boy walks over after watching

you for awhile, reaching out to shake your hand,

on his face a friendly smile.

To him you are a hero,

a protector of our land, and he wants

to learn about you,

as a cop and as a man.

And when he asks you why your badge is covered

by a black elastic band,

tell him about our Brother

A cop who made a stand.

Author Unknown

"The Final Inspection"

The policeman stood and faced his God,
Which must always come to pass.
He hoped his shoes were shining.
Just as brightly as his brass.

"Step forward now, policeman.
How shall I deal with you?
Have you always turned the other cheek?
To My church have you been true?"

The policeman squared his shoulders and said,
"No, Lord, I guess I ain't,
Because those of us who carry badges
can't always be a saint.

I've had to work most Sundays,
and at times my talk was rough,
and sometimes I've been violent,
Because the streets are awfully tough.

But I never took a penny,
That wasn't mine to keep....
Though I worked a lot of overtime
When the bills got just too steep.

And I never passed a cry for help,
Though at times I shook with fear.
And sometimes, God forgive me,
I've wept unmanly tears.

I know I don't deserve a place
Among the people here.
They never wanted me around
Except to calm their fear.

If you've a place for me here,
Lord, It needn't be so grand.
I never expected or had too much,
But if you don't.....I'll understand.

There was silence all around the throne
Where the saints had often trod.
As the policeman waited quietly,
For the judgment of his God.

"Step forward now, policeman,
You've borne your burdens well.
Come walk a beat on Heaven's streets,
You've done your time in hell."

Author Unknown

"The Creation of Peace Officers"
When the Lord was creating peace officers, he was into his sixth day of
overtime when an angel appeared and said,
"You're doing a lot of fiddling around on this one."

And the Lord said, "Have you read the spec on this order? A peace officer has
to be able to run five miles through alleys in the dark, scale walls, enter
homes the health inspector wouldn't touch, and not wrinkle his uniform.

"He has to be able to sit in an undercover car all day on a stakeout, cover a
homicide scene that night, canvass the neighborhood for witnesses,
and testify in court the next day.

"He has to be in top physical condition at all times, running on black coffee
and half-eaten meals. And he has to have six pairs of hands."

The angel shook her head slowly and said, "Six pairs of hands... no way."

"It's not the hands that are causing me problems," said the Lord, "it's the
three pairs of eyes an officer has to have."

"That's on the standard model?" asked the angel.

The Lord nodded. One pair that sees through a bulge in a pocket before he asks,
"May I see what's in there, sir?" (When he already knows and wishes he'd taken
that accounting job.) "Another pair here in the side of his head for his
partners' safety. And another pair of eyes here in front that can look
reassuringly at a bleeding victim and say, 'You'll be all right ma'am, when he knows it isn't so."

"Lord," said the angel, touching his sleeve, "rest and work on this tomorrow."

"I can't," said the Lord, "I already have a model that can talk a 250 pound
drunk into a patrol car without incident and feed a family of five on a civil service paycheck."

The angel circled the model of the peace officer very slowly, "Can it think?" she asked.

"You bet," said the Lord. "It can tell you the elements of a hundred crimes;
recite Miranda warnings in its sleep; detain, investigate, search, and arrest
a gang member on the street in less time than it takes five learned judges to
debate the legality of the stop... and still it keeps its sense of humor.

This officer also has phenomenal personal control. He can deal with crime
scenes painted in hell, coax a confession from a child abuser, comfort a murder
victim's family, and then read in the daily paper how law enforcement isn't
sensitive to the rights of criminal suspects."

Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek of the peace
officer. "There's a leak," she pronounced. "I told you that you were trying to
put too much into this model."

"That's not a leak," said the lord, "it's a tear."

"What's the tear for?" asked the angel.

"It's for bottled-up emotions, for fallen comrades, for commitment to that
funny piece of cloth called the American flag, for justice."

"You're a genius," said the angel.

The Lord looked somber. "I didn't put it there," he said.

Anonymous

"Revenge Served Cold"

Prince George's County Police Department


This poem dedicated to all Law Enforcement Officers who made the Supreme Sacrifice, and to those who remain, who never forget how, or at whose hands they died from.

A Parole Board you impressed
With your words of remorse
Through cunning and lies
You chart a new course

Back to the streets
To the crime you once knew
A cop now lies buried
Thanks only to you

So now you're a free man
You'll soon feel a cringe
I've baked you a cake
Let's call it revenge

I don't mince my words
For now you've been told
This cake called revenge
Is served best when cold

Enjoy the minutes
They're ticking so fast
The next once you live
Might be your last

And should you find heaven
By some quirk of fate
A Policeman is waiting
He's guarding the gate

by

Elmer L. Snow, III

"I Want To Tell You Lies"


I want to tell that little boy his Mom will be just fine.
I want to tell that dad we got his daughter out in time.
I want to tell that wife her husband will be home tonight.
I don't want to tell it like it is, I want to tell them lies.

You didn't put their seat belts on, you feel you killed your kids
I want to say you didn't ... but in a way, you did.
You pound your fists into my chest, you're hurting so inside
I want to say you'll be ok, I want to tell you lies.

You left chemicals within his reach and now it's in his eyes
I want to say your son will see, not tell you he'll be blind.
You ask me if he'll be OK, with pleading in your eyes
I want to say that yes he will, I want to tell you lies.

I can see you're crying as your life goes up in smoke.
If you'd maintained that smoke alarm, your children may have woke.
Don't grab my arm and ask me if your family is alive.
Don't make me tell you they're all dead, I want to tell you lies.

I want to say she'll be ok, you didn't take her life
I hear you say you love her and you'd never hurt your wife.
You thought you didn't drink too much, you thought that you could drive.
I don't want to say how wrong you were, I want to tell you lies.

You only left her for a moment, it happens all the time.
How could she have fallen from there? You thought she couldn't climb.
I want to say her neck's not broke, that she will be just fine.
I don't want to say she's paralyzed, I want to tell you lies.

I want to tell this teen his buddies didn't die in vain
Because he thought that it'd be cool to try to beat that train
I don't want to tell him this will haunt him all his life
I want to say that he'll forget, I want to tell him lies.

You left the cabinet open and your daughter found the gun.
Now you want me to undo the damage that's been done.
You tell me she's your only child, you say she's only five.
I don't want to say she won't see six, I want to tell you lies.

He fell into the pool when you just went to grab the phone.
It was only for a second that you left him there alone.
If you let the damn phone ring perhaps your boy would be alive.
But I don't want to tell you that, I want to tell you lies.

The fact that you were speeding caused that car to overturn
and we couldn't get them out of there before the whole thing burned.
Did they suffer? Yes, they suffered, as they slowly burned alive.
But I don't want to say those words, I want to tell you lies.

But I have to tell it like it is, until my shift is through
And then the real lies begin, when I come home to you.
You ask me how my day was, and I say it was just fine
I hope you understand, sometimes, I have to tell you lies.

By

Kalvere

"Just a Cop"


The funeral line was long,
There's an awful lot of cars,
Folks came out of the restaurants,
They came out of the bars.

The workers at the construction sites
All let their hammers drop.
Someone asked."What is this all for?"
And they said,"Aw, just a cop."

Some chuckled at the passing cars.
Some shed a silent tear
Some people said,"It's stupid.
all these dumb policemen here."

"How come they're not out fightn' crime?
Or in a doughnut shop?
Sure is a lot of trouble,
For someone who's just a cop."

They blocked the intersections,
They blocked the interstate.
People yelled and cursed,
"Damn, it's gonna make me late!"

"This is really ridiculous!"
"They're makin' us all stop!"
"It seems they're sure wastin' time,
On someone who's just a cop."

Into the cemetery now,
The slow procession comes,
The woeful Taps are slowly played.
There's loud salutes from guns.

The graveyard workers shake their heads
"This service is a flop."
"There's lots of good words wasted,
On someone who's just a cop."

Yeah, just a cop to most folks.
Did his duty every day.
Tryin' to protect us,
Till they took his life away.

And when he got to heaven,
St. Peter put him at the top.
An angel asked him, "Who was that?"
And he said, "Aw, just a cop."

Author Unknown