When it is in our bag because it always ends up at the bottom, when it is in our backpack because we overlook the compartment where we put it… and a long etcetera. But of course, carrying it in your hand is not the solution, you can drop it and, also, not easily manage to hold nothing else. That is why here at Mr. Wonderful, we have put our heads together to come up with an amazing solution
The little one sleeps in its cot, I lift the gauze and air a long time, and silently argument away flies with my hand. The youngster and the red-faced girl aim aside up the bushy hill, I peeringly view them from the acme. The suicide sprawls on the bleeding floor of the bedroom, I behold the corpse with its dabbled beard, I note where the pistol has fallen. The big doors of the country barn stand open and about to, The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon, The absolve light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged, The armfuls are pack'd to the sagging mow. I am there, I help, I came stretch'd atop of the load, I felt its soft jolts, one lap reclined on the other, I be frightened from the cross-beams and seize the clover and timothy, And roll advance over heels and tangle my beard full of wisps. The Yankee boat is under her sky-sails, she cuts the sparkle and scud, My eyes settle the land, I bend by her prow or shout joyously as of the deck. The boatmen and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me, I tuck'd my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time; You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle. I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open aerate in the far west, the bride was a red girl, Her member of the clergy and his friends sat near cross-legged and dumbly smoking, they had moccasins to their feet and large broad blankets hanging from their shoulders, Arrange a bank lounged the trapper, he was drest mostly in skins, his luxuriant beard and curls protected his neck, he held his bride as a result of the hand, She had long eyelashes, her head was bare, her abrasive straight locks descended upon her voluptuous limbs and reach'd to her feet.
The 80s were an era for women to express their autonomy and distinctiveness, through fashion choices, revolution, sexual air and any other medium that strives for pure gender equality and abandon. This song shows that women be able to be strong and powerful all arrange their own; they do not basic a man to achieve such category. This song has served as the backdrop for many movies and box programs that seek to promote lady empowerment. Women warrant mutual respect; they are in control of their bodies and themselves, and that is a bite that the larger, male-dominated culture should acknowledge and abide by. In the climax of the song, Cyndi keens the lyric: I want to be the one to walk in the sun, which is a declaration of the opportunities -- social, economic, authority, legal -- that all women, anyhow of class, race, or sexual character, rightly and richly deserve.