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Saffron Burrows

What am I doing in this silly showbiz life? I do wonder that sometimes.

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What Are You Doing The Rest Of Your Life

What are you doing the rest of your life?
North and south and east and west of your life
I have only one request of your life
That you spend it all with me
All the seasons and the times of your days
All the nickels and the dimes of your days
Let the reasons and rhymes of your days
All begin and end with me
I want to see your face
In every kind of light
In fields of dawn
And forests of the night
And when you stand before the candles on a cake
Oh, let me be the one to hear the silent wish you make
Those tomorrows waiting deep in your eyes
And the world of love you keep in your eyes
Ill awaken whats asleep in your eyes
It may take a kiss or two
Through all of my life
Summer, winter, spring and fall of my life
All I ever will recall of my life
Is all of my life with you, ooh, ooh

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What You Are Doing II

You got to know what you are doing on this love,
And you've got to know what you are doing with my life;
Because the Creator will surely judge us all one day,
Yes this is a serious truth!
And i surely need you on this love,
But try to know what you are doing with my life.

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On this silly hill

On this silly hill I remember the silly things
That we did
We were so young and we decided to pick
Some ripe mangoes on this silly
Isolated hill away from
Our teasing
Silly friends

And I really liked her a lot
My heart was trembling
Her heart too quivering
We felt we like each other
Feelings like hot chili
Heating our ears

We said we love each other
We promised to love each other
Till the end of days

And so I climbed the mango tree
And picked the most luscious
Delicious mangoes as may be gleaned
From their color and shape
Thinking all the best for her
That I could give
To her

I put all the mangoes in my shirt
And I was silly looking silly like a tray to her
And she picked them one by one
Near my chest lower to my tummy
Nearer to my bulge

I was breathless
As she took more
Ripe mangoes from me
Slowly
Gracefully
Peeling with her mouth and tongue
Licking the yellowish pulp
And she said the mangoes were all
So sweet smelling and delicious
Like me

She was craving
She was raving
I was simply receptive
Giving in
All
To what she wanted


She touched my heart and we were silly
On our teens we did
What married people did on this silly hill
Isolated from silly friends

We did something adventurous
We had something marvelous
We did all those silly things
Like wild horses
In nature’s ways
Galloping
Breath taking


The years passed and now I am reaching fifty
Looking back I remember the silly things that we
Young silly people on our early teens did on this silly hill

We went and parted and she married the right man for her
I too went my own separate direction, taking a wife on my own

Looking back,
I feel sad,
I feel happy
What we silly teeny people did which we think was silly

Was all done in the name of pure love so endless
We were all virgins in love & we all thought of nothing else

Love and love and love
The mango was a symbol also of love
The silly hill was the seat of love
The mango tree was a climb of love
The isolation was all in the name of love
The whole was but love’s marvel
Love’s adventure

Love and love and love was all that we had
All love and love
Pure love
Unmixed untainted unblemished unadulterated
And they think it was silly
And I once thought it was silly

On that silly hill remembering the silly things we did
The silly things we said and promised

We did not talk about money, politics and family strategy
We did not bother about inheritance, a family name, a community reputation
We were not told whom to marry and when and always why.

Love can be developed and marriage can always be arranged
That to me are the silly things that we people do to ourselves.

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What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

When the bells all ring,
And the horns all blow,
And the couples we know
Are fondly kissing.
Will I be with you,
Or will I be among the missing?
Maybe it's much too early in the game,
Ah, but I thought I'd ask you just the same,
What are you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?
Wonder who's arms will hold you good and tight,
When it's exactly 12 o'clock that night,
New Year's, New Year's Eve.
Maybe I'm crazy to suppose,
I'd ever be the one you chose,
Out of a thousand invitations you'll receive.
Ah, but in case I stand one little chance,
Here comes the jackpot question in advance,
What are you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?
(Instrumental break)
Out of a thousand invitations you'll receive,
Ah, but in case I stand one little chance,
Here comes the jackpot question in advance,
What are you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?
What are you doing, New Year's Eve?

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This Is The Life For Me

(wade hayes/chick rains)
I was born in oklahoma in 1969
My daddy played the honky tonks
Out on the county line
One night he took me with him
Through those swingin doors
And I heard that country music
Saw that crowded dance floor
Dad made fifty dollars
And I stayed up til three
And I thought
This is the life for me
By the time I turned fourteen
I was pickin lead guitar
Everyday I went to school
And at night I played the bars
Two or three years later
I noticed something strange
All the looks that I was gettin
From the girls began to change
I knew right then and there
What I was gonna be
This is the life for me
This is the life
The only one I want to know
Everyday another town
And every night another show
Ever since I was a boy
Ive had this crazy dream
Now I know it was meant to be
This is the life
This is the life for me
Well I tried to go to college
Just to see if I was wrong
But that aint the kind of knowledge
That helps you write a country song
I got my education on the wild side of life
Through a cloud of smoke so thick
That you could cut it with a knife
There was no doubt about it
As far as I could see
This is the life for me
This is the life
The only one I want to know
Everyday another town
And every night another show
Ever since I was a boy
Ive had this crazy dream
Now I know it was meant to be
This is the life
This is the life for me
Yeah this is the life
This is the life for me.

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What You Are Doing

You got to know what you are doing with my life on this love,
And like the muse of your so exposed to many;
But my love is guided by the principles of nature,
And like the songs of two lovers.

Yes this is a serious truth about myself,
And i surely need you on this love;
But try to know what you are doing with my life.

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I Know What You’ve Been Doing’

Nanna’s charge little Shirley all but four
Grabbed the chocolate and closed the door,
On her face round her mouth, sticky dress
Melted chocolate what a mess!

Grandma came in to such a shock
Wishing she’d kept it under lock.
“Never never eat so much of this treat,
Your stomach will balloon till you float down the street, ”

Cleaned and tidy they both went off to catch the bus,
Alighting Shirley said, ‘Sit here just the two of us”
A heavily pregnant lady passed as though something was brewing.
Tiny Shirley stood up shouting ‘ I know what You’ve been doing

NB. Eating lots of chocks?

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What Are We Doing

What am I doing in a place like this
When its painfully clear that my face dont fit?
What am I doing acting identikit,
When all I want to do is to be the opposite?
Why am i, why are you,
Whos pretending just whos fooling who
Do we go our way or join in their merry queue.
What are we doing in the pouring rain
Walking hand in hand, I gotta be out of my brain.
What are we doing, is it all for show
Are we drifting along, going along with the flow.
I dont know, I wish I knew
Is it me or you whos fooling
What a bore, wheres the door
Are we just for decoration?
What am I doing to you?
What are you doing to me too?
What are they doing to us?
Someone help me, tell me truly.
What are we doing in a place like this
Trying to prove to the world that we really exist
Standing around with all the egotists
Sticking out like a zit knickers all in a twist.
Why are we? I dont know,
Are we merely going with the flow
To prove, who we know
Or drifting along acting a part in a show?
Why am I going through this?
Why are you going through this too?
What are they doing to us?
Someone help me, tell me truly.
So do we go our own way
Or do we join their merry queue
Pretending its o.k.
Them or us, whos fooling who?
Why are we standing in the acid rain
Watching industrial waste trickling down the drain?
What are we doing under the nuclear glow
What we all gonna do? where we all gonna go?
What are we doing?
What are we doing?

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Damascus, What Are You Doing to Me?

1
My voice rings out, this time, from Damascus
It rings out from the house of my mother and father
In Sham. The geography of my body changes.
The cells of my blood become green.
My alphabet is green.
In Sham. A new mouth emerges for my mouth
A new voice emerges for my voice
And my fingers
Become a tribe

2
I return to Damascus
Riding on the backs of clouds
Riding the two most beautiful horses in the world
The horse of passion.
The horse of poetry.
I return after sixty years
To search for my umbilical cord,
For the Damascene barber who circumcised me,
For the midwife who tossed me in the basin under the bed
And received a gold lira from my father,
She left our house
On that day in March of 1923
Her hands stained with the blood of the poem…

3
I return to the womb in which I was formed . . .
To the first book I read in it . . .
To the first woman who taught me
The geography of love . . .
And the geography of women . . .

4
I return
After my limbs have been strewn across all the continents
And my cough has been scattered in all the hotels
After my mother’s sheets scented with laurel soap
I have found no other bed to sleep on . . .
And after the “bride” of oil and thyme
That she would roll up for me
No longer does any other 'bride' in the world please me
And after the quince jam she would make with her own hands
I am no longer enthusiastic about breakfast in the morning
And after the blackberry drink that she would make
No other wine intoxicates me . . .

5
I enter the courtyard of the Umayyad Mosque
And greet everyone in it
Corner to . . . corner
Tile to . . . tile
Dove to . . . dove
I wander in the gardens of Kufi script
And pluck beautiful flowers of God’s words
And hear with my eye the voice of the mosaics
And the music of agate prayer beads
A state of revelation and rapture overtakes me,
So I climb the steps of the first minaret that encounters me
Calling:
“Come to the jasmine”
“Come to the jasmine”

6
Returning to you
Stained by the rains of my longing
Returning to fill my pockets
With nuts, green plums, and green almonds
Returning to my oyster shell
Returning to my birth bed
For the fountains of Versailles
Are no compensation for the Fountain Café
And Les Halles in Paris
Is no compensation for the Friday market
And Buckingham Palace in London
Is no compensation for Azem Palace
And the pigeons of San Marco in Venice
Are no more blessed than the doves in the Umayyad Mosque
And Napoleon’s tomb in Les Invalides
Is no more glorious than the tomb of Salah al-Din Al-Ayyubi…

7
I wander in the narrow alleys of Damascus.
Behind the windows, honeyed eyes awake
And greet me . . .
The stars wear their gold bracelets
And greet me
And the pigeons alight from their towers
And greet me
And the clean Shami cats come out
Who were born with us . . .
Grew up with us . . .
And married with us . . .
To greet me . . .

8
I immerse myself in the Buzurriya Souq
Set a sail in a cloud of spices
Clouds of cloves
And cinnamon . . .
And camomile . . .
I perform ablutions in rose water once.
And in the water of passion many times . . .
And I forget—while in the Souq al-‘Attarine—
All the concoctions of Nina Ricci . . .
And Coco Chanel . . .
What are you doing to me Damascus?
How have you changed my culture? My aesthetic taste?
For I have been made to forget the ringing of cups of licorice
The piano concerto of Rachmaninoff . . .
How do the gardens of Sham transform me?
For I have become the first conductor in the world
That leads an orchestra from a willow tree!!

9
I have come to you . . .
From the history of the Damascene rose
That condenses the history of perfume . . .
From the memory of al-Mutanabbi
That condenses the history of poetry . . .
I have come to you . . .
From the blossoms of bitter orange . . .
And the dahlia . . .
And the narcissus . . .
And the 'nice boy' . . .
That first taught me drawing . . .
I have come to you . . .
From the laughter of Shami women
That first taught me music . . .
And the beginning of adolesence
From the spouts of our alley
That first taught me crying
And from my mother’s prayer rug
That first taught me
The path to God . . .

10
I open the drawers of memory
One . . . then another
I remember my father . . .
Coming out of his workshop on Mu’awiya Alley
I remember the horse-drawn carts . . .
And the sellers of prickly pears . . .
And the cafés of al-Rubwa
That nearly—after five flasks of ‘araq—
Fall into the river
I remember the colored towels
As they dance on the door of Hammam al-Khayyatin
As if they were celebrating their national holiday.
I remember the Damascene houses
With their copper doorknobs
And their ceilings decorated with glazed tiles
And their interior courtyards
That remind you of descriptions of heaven . . .

11
The Damascene House
Is beyond the architectural text
The design of our homes . . .
Is based on an emotional foundation
For every house leans . . . on the hip of another
And every balcony . . .
Extends its hand to another facing it
Damascene houses are loving houses . . .
They greet one another in the morning . . .
And exchange visits . . .
Secretly—at night . . .

12
When I was a diplomat in Britain
Thirty years ago
My mother would send letters at the beginning of Spring
Inside each letter . . .
A bundle of tarragon . . .
And when the English suspected my letters
They took them to the laboratory
And turned them over to Scotland Yard
And explosives experts.
And when they grew weary of me . . . and my tarragon
They would ask: Tell us, by god . . .
What is the name of this magical herb that has made us dizzy?
Is it a talisman?
Medicine?
A secret code?
What is it called in English?
I said to them: It’s difficult for me to explain…
For tarragon is a language that only the gardens of Sham speak
It is our sacred herb . . .
Our perfumed eloquence
And if your great poet Shakespeare had known of tarragon
His plays would have been better . . .
In brief . . .
My mother is a wonderful woman . . . she loves me greatly . . .
And whenever she missed me
She would send me a bunch of tarragon . . .
Because for her, tarragon is the emotional equivalent
To the words: my darling . . .
And when the English didn’t understand one word of my poetic argument . . .
They gave me back my tarragon and closed the investigation . . .

13
From Khan Asad Basha
Abu Khalil al-Qabbani emerges . . .
In his damask robe . . .
And his brocaded turban . . .
And his eyes haunted with questions . . .
Like Hamlet’s
He attempts to present an avant-garde play
But they demand Karagoz’s tent . . .
He tries to present a text from Shakespeare
They ask him about the news of al-Zir . . .
He tries to find a single female voice
To sing with him . . .
“Oh That of Sham”
They load up their Ottoman rifles,
And fire into every rose tree
That sings professionally . . .
He tries to find a single woman
To repeat after him:
“Oh bird of birds, oh dove”
They unsheathe their knives
And slaughter all the descendents of doves . . .
And all the descendents of women . . .
After a hundred years . . .
Damascus apologized to Abu Khalil al-Qabbani
And they erected a magnificent theater in his name.

14
I put on the jubbah of Muhyi al-Din Ibn al-Arabi
I descend from the peak of Mt. Qassiun
Carrying for the children of the city . . .
Peaches
Pomegranates
And sesame halawa . . .
And for its women . . .
Necklaces of turquoise . . .
And poems of love . . .
I enter . . .
A long tunnel of sparrows
Gillyflowers . . .
Hibiscus . . .
Clustered jasmine . . .
And I enter the questions of perfume . . .
And my schoolbag is lost from me
And the copper lunch case . . .
In which I used to carry my food . . .
And the blue beads
That my mother used to hang on my chest
So People of Sham
He among you who finds me . . .
let him return me to Umm Mu’ataz
And God’s reward will be his
I am your green sparrow . . . People of Sham
So he among you who finds me . . .
let him feed me a grain of wheat . . .
I am your Damascene rose . . . People of Sham
So he among you who finds me . . .
let him place me in the first vase . . .
I am your mad poet . . . People of Sham
So he among you who sees me . . .
let him take a souvenir photograph of me
Before I recover from my enchanting insanity . . .
I am your fugitive moon . . . People of Sham
So he among you who sees me . . .
Let him donate to me a bed . . . and a wool blanket . . .
Because I haven’t slept for centuries

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What Is The Use In This

Words make you quiver in vain
How you hide your feelings so
And tell me I am too blame
What Is The Use In This
Your eyes piece through me
As your mouth wet with much wine
Lass you will learn one day you reply
But you speak in no right mind
What Is The Use In This

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What Am I doing

Missing you is what I been doing
Thought we were going to make it
Guess we were wrong about each other
Believing in love was just so foolish to do
Believing you can love me was just stupid
The thing is I miss you like hell
Still believing you could love me
Knowing what I know I still love you
Holding on not wanting to let go of you
Belong to you is what I will want from you

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What shall I do with this body they gave me

What shall I do with this body they gave me,
so much my own, so intimate with me?

For being alive, for the joy of calm breath,
tell me, who should I bless?

I am the flower, and the gardener as well,
and am not solitary, in earth’s cell.

My living warmth, exhaled, you can see,
on the clear glass of eternity.

A pattern set down,
until now, unknown.

Breath evaporates without trace,
but form no one can deface.

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What You're Doing

Look what you're doing, i'm feeling blue and lonely,
Would it be too much to ask you,
What you're doing to me?
You got me running and there's no fun in it,
Why should it be so much to ask of you,
What you're doing to me?
I've been waiting here for you,
Wond'ring what you're gonna do,
Should you need a love that's true,
It's me.
Please stop your lying, you've got me crying, girl,
Why should it be so much to ask of you,
What you're doing to me?
What you're doing to me.

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What Are You Doing New Years Eve?

Maybe its much too early in the game
Aah, but I thought Id ask you just the same
What are you doing new years
New years eve?
Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight
When its exactly twelve oclock that night
Welcoming in the new year
New years eve
Maybe Im crazy to suppose
Id ever be the one you chose
Out of a thousand invitations
You received
Aah, but in case I stand one little chance
Here comes the jackpot question in advance:
What are you doing new years
New years eve?

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What Are You Doing New Years Eve?

Maybe its much too early in the game
Aah, but I thought Id ask you just the same
What are you doing new years
New years eve?
Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight
When its exactly twelve oclock that night
Welcoming in the new year
New years eve
Maybe Im crazy to suppose
Id ever be the one you chose
Out of a thousand invitations
You received
Aah, but in case I stand one little chance
Here comes the jackpot question in advance:
What are you doing new years
New years eve?

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What Are You Doing New Years Eve

Maybe its much too early in the game
Ah, but I thought Id ask you just the same
What are you doing new years
New years eve?
Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight
When its exactly twelve oclock that night
Welcoming in the new year
New years eve
Maybe Im crazy to suppose
Id ever be the one you chose
Out of a thousand invitations
Youd receive
Ah, but in case I stand one little chance
Here comes the jackpot question in advance
What are you doing new years
New years eve?
Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight
When its exactly twelve oclock that night
Welcoming in the new year
New years eve
What are you doing new years eve?

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What Are You Doing New Years Eve

Written by frank loesser
Maybe its much too early in the game
Ooh, but I thought Id ask you just the same
What are you doing new years
New years eve?
Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight
When its exactly twelve oclock that night
Welcoming in the new year
New years eve
Maybe Im crazy to suppose
Id ever be the one you chose
Out of the thousand invitations
You received
Ooh, but in case I stand one little chance
Here comes the jackpot question in advance:
What are you doing new years
New years eve?
Maybe Im crazy to suppose
Id ever be the one you chose
Out of the thousand invitations
You received
Ooh, but in case I stand one little chance
Here comes the jackpot question in advance:
What are you doing new years
New years eve?

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What was she doing, there?

What was she doing, there?
Like some old bag lady.
Another displaced foreigner...
Sitting in Piccadilly, gardens
Manchester, today...
“With a toy pram
and 2 clothed dollies”
“One dressed in green,
a much larger in reddish brown”.
Simply put on the fountains cobbles...
Dressed in these old linens
Her dollies lying face down.
How odd? No one is looking...?
Not one sees the child’s pram.
Only big enough for a small, cat.
How odd these two babies,
look—displaced on the ground.
One displaced to her left.
Another to her right…
It’s the 9th of October—2011
the time tomorrows date 10.10am
on a grey, wet Sunday, morning.
And, her presence questions me?
Quietly, disturbs me.
Before I catch my 101 bus…
Lord what is real…?
What is sequential in a world of madness…?

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What Am I Doin' Here

What am I doin' here
Alone in this lonely house
This house that we dreamed about
This house we shared till you walked out
What am I doing here
This place ain't no good for me
It just brings back memories
And the last thing I need is memories
I should be movin' on
What am I doin' here
Now that you've really gone
Why can't I dry these tears
But oh, the years we had
Here in this house that we both loved so madly
I've never been like this
Just livin' in yesterdays
But there's so much I miss
And so much that I still can't face
If there's a chance for me
I just can't see it now
All I see is what can't be
And all I see is no way out
I should be movin' on
What am I doin' here
Now that you've really gone
Why can't I dry these tears
But oh, the years we had
Here in this house that we both loved so madly
What am I doing here
I should be movin' on
What am I doing here
What am I doing here

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What Am I Doing Here?

I often ask myself, 'What am I doing here? '
The answer I arrive at is never very clear.
After years of living and learning
still my brain is yearning
to arrive at answers
that can satisfy my curiosity.
I was satisfied as a child
with the not-knowing.
But as each new year came upon me
and my mind kept growing
satisfaction escaped.

At times in quiet introspection
I challenge myself to be content
with no detection of answers
as to why and how?
But contentment is not my style.
So after a while I vow
to keep on with my quest,
something that I never would have guessed
would finally occur in my life.

I am engrossed with music and word.
So aural experiences can be heard
to help me bide my time
until answers tell me I'm
doing what I'm supposed to do.
I am creating artistic expression.
That's what I'm doing here.
My answer's finally clear.
I'm adding universal tone waves
to freshen the atmosphere.

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