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'm not subject to their rise and fall because I'm not accepted by them, so I have my own little curve going on. A lot of it is because of how much I play, I think I connect like when all you had was Vaudeville, I think I have an audience by performing a lot!

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I'm not subject to their rise and fall because I'm not accepted by them, so I have my own little curve going on. A lot of it is because of how much I play, I think I connect like when all you had was Vaudeville, I think I have an audience by performing a lot!

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Rise and Fall Not Ultimate

How sea waves rise and fall?
Same way human hearts too respond to call
Rush to shores and echo the voice
Force you to think and make the choice

I can’t willingly disclose
as it is high time to repose
heart can’t withstand its force
it can’t lament it with remorse

I would love to behold
And remain permanently in your hold
As any woman would love to do
As it is basically true

You were always there
For me to hold here
I could take no decision
Yet it was timed with precision

Now I dare and say it firmly
The decision is taken calmly
I would love to be a part and family
Can that not turn out happily?

Your eyes reflect clear
I have no more fear
I would love to come near
My ears longs for nice words to hear

You act on it and welcome
As same occasion will never come
We are destined for each other
There is not much to think or bother

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Who's Gonna Take Me Home (The Rise And Fall Of A Budding Gigilo)

WHO'S GONNA TAKE ME HOME
(The Rise And Fall Of A Budding Gigolo)
(R. Stewart, K. Savigar, J. Davis)
Well I arrived on time
My courduroy suit and me bottle of wine
There were women wall to wall
It's Saturday night and I wanted them all
everyone
Sidled up for a dance
I tried a new step and fell in the plants
I told a joke, about the Pope
It wasn't as funny as I would've hoped
Nobody told me she was the daughter
of the mayor
I was so embarrassed, I just wished the
ground would swallow me up
Accidentally my elbow hit the record player
The rock 'n' roll stopped
and everybody just stared
(oh no)
Who's gonna take me home
I'm tired and I wanna go to bed
Who's gonna take me home
This party's gone right to my head
I didn't worry, not me
Panic ain't in my vocabulary
Smashed beyond reproach
Suddenly I wanted to take off my clothes
All hell broke loose
I started to take off my trousers and shoes
And so I tried to look cool
I stepped back and fell in the pool
The hostess helped me out
and asked for my dismissal
I said I was sorry, but I've been
under so much pressure
just lately, baby
I felt as popular as a Russian guided missile
The last thing I remember, I left with a girl
on a motor bike
That weighed three hundred pounds and
what's wrong with that
Who's gonna take me home
I'm tired and I wanna go to bed
Who's gonna take me home
This party's gone right to my head
to my head
I woke up on the floor
Still in my suit and she told me I snored
I never felt so cheap
I had a good laugh at the size of her feet
Holy Moses, I don't like this single living
I think I'll find me a nice local girl and
settle on down, now
With a home and a garden
and a nature quite forgiving
Then again maybe I'll just hang around
Who's gonna take me home
I'm tired and I wanna go to bed, right now
Who's gonna take me home
This party's gone right to my head
to my head
Now who's gonna take me home
Hey Brian could you give me a lift 'cos I don't live
too far from you, boy
Mary c'mon I've known you so long please give
me a lift home, oh c'mon
Jim oh c'mon boys would you just
give me a lift home
I don't live too far from here and I'm so tired

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Rise And Fall

(McPherson/Foreman)
These are the streets I used to walk
On summer nights, sit out and talk
That's the house where I used to live
I remember what I would give.
This is the town I won't forget
And after anger there's nothing left
Walking now round and round
Familiar sights are open ground.
Being here again
I can recall
Forgotten moments
The rise and fall.
We used to live where children play
They leave their homes a mile away
To come and stand in trees and grass
Where we once walked the memories last.
Being here again
I can recall
Forgotten moments
The rise and fall.
The sun shines east, the sun shines west
But I know where the sun shines best
Casey street in the afternoon
Once again it's over too soon.
Being here again
I can recall
Forgotten moments
The rise and fall.
Being here again
I can recall
Forgotten moments
The rise and fall.
Rise
(Rise)
(Rise)
Rise and fall
Rise and fall

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Rise and fall

There is rise and fall
Yet have to respond to a call
It is cycle that has to repeated
Surrender to soul and not to be cheated

Some may go early and some may go late
Nothing is certain and can not be attributed to fate
Earn the return as you sow the seeds
Yield the grain as you successfully feed

It is prime philosophy
Nobody can impose or work as lobby
There are set precedents of pure thinking
It makes men down with deep sinking

Not all may take it lightly’
Some may choose path very rightly
Some may push it till the arrival end
With only view to make last minute mend

I may finish work not now but tomorrow
That time may never come and allow
You will be seized with lots of urgent matters
It will be fine if you think of it now and do better

How can a lot time be regained?
How come lost opportunity is retained?
The wrong urge and temptation must be sustained
It is how sanctity of life and aim is maintained

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Rise And Fall

M. Weikath)
Once a singer sad about....
Everyone could see him fall
And be sure it's been his last hit
He's never been seen at all
Some dictator felt progressive
And lay down in the sun
And his people were aggressive
They killed him with a gun
Bridge: Sometimes you're wrong
By some things you have done
You see fate is too strong
Nothing's won
No use for a fight
If you're not acting right
You'll be cut down to size
Like a tie.
RF: It's the rise and fall
The prize of all
That ain't nice at all
Luck is like a ball
You can't recall or care at all
So better use your brain.
A little dragon could spit fire
But never so for something bad
He didn't know the knight's desire
To throw a lance into his head.
Romeo loved his Juliet
Their parents told the "STOP"
Then it all turned out peculiar
He couldn't get it up.
Bridge: And it's all in vain
When your living with pain
Reap no goods you have grown
By your own feelings you like
Disappear overnight
You sip up every grin
Free to win.
RF: It's the rise and fall
The prize of all
That ain't nice at all
Luck is like a ball
You can't recall or care at all
You nearly go insane.
A spaceman flies the rocket
That takes him to the stars
Thinks his wife is in the pocket
But she's strolling 'round in bars
The king of Los Angeles
Bought himself a teddy bear
And the queen became shameless
She did it with a chair.
Bridge:
RF

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Share and fall

It reminds me of healthy poetry
Where fragrance of spirit is flown by almighty
Each words speaks of divinity
When words are meaningful to the extent of infinity

I was never in doubt when found you in desert
It was as if I was performing a concert
Noticed one desert flower in full boom
Where was the time to think of providing any room?

I had dropped in to see natural flavor
Everything was weighing in my favor
Soul to soul contact was destined to take place
I was clearly seen in visible move with race

It was time to share and fall in love
May be nature favored and I believed
I lost no moment to look at and seize
You happened to loose your identity and ceased

It was the time you fell for me
I was wondering star and felt free
It was not eye to eye or "touch me not"
The struggle was over without being fought

Anybody might have wanted easy sail
Not in lovely venture at any time to fail
It was you and me alone to keep hand in hand
Never to separate in life as lover and friend

Sea shore was never meant for us
But river provided ample trust
Reminded us of rise and fall
It was clearly seen as beautiful call

How much elevation I found?
When I gathered on fresh ground
It was you only to feel it true
After lone battle passed through

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An Epistle to Mr. Southerne

Bold is the Muse to leave her humble Cell,
And sing to thee, who know'st to sing so well:
Thee! who to Britain still preserv'st the Crown,
And mak'st her rival Athens in Renown.
Cou'd Sophocles behold in mournful State,
The weeping Graces on Imoinda wait;

Or hear thy Isabella's moving Moan,
Distress'd and lost for Vices not her own;
If Envy cou'd permit, he'd sure agree
To write by Nature were to copy thee:
So full, so fair thy Images are shown,
He by thy Pencil might improve his own.

There was an Age, (its Memory will last!)
Before Italian Airs debauch'd our Taste;
In which the sable Muse with Hopes and Fears,
Fill'd every Breast, and ev'ry Eye with Tears.
But where's that Art, which all our Passions rais'd,
And mov'd the Springs of Nature as it pleas'd?
Our Poets only practise on the Pit,
With florid Lines, and trifling Turns of Wit.
Howe'er 'tis well the present Times can boast,
The Race of Charles's Reign not wholly lost.
Thy Scenes, immortal in their Worth, shall stand
Among the chosen Classics of our Land:

And whilst our Sons are by Tradition taught,
How Barry spoke what Thou and Otway wrote,
They'll think it praise to relish, and repeat,
And own thy Works inimitably great.

Shakespear, the Genius of our Isle, whose Mind
(The universal Mirror of Mankind)
Express'd all Images, enrich'd the Stage,
But sometimes stoop'd to please a barb'rous Age.
When his immortal Bays began to grow,
Rude was the Language, and the Humour low.
He, like the God of Day, was always bright,
But rolling in its Course, his Orb of Light
Was sully'd, and obscur'd, tho' soaring high,
With Spots contracted from the nether Sky.
But whither is th' adventrous Muse betray'd?
Forgive her Rashness, venerable Shade! 50
May Spring with Purple Flow'rs perfume thy Urn,
And Avon with his Greens thy Grave adorn:

Be all thy Faults, whatever Faults there be,
Imputed to the Times, and not to thee.

Some Scions shot from this immortal Root,
Their tops much lower, and less fair the Fruit.
Johnson, the Tribute of my Verse might claim,
Had he not strove to blemish Shakespear's Name.
But, like the radiant Twins that gild the Sphere,
Fletcher and Beaumont next in Pomp appear:
The first a fruitful Vine, in bloomy Pride,
Had been by Superfluity destroy'd;
But that his Friend, judiciously severe,
Prun'd the luxuriant Boughs with artful Care:
On various sounding Harps the Muses play'd,
And sung, and quaff'd their Nectar in the Shade.

Few Moderns in the Lists with these may stand,
For in those Days were Giants in the Land:

Suffice it now by Lineal Right to claim,
And bow with Filial Awe to Shakespear's Fame;
The second Honours are a glorious Name.
Achilles dead, they found no equal Lord,
To wear his Armour, and to wield his Sword.

An Age most odious and accurs'd ensu'd,
Discolour'd with a pious Monarch's Blood:
Whose Fall when first the Tragick Virgin saw,
She fled, and left her Province to the Law.
Her Merry Sister still persu'd the Game,
Her Garb was alter'd, but her Gifts the same.
She first reform'd the Muscles of her Face,
And learnt the solemn Scrue, for Signs of Grace;
Then circumcis'd her Locks, and form'd her Tone,
By humming to a Tabor, and a Drone:
Her Eyes she disciplin'd precisely right,
Both when to wink, and how to turn the white;
Thus banish'd from the Stage, she gravely next
Assum'd a Cloak, and quibbl'd o'er a Text.

But when by Miracles of Mercy shown,
Much-suff'ring Charles regain'd his Father's Throne;
When Peace and Plenty overflow'd the Land,
She strait pull'd off her Sattin Cap, and Band:
Bade Wycherly be bold in her Defence,
With pointed Wit, and Energy of Sense:
Etherege and Sidley join'd him in her Cause,
And all deserv'd, and all receiv'd Applause.

Restor'd with less Success, the Tragic Muse,
Had quite forgot her Style by long Disuse:
She taught her Maximins to rant in Rhime,
Mistaking ratling Nonsense for sublime;
'Till witty Buckingham reform'd her Taste,
1 And sneering sham'd her into Sense at last.
But now relaps'd, she dwindles to a Song,
And weakly warbles on an Eunuch's Tongue;
And with her Minstrelsie may still remain,
'Till Southerne court her to be great again.

Perhaps the Beauties of thy Spartan Dame,
Who (long defrauded of the publick Fame)
Shall, with superior Majesty avow'd,
Shine like a Goddess breaking from a Cloud,
Once more may re-instate her on the Stage,
Her Action graceful, and divine her Rage.

Arts have their Empires, and, like other States,
Their Rise and Fall are govern'd by the Fates.
They, when their Period's measur'd out by Time,
Transplant their Laurels to another Clime.
The Grecian Muse once fill'd with loud Alarms,
The Court of Heav'n, and clad the Gods in Arms:
The Trumpet silent, humbly she essay'd
The Doric Reed, and sung beneath the Shade;
Extoll'd a frugal Life, and taught the Swains
T' observe the Seasons, and manure the Plains:
Sometimes in warbled Hymns she pay'd her Vow,
Or wove Olympic Wreaths for Theron's Brow;

Sometimes on flow'ry Beds she lay supine,
And gave her Thoughts a Loose to Love and Wine;
Or in her sable Stole, and Buskins dress'd,
Shew'd Vice enthron'd, and virtuous Kings oppress'd.
The Nymph still fair, however past her Bloom,
From Greece at length was led in Chains to Rome:
Whilst Wars abroad, and civil Discord reign'd,
Silent the beauteous Captive long remain'd:
That Interval employ'd her timely Care,
To Study, and refine the Language there.
She views with Anguish on the Roman Stage
The Grecian Beauties weep, the Warriors rage:
But most those Scenes delight th' immortal Maid,
Which Scipio had revis'd, and Roscius Play'd.
Thence to the Pleadings of the Gown she goes,
(For Themis then cou'd speak in polish'd Prose.)
Charm'd at the Bar, amid th' attentive Throng
She bless'd the Syren-Pow'r of Tully's Tongue.
But when, Octavius, thy successful Sword
Was sheath'd, and universal Peace restor'd;
Fond of a Monarch, to the Court she came,
And chose a num'rous Choir to chant his Fame.
First from the green Retreats, and lowly Plains,
Her Virgil soar'd sublime in Epic Strains:
His Theme so glorious, and his Flight so true,
She with Mæonian Garlands grac'd his Brow.
Taught Horace then to touch the Lesbian Lyre,
And Sappho's Sweetness join'd with Pindar's Fire.
By Cæsar's Bounty all the tuneful Train
Enjoy'd, and sung of Saturn's golden Reign:
No Genius then was left to live on Praise,
Or curs'd the barren Ornament of Bays;
On all her Sons he cast a kind Regard,
Nor could they write so fast as he reward.
The Muse, industrious to record his Name
In the bright Annals of eternal Fame,
Profuse of Favours lavish'd all her Store,
And for one Reign made many Ages poor.

Now from the rugged North, unnumber'd Swarms
Invade the Latian Coasts with barb'rous Arms;
A Race unpolish'd, but inur'd to Toil,
Rough as their Heav'n, and barren as their Soil:
These Locusts ev'ry springing Art destroy'd,
And soft Humanity before them dy'd.
Picture no more maintain'd the doubtful Strife
With Nature's Scenes, nor gave the Canvas Life;
Nor Sculpture exercis'd her Skill, beneath
Her forming Hand to make the Marble breathe:
Struck with Despair, they stood devoid of Thought,
Less lively than the Works themselves had wrought.
On those Twin-Sisters such Disasters came,
Tho' Colours and Proportions are the same
In ev'ry Age, and Clime; their Beauties known
To ev'ry Language, and confin'd by none.
But Fate less Freedom to the Muse affords,
And checks her Genius with the Choice of Words:

To paint her Thoughts the Diction must be found
Of easy Grandeur, and harmonious Sound.
Thus when she rais'd her Voice divinely great,
To sing the Founder of the Roman State;
The Language was adapted to the Song;
Sweet and sublime, with native Beauty strong.
But when the Goths insulting Troops appear'd,
Such Dissonance the trembling Virgin hear'd!
Chang'd to a Swan, from Tyber's troubled Streams
She wing'd her Flight, and sought the silver Thames.

Long in the melancholy Grove she stay'd,
And taught the pensive Druids in the Shade;
In solemn and instructive Notes they sung,
From whence the beauteous Frame of Nature sprung;
Who polish'd all the radiant Orbs above,
And in bright Order made the Planets move;
Whence Thunders roar, and frightful Meteors fly,
And Comets roll unbounded thro' the Sky:

Who wing'd the Winds, and gave the Streams to flow,
And rais'd the Rocks, and spread the Lawns below
Whence the gay Spring exults in flow'ry Pride,

And Autumn with the bleeding Grape is dy'd;
Whence Summer Suns imbrown the lab'ring Swains
And shiv'ring Winter pines in icy Chains:
And prais'd the Pow'r supream, nor dar'd advance
So vain a Theory as that of Chance.

But in this Isle she found the Nymphs so fair,
She chang'd her Hand, and chose a softer Air,
And Love and Beauty next became her Care.
Greece, her lov'd Countrey, only cou'd afford
A Venus and a Helen to record;
A thousand radiant Nymphs she here beheld,
Who match'd the Goddess, and the Queen excell'd.
T' immortalize their Loves she long essay'd,
But still the Tongue her gen'rous Toil betray'd,
Chaucer had All that Beauty cou'd inspire,
And Surry's Numbers glow'd with warm Desire:

Both now are priz'd by few, unknown to most,
Because the Thoughts are in the Language lost;
Ev'n Spencer's Pearls in muddy Waters lie,
Yet soon their Beams attract the Diver's Eye.
Rich was their Imag'ry, 'till Time defac'd
The curious Works: but Waller came at last.
Waller, the Muse with heav'nly Verse supplies,
Smooth as the Fair, and sparkling as their Eyes;
``All but the Nymph, that shou'd redress his Wrong,
``Attend his Passion, and approve his Song.
But when this Orpheus sunk, and hoary Age
Suppress'd the Lover's and the Poet's Rage;
To Granville his melodious Lute she gave,
Granville, whose faithful Verse is Beauty's Slave:
Accept this Gift, my fav'rite Youth! she cry'd,
To sound a brighter Theme, and sing of Hyde;
Hyde's, and thy lovely Myra's Praise proclaim,
And match Carlisle's, and Sacharissa's Fame.

O! wou'd he now forsake the Myrtle Grove,
And sing of Arms, as late he sung of Love!
His Colours, and his Hand alone shou'd paint
In Britain's Queen, the Warrior and the Saint;
In whom conspire, to form her truly great,
Wisdom with Pow'r, and Piety with State.
Whilst from her Throne the Streams of Justice flow,
Strong and serene, to bless the Land below;
O'er distant Realms her dreaded Thunders roll,
And the wild Rage of Tyranny controul.
Her Pow'r to quell, and Pity to redress,
The Maese, the Danube, and the Rhine confess;
Whence bleeding Iber hopes, around his Head
To see fresh Olive spring, and Plenty spread:
And whilst they sound their great Deliv'rer's Fame,
The Sein retires, and sickens at her Name.
O Granville! all these glorious Scenes display,
Instruct succeeding Monarchs how to sway;
And make her Memory rever'd by all,
When Triumphs are forgot, and mould'ring Arches fall.
Pardon me, Friend! I own my Muse too free,
To write so long on such a Theme to thee:
To play the Critic here - with equal Right
Bid her pretend to teach Argyle to fight:
Instruct th' unerring Sun to guide the Year,
And Harley by what Schemes he ought to steer.
Give Harcourt Eloquence t' adorn the Seal,
Maxims of State to Leeds, to Beaufort Zeal.
Try to correct what Orrery shall write,
And make harmonious St. John more Polite.
Teach Law to Isla for the Crown's Support,
And Jersey how to serve, and grace a Court:
Dictate soft warbling Airs to Sheffield's Hand,
When Venus and her Loves around him stand:
In sage Debates to Rochester impart
A searching Head, and ever faithful Heart:
Make Talbot's finish'd Virtue more compleat,
High without Pride, and amiably great;
Where Nature all her Pow'rs with Fortune join'd,
At once to please, and benefit Mankind.

When Cares were to my blooming Youth unknown,
My Fancy free, and all my Hours my own;
I lov'd along the Laureat Grove to stray,
The Paths were pleasant, and the Prospect gay:
But now my Genius sinks, and hardly knows
To make a Couplet tinkle in the Close.
Yet when you next to Medway shall repair,
And quit the Town to breathe a purer Air;
Retiring from the Crowd, to steal the Sweets
Of easy Life in Twysden's calm Retreats;
(As Terence to his Lælius lov'd to come,
And in Campania scorn'd the Pomp of Rome.)
Where Lambard, form'd for Business, and to please
By sharing, will improve your Happiness;
In both their Souls imperial Reason sways,
In both the Patriot, and the Friend displays;
Be lov'd, and prais'd by all, who merit Love and Praise.
With bright Ideas there inspir'd anew,
By them excited, and inform'd by you,
I may with happier Skill essay to sing
Sublimer Notes, and strike a bolder String.

Languid and dull, when absent from her Cave,
No Oracles of old the Sybil gave;
But when beneath her sacred Shrine she stood,
Her Fury soon confess'd the coming God;
Her Breast began to heave, her Eyes to roul,
And wond'rous Visions fill'd her labouring Soul.

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Hear Me Now

Where were you when the lights went out
I ask you this in your defence
You fell for a river when all you wanted
Was a drink
To me that never made much sense
Hear me now
With every word I breath
Believe in me if you can
Hear me now
Like a long lost friend
Believe in me if you can
I live my life to the full each day
Cause Im scared of not being alive
And all that Im wanting is the same for you
Dont wanna tell you any lies
To all those people that Ive never known
You know I could do untold harm
So find me a witness
Who can justify a reason
Let them come and raise their hand
Hear me now
With every word I breath
Believe in me if you can
Hear me now
Like a long lost friend
Believe in me if you can

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Hear Me Now

Where were you when the lights went out
I ask you this in your defence
You fell for a river when all you wanted
Was a drink
To me that never made much sense
Hear me now
With every word I breath
Believe in me if you can
Hear me now
Like a long lost friend
Believe in me if you can
I live my life to the full each day
Cause Im scared of not being alive
And all that Im wanting is the same for you
Dont wanna tell you any lies
To all those people that Ive never known
You know I could do untold harm
So find me a witness
Who can justify a reason
Let them come and raise their hand
Hear me now
With every word I breath
Believe in me if you can
Hear me now
Like a long lost friend
Believe in me if you can

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Woman

There are who lightly speak with scornful smiles,
Of woman's faith, of woman's artful wiles;
Who call her false in heart, and weak in mind,
The slave of fashion, and to reason blind.
She may be such among the gilded bowers,
Where changing follies serve to waste the hours—
But bear her from the giddy world afar,
And place her lonely, like the evening star,
And with as bright, as pure, as calm a beam,
Her milder virtues will serenely gleam:
Go, place her by the couch of pale disease,
And bid her give the feverish pulses ease—
Say, will she not the task unmurmuring bear,
To soothe the anguish'd brow with tender care—
To trim the midnight lamp, and from her eye,
Though dim with watching, bid soft slumber fly—
With lightly whisper'd voice, and noiseless tread,
Glide, like an angel, round the sick man's bed—
With tireless patience watch the speaking eye,
And all unask'd his slightest wants supply?
It is not hers to guide the storm of war,
To rule the state, or thunder at the bar—
It is not hers to captivate the heart
With potent eloquence, resistless art—
To sit with men in legislative hall,
To govern realms, or mark their rise and fall;
These things are not for her. 't is woman's care
Alone, to rear the shoots that flourish there—
To list the lisping voice, with joy refined,
To watch the first unfolding of the mind,
The springing dawn of intellectual day,
The brighter beam of reason's perfect ray;
To wipe the starting tear from childhood's eye,
To soothe his little woes, and balms apply,
To drink of science’ fount, that she may store
His opening mind with all her gather'd lore;
To guard his morals with unceasing care,
And bend, for him, the suppliant knee in prayer.
Then give him, in his full and perfect worth,
To serve the land that smiled upon his birth.

Such woman isand shall proud man forbear,
The converse of the mind with her to share?
No! she with him shall knowledge’ pages scan,
And be the partner, not the toy, of man!
When smit with angry fortune's adverse gale,
E'en his stern spirit seems at length to quail—
When all his hopes are wreck'd, his health has flown,
And strangers claim the land he calls his own:
When friends who flatter'd ‘neath the summer sky,
With brow estranged, his alter'd fortunes fly,
Then, woman, it is thine, with changeless heart,
In all his wretchedness to bear a part:
To quit the scenes thy smiles could once illume,
And sink with him to poverty and gloom;
To soothe his sorrows, calm his aching head,
And hang in speechless fondness o'er his bed,
His woes, his wants, his sufferings to share,
Thine alter'd lot without one plaint to bear;
To lock thy silent sorrows in thy breast,
And smile, as thou wert wont, in days more blest;
His steps to follow to earth's farthest verge,
O'er icy mount, or ocean's foaming surge;
With hopes of better days his heart to cheer,
And with thy smile, to shed the first fond tear.
Such changeless faith is woman's—constant still,
Through each reversing scene of good and ill.
When man is crush'd by storms that o'er him roll,
Then rises woman's timid, shrinking soul:
Pain, peril, want, she fearlessly will bear,
To dash from man the cup of dark despair;
And only asks for all her tireless zeal,
To share his fate—whate'er he feels, to feel—
To breathe in his fond arms her latest breath,
And murmur out the loved one's name in death.

poem by from Poetical Works (1836)Report problemRelated quotes
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Let's Get Back To Me And You

I'm always on the road
You're always all alone
And I'm not always there when I'm at home
But I'm ready for a little change
I'm ready to accept some blame
So let's back up to yesterday
Let's get back in love
Back to dreamin' of
All those little things we used to do
Let's start holdin' hands
Let's start makin' plans
Honey, let's get back to me and you
It's not like it was
When we fell in love
When all we had was enough
Well I don't like the blues
I like love that's true
Honey, let's get back to me and you
Let's get back in love
Back to dreamin' of
All those little things we used to do
Let's start holdin' hands
Let's start makin' plans
Honey, let's get back to me and you
Well honey, let's get on back to me and you

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Behemoth

Tranquility washes over me in sonic waves
The wind is light as it pushes the sails
on a broad reach thirty five miles offshore
at a slow, but steady five knots
I spy the beast as he expels
his briny breath at the surface
P
F
O
O
S
H
and spray explodes!
Mine eyes have struck a rare sight to behold!
I watch his black back rise and fall
upon this watery wasteland
Forgetting fear, I am enthralled
from the safety of my vessel
He
S
O
U
N
D
S
dis appearing into the abyss
but I sense something amiss
when then I catch him from the corner of my eye
ten
feet
away
before diving beneath the keel
My heart is pounding in my ears
and I am not sure what to feel
Panic?
He surfaces once more and I am blasted
by his pfooshy misted kiss
And blinking one grey omniscient eye
he says goodbye
So long, curious cetaceous friend
I've cheated death again!

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Eden’s Children

Eden’s Children (chapter II)


Adam and Eve
-the beautiful story of birth and death
what man and god alike has to give
to unfold the beginnings of truth;

Cain and Abel
-the beautiful story of love and hate
between status and power; name and title
to unveil the face that hides from the light

Tower of Babel
-the beautiful story of wisdom and pride
of prince and lord; ruler and citizen; priest and noble
to unlock the bars of the heaven’s side

Joseph and his brothers
-the beautiful story of vision and suspicion
thus wife against husband; children against parents
to unmask the characters of personal and social mission

Moses and the nation
-the beautiful story of The Law –the blessing and the curse
thus their rise and fall; unity and division
to unload their vise and virtue unto the skies

Jesus and the world
-the beautiful story of love, faith and charity
thus his lordship is over the new and the old
to undefine the was, is, to be for us to be free

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A Pleasant Autumn Day

A pleasant Autumn day of wind and sunshine
And yellow leaves depart their trees and fall
To Mother Earth who silently receives them
And wattlebirds on flowering gum trees call.

On this quiet side street of inner suburbia
The leaves are dying on the deciduous tree
But were i a poet I'd put my pen to paper
And write of the great beauty that i see.

For Nature's beauty can be found in strangest places
Far from the countryside it can be seen
Deciduous trees are golden brown in Autumn
And gums and wattles rich and evergreen.

And many urban people too love Mother Nature
And of workings of Nature there is much to know
They love to hear the birds sing in their gardens
And take pride in plants and trees they helped to grow

I respect those who respect Mother Nature
The damage done to her they try to mend
For Nature brings her beauty to all Seasons
And to every Nature lover I'm a friend.

In quiet side street in inner suburbia
Deciduous leaves to Mother Earth drift down
And wattlebirds are calling on the gum trees
And Mother Nature too lives in the town.

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Ride With The Idol

Try to remember those ancient evenings
When all we had was just enough.
Now the pretender knows why the king is screaming.
The grief was finally just too much.
Im going to ride with the idol
Like a creature on display,
Tied to the bottom of a cage.
Ride with the idol,
But it wont turn out the same.
I know they wont blow out the flame.
Over my shoulder, I know theyre waiting.
Their dirty hands are everywhere.
And as they get closer all the pretense is fading.
The face beneath the skin is bare.
So now I ride with the idol
Like a creature on display,
Tied to the bottom of a cage, oh yeah.
Ride with the idol,
But it wont turn out the same.
I know they wont blow out the flame.
I can never learn to say no.
Wont they ever let me go?
[guitar interlude]
Im going to ride with the idol
Like a creature on display,
Tied to the bottom of a cage. oh yeah, yeah.
Ride with the idol,
But it wont turn out the same.
I know they wont blow out the flame.
Ride with the idol,
Like a creature on display,
Tied to the bottom of a cage. oh yeah, yeah.
Ride with the idol,
But it wont turn out the same.
I know they wont blow out the flame (fade)

song performed by Richard MarxReport problemRelated quotes
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Ride With Idol

Try to remember those ancient evenings
When all we had was just enough.
Now the pretender knows why the king is screaming.
The grief was finally just too much.
Im going to ride with the idol
Like a creature on display,
Tied to the bottom of a cage.
Ride with the idol,
But it wont turn out the same.
I know they wont blow out the flame.
Over my shoulder, I know theyre waiting.
Their dirty hands are everywhere.
And as they get closer all the pretense is fading.
The face beneath the skin is bare.
So now I ride with the idol
Like a creature on display,
Tied to the bottom of a cage, oh yeah.
Ride with the idol,
But it wont turn out the same.
I know they wont blow out the flame.
I can never learn to say no.
Wont they ever let me go?
[guitar interlude]
Im going to ride with the idol
Like a creature on display,
Tied to the bottom of a cage. oh yeah, yeah.
Ride with the idol,
But it wont turn out the same.
I know they wont blow out the flame.
Ride with the idol,
Like a creature on display,
Tied to the bottom of a cage. oh yeah, yeah.
Ride with the idol,
But it wont turn out the same.
I know they wont blow out the flame (fade)

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Patrick White

Tempering The Carbonized Steel Of My Heart

Tempering the carbonized steel of my heart
in a drainage ditch hissing like a snake pit
to make it impervious to the pins the colour-blind lepidopterists
keep sticking in it as if it were a voodoo doll
for the projections they keep putting on it
like death masks of their own making.

Tired of hauling corpses like dead weight up the mountain
on a fragile lifeline where they hang
like mummified spider trophies on a thread of fate
swaying precariously in the wind while I drive
my heart like a piton into rock to secure a footing.
Why is compassion reserved for the weak
who just want to fall backwards into the abyss
taking the strong with them who endure
greater agonies in climbing than they do in falling off?
Enough is enough. Time to cut bait
and throw the little fish back into the depths
like minnows of the moon bottom-feeding on shadows
though they aspire like the vernal equinox
to a constellation of their own where everybody
can see them shining like the Circlet of the Western Fish in Pisces.

Sick of lighting other people's fires and blowing on the flames
until their star is blazing, and then having them turn around
and throw acid in my eyes that burns like white phosphorus
through metal, even under water. All my life
I've pulled one shipwreck after another into my lifeboat
only to watch them punch holes in it to sink us all
behind my back as I was trying to swim through stone.
Why is that? Why do people cut off the hands of those
who were trying to help them like Che Guevara in Bolivia,
and kiss the asses of all those who are sitting on their faces,
who squat enthroned on the garbage can lids they're living in?

I don't make cages of gratitude for the doves and the crows
I've opened the door for so they can sing for themselves
when they get out of the egg and see how vast the sky is.
And I'm not a warden of aviaries trying to brain wash the parrots
into saying the same things I do to myself
when there's no one else to talk to in the dark.
I'm not passing out little executioner's hoods
to trained falcons perched on my arm like cuckoo clocks
timed to go off like i.e.ds at midnight at the stroke of doom.

Shakespeare might have been happy enough to teach the alphabet
to grammar school boys for seven unknown years,
but that doesn't mean he wouldn't have been happier
writing a comedy of errors of his own. I'm not
drawing any analogies here to my own state of affairs,
but if you ask and I say yes. I will. And I do as if
it were just as important to me to see you learn to address
your own potential as it is crucial I apply myself to mine,
why should anyone try to make me the dupe of my own ideals
just as a little black dwarf of a punk who thought himself
the legend of his own matchbook did yesterday on Gore Street
when he asked me politely, hey mister can you spare a cigarette
and not wanting him to go through nicotine withdrawal
because I remember what it's like, I gave him a handful,
one to smoke now, and the rest to tuck behind his ears,
and the next thing I hear as he returns to his buddies is
hey, did you see how I hustled that old man over there?
Two days of intense heat at the end of May,
the next time he leans on my generosity, that black fly's toast.

Just because the lion lies down with the lamb, and the lamb
gets an attitude that abuses the parity of all sentient beings
doesn't mean the lion's forgotten it's got fangs and claws
and knows how to use them, or that the golden fleece
can presume upon the dragon that guards it with its own teeth.
And if I were a sheep in the company of flame-throwers
I'd worry about getting my wooly parts singed if only
in the name of strategic self-interest if I weren't capable
of anything else higher than the grass I'm grazing on.

I've been a sacred clown ghost dancing with Sitting Bull
just before Custer's last stand, and I've been demonically possessed
by the best consiglieres hell has to offer, powerful familiars
with surgical minds as sharp as scalpels, black holes in space
the galaxies plunge into without hesitation as if they were jumping
from paradise into a mystery older than light, and I've made
my way out again with my own prophetic skull in my hands,
howling at the moon for the agony of this death in life experience
that might have broken me and my harp like a wishbone
that didn't have anything to sing about anymore,
but the deep cover singularities that exist in the darkness
of everyone's heart, whether they're looking for God particles or not,
and never been so twisted by any space I've ever been in
as to practise emotional espionage against my own feelings
or turn back on myself like a solar flare that festers
in its own light like an incestuous ingrown hair.

When Blake wrote that the tigers of wrath are wiser
than the horses of instruction, do you think he said it
with his tongue in his cheek? Or jumping through hoops of fire
in a flea circus with stagefright on tour through the boonies?
If someone offers you a clear, cold drink of water for free
from his own wellspring in a desert sweating mirages,
and you spit it in his face like acid rain on the flowers
after its' been polluted in your own mouth, what do you think
your chances are of not dying of thirst beside a fresh water lake
when all you had to do was roll over and drink the whole thing
in a single gulp, instead of pissing into the swimming pool
we're all trying to stay afloat in, as if you were an oilslick
sticking like an eclipse to the waterlilies in the last oasis
you're ever going to get another chance to frack
before the desert hangs you out to dry on your own bone rack
like a fish fry still trying to fly through the smog
of your own smokehouse like a ghost long after
you've been cooked on the pyre of your own matchbook?

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Jack Nicklaus

He's going to be around a long, long time, if his body holds up. That's always a concern with a lot of players because of how much they play. A lot of guys can't handle it. But it looks like he can.

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How much can a mind take?

how much can a mind take up?
the whole universe
what you see and dont
all the time that has passed
a million million years
and more to spare

how much can a mind fill up?
the whole universe and beyond
what you see - and dont see
what there are in reality, dreams
....

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