Rust wastes more than use.
French proverbs
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Diamonds and Rust
I'll be damned, here comes your ghost again
but that's not unusual
it's just that the moon is full
and you decided to come
And here I sit, hand on the telephone
hearing the voice I'd known
a couple of light years ago
headed straight for a fall
But we both know what memories can bring
they bring Diamonds and Rust
yes we both know what memories can bring
they bring Diamonds and Rust
Now I see you standing with brown leaves all around and snow in your hair
Now we're smiling out the window of the crummy hotel over washington square
and then comes that white clouds, mingles and hangs in the air
Speaking strictly for me
we both could've died then and there
Now you're telling me you're not nostalgic
then give me another word for it
you were so good with words
and at keeping things paid
cause I need some of that vagueness now, it's all come back too clearly
yes, I love you dearly
and if you're offering me diamonds and rust
I've already paid
But we both know what memories can bring
they bring Diamonds and Rust
yes we both know what memories can bring
they bring Diamonds and Rust
Diamonds, Diamonds and Rust
Diamonds, Diamonds and Rust
Diamonds, Diamonds and Rust
Diamonds, Diamonds and Rust
song performed by Judas Priest, music by Judas Priest, lyrics by Joan Baez
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On Love, In Sadness
Oh love its a brittle madness, I sing about it in all my sadness
Its not falsified to say that I found God so inevitably well,
It still exists pale and fine. I cant dismiss
And I wont resist and if I die well at least I tried
And we just lay awake in lust and rust in the rain
And pour over everything we say we trust
It happened again, I listened in thru hallways and thin doors
Where the rivers unwind, rust and in the rain endure.
The rust and the rain are sins
And Im in like flynn again
So go on place your order now cause some other time is right around the clock
You can stand in line. it finally begins just around the clock
You can have your pick if your stomach is sick whether you eat or not
And there is just one thing that I never forgot
And we just lay awake in lust and rust in the rain
And pour over everything we say we trust
It happened again, I listened in thru hallways and thin doors
Where the rivers unwind, rust and in the rain so easy
These are the comforts that be
You see well Im feeling lucky oh well, maybe thats just me
You should be proud of me oh hell if you could only see
That were gonna grow on up to be, ah yes
We are thick as thieves
Oh love its a brittle madness, I sing about it in all my sadness
Its not falsified to say that I found god
Inevitably, well it still exists pale and fine I cant dismiss
And I wont resist and if I die well at least I tried
And we just lay awake in lust and rust in the rain
And pour over everything we say we trust
It happened again, I listened in thru hallways and thin doors
Where the rivers unwind and the rust and the rain endure
(the rust and the rain endure. Im sure.)
I am insofar to know the measure of love isnt loss
Love will never ever be insofar to know the measure of love isnt loss
Love will never ever be lost on me.
Love will never ever be lost on me.
song performed by Jason Mraz
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Nothing Gets Collected But Dust On Rust
If you wait too long,
Something will go wrong in your lifetime.
Hesitate,
Believing this eliminates it...
But nothing gets collected but dust,
On rust.
If you wait,
Too long...
Something will go wrong,
In your lifetime.
Hesitate,
Since you wanna and you're gonna.
But nothing gets collected but dust,
On rust.
You put up all your screens on your dreams.
Distrusting they would go or be taken away.
You put up all your reasons to demean!
Believing this would keep your dreams from being seen.
If you wait too long,
Something will go wrong in your lifetime.
Hesitate,
Believing this eliminates it...
But nothing gets collected but dust,
On rust.
If you wait,
Too long...
Something will go wrong,
In your lifetime.
Hesitate,
Since you wanna and you're gonna.
But nothing gets collected but dust,
On rust.
You put up all your screens on your dreams.
Distrusting they would go or be taken away.
You put up all your reasons to demean!
Believing this would keep your dreams from being seen.
If you wait,
Too long...
Something will go wrong,
In your lifetime.
Hesitate,
Since you wanna and you're gonna.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Collaped
Voiceless, Useless in their game
Sightless, Blinded by their rage
Heartless, All their Endless plagues
Pointless, Gagging on their pain
Collapsed, Collapsing
Collapsed, Collapsing
Collapsed, Collapsing
Collapsed, Collapsing
Where were you when the bombs dropped?
When the time stopped
When the ticking clock hit zero
Turned to rust into dust
Turned to rust
Where were you when the bombs dropped?
When the time stopped
When the ticking clock hit zero
Turned to rust into dust
Turned to rust
Entombed Infused breathing oil for their views
Entombed Infused breathing oil for their views
Entombed Infused breathing oil for their views
Entombed Infused breathing oil for their views
Voiceless, Useless in their game
Sightless, Blinded by their rage
Heartless, All their Endless plagues
Pointless,
Collapsed, Collapsing
Collapsed, Collapsing
Collapsed, Collapsing
Collapsed, Collapsing
Where were you when the bombs dropped?
When the time stopped
When the ticking clock hit zero
Turned to rust bit the dust
Turned to rust
song performed by Velvet Acid Christ
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The Plea Of The Midsummer Fairies
I
'Twas in that mellow season of the year
When the hot sun singes the yellow leaves
Till they be gold,—and with a broader sphere
The Moon looks down on Ceres and her sheaves;
When more abundantly the spider weaves,
And the cold wind breathes from a chillier clime;—
That forth I fared, on one of those still eves,
Touch'd with the dewy sadness of the time,
To think how the bright months had spent their prime,
II
So that, wherever I address'd my way,
I seem'd to track the melancholy feet
Of him that is the Father of Decay,
And spoils at once the sour weed and the sweet;—
Wherefore regretfully I made retreat
To some unwasted regions of my brain,
Charm'd with the light of summer and the heat,
And bade that bounteous season bloom again,
And sprout fresh flowers in mine own domain.
III
It was a shady and sequester'd scene,
Like those famed gardens of Boccaccio,
Planted with his own laurels evergreen,
And roses that for endless summer blow;
And there were fountain springs to overflow
Their marble basins,—and cool green arcades
Of tall o'erarching sycamores, to throw
Athwart the dappled path their dancing shades,—
With timid coneys cropping the green blades.
IV
And there were crystal pools, peopled with fish,
Argent and gold; and some of Tyrian skin,
Some crimson-barr'd;—and ever at a wish
They rose obsequious till the wave grew thin
As glass upon their backs, and then dived in,
Quenching their ardent scales in watery gloom;
Whilst others with fresh hues row'd forth to win
My changeable regard,—for so we doom
Things born of thought to vanish or to bloom.
[...] Read more
poem by Thomas Hood
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Pull Me Up
Pull me up,
From feeling stuck in bad luck.
There is nothing rougher,
Than believing life's too tough!
Pull me up.
From feeling stuck in bad luck.
I'm tired of a hustle bustled,
Just to repeat rust.
Pull me up...
I'm tired of the rush,
That's made a rut too deep to cuss.
Enough 'is' enough.
Pull me up...
I am tired of the hustle.
Pull me up...
I've grown too tired of the rush.
Sick and tired of my muscles used,
To produce rust.
Pull me up...
I'm tired of the hustle.
Tired of my muscles used to produce rust.
Pull me up!
Enough 'is' enough.
I'm tired of a hustle bustled,
Just to repeat rust.
Pull me up!
Enough 'is' enough.
I'm tired of a hustle bustled,
Just to repeat rust.
Pull me up!
No more beating am I needing.
Pull me up!
No more beating am I needing.
Nor will I continue,
To choose that as a greeting.
Pull me up!
Enough 'is' enough.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Rings Of Gold
Gene thomas
I remember when you said
With this ring I thee wed
Now youve gone betrayed my trust
Rings of gold have turned to rust
Tears cant wash away the sin
Love thats dead cant live again
Knowing theres no hope for us
Turns those rings of gold to rust
Plans we made just yesterday
Sands of time have chipped away
Now theyve crumbled into dust
Love before was clean and pure
Never more can I be sure
You will not betray my trust
Rings of gold have turned to rust
Rings of gold have turned to rust
song performed by Roy Orbison
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Stones Flake to Sand
Stone flakes to sand, and mountains melt to mould,
as Time's transgressions fault lines day by day.
Nature's plans, tectonic placques enfold,
grind growth to grit as bit by bit they fray.
Each season’s growth, though loth, fails, tale soon told,
same story – morning glory - passing play.
Dictators fêted, mated stranglehold -
as swift their rise their fall, ball out of play.
Raging volcanoes age, old page stone cold.
Gone - lifeless echo – mighty mammoth's sway.
Alas what fossil still sends scented spray?
Ruined are idols piled, forgot, unsold.
Yet galaxies from dust clouds coalesced, -
add H²O and Time … Life’s lit_mus[t] test.
Yet hibernation's dreams strange themes may range,
encouragment when sleeper will away
to time to take on time and win from day
an inspiration which may rearrange
the causal puzzle into rhymic change,
patterned and coherent interplay.
Primitive percussion's disarray
cedes passage to more positive exchange,
friction weak points penetrates, long-range
becomes transparent, quake wakes hideaway
potential which through meltdown finds true way
to free self from self, spurning all short-change.
Star-sapphire gems from molten core pour light
relieving fragile fears to heal past plight.
To hear today, unheard tomorrow, 'sleep
upon the midnight with no pain' said Keats,
prerequisite for change remains - who cheats
mortality may just stagnation reap
as atrophy denies the urge to peep
'beyond the veil' or risk [s]tale self defeats.
Time's telomeres must conquer self-conceits
as second-thoughts with watch hands onward creep.
States - like perceptions - change. Once ocean deep,
now Himalayan peak, tomorrow eats
into appearance. Cyclic spin repeats
theme's variations, constancy still keeps.
Both life and lifeless atoms recombine,
can poet's line frustrate Time's veiled design ?
25 March 2005 revised 1 December 2006, and 20 July 2008 second sonnet 25 October 2007 3rd sonnet 20 July 2008
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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A Bit of Sizzle And a Boot Up
I feel I'm gonna need it,
Under my feet.
That heat to get me moving.
That heat to make me leap.
I feel I'm gonna need it,
Under my feet.
Yes...
Because I'm slowing down.
And it's age that's creepin 'round.
I sometimes feel a little rusty.
With a little rust getting dusty.
I need a bit of sizzle and a boot up.
Just a bit of sizzle and a boot up.
I need a bit of sizzle and a boot up.
A push to get me out this rut.
I need a bit of sizzle and a boot up.
Just a bit of sizzle and a boot up.
I need a bit of sizzle and a boot up.
A push to get me out this rut.
I feel I'm gonna need it,
Under my feet.
That heat to get me moving.
That heat to make me leap.
I feel I'm gonna need it,
Under my feet.
Yes...
Because I'm slowing down.
And it could be my age creepin 'round.
I need a bit of sizzle and a boot up.
Just a bit of sizzle and a boot up.
I sometimes feel a little rusty.
With a little rust getting dusty.
I feel I'm gonna need it,
Under my feet.
Yes...
Because I'm slowing down.
And it's age that's creepin 'round.
I sometimes feel a little rusty.
With a little rust getting dusty.
I...
Sometimes feel a little rusty.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Get Rid Of The Rust
You ought to get up in the morning,
With it dawning that a new you is due.
And changing attitude.
You ought to get up in the morning,
With it dawning that a new you is due.
And pursuing it through.
Get all that dust out of the corners,
With a cleaning of that...
Long overdue.
And you know it's true too.
Then decide to get rid of the rust,
With a doing to do.
And sweep away those yesterdays,
To leave them staying there forever.
You ought to get up in the morning,
With it dawning that a new you is due.
And changing attitude.
Get all that dust out of the corners,
With a cleaning of that...
Long overdue.
And you know it's true too.
Then decide...
To get rid of the rust,
With a doing to do.
And,
Sweep away those yesterdays to leave them there forever.
Then decide...
To get rid of the rust,
With a doing to do.
And,
Sweep away those yesterdays to leave them there forever.
Then decide...
To get rid of the rust,
With a doing to do.
And,
Sweep away those yesterdays to leave them there forever.
Like the doing of bad weather.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Man’s Wasted Pelf
Man squanders money in space;
Man puts big sums in futile wars;
Man wastes huge amounts to kill;
Man wastes big sums to get an easy thrill!
Man spends a lot in abortions;
Man spends for keeping vices alive;
Man wastes time to earn ill-got wealth;
Man has no time to keep his health!
And coffers remain empty;
Tax-money goes down the drain;
Budget is pilfered for kick-backs;
And debts keep mounting up steeply.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-12-11
poem by John Celes
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A poem, on the rising glory of America
LEANDER.
No more of Memphis and her mighty kings,
Or Alexandria, where the Ptolomies.
Taught golden commerce to unfurl her falls,
And bid fair science smile: No more of Greece
Where learning next her early visit paid,
And spread her glories to illume the world,
No more of Athens, where she flourished,
And saw her sons of mighty genius rise
Smooth flowing Plato, Socrates and him
Who with resistless eloquence reviv'd
The Spir't of Liberty, and shook the thrones
Of Macedon and Persia's haughty king.
No more of Rome enlighten'd by her beams,
Fresh kindling there the fire of eloquence,
And poesy divine; imperial Rome!
Whose wide dominion reach'd o'er half the globe;
Whose eagle flew o'er Ganges to the East,
And in the West far to the British isles.
No more of Britain, and her kings renown'd,
Edward's and Henry's thunderbolts of war;
Her chiefs victorious o'er the Gallic foe;
Illustrious senators, immortal bards,
And wise philosophers, of these no more.
A Theme more new, tho' not less noble claims
Our ev'ry thought on this auspicious day
The rising glory of this western world,
Where now the dawning light of science spreads
Her orient ray, and wakes the muse's song;
Where freedom holds her sacred standard high,
And commerce rolls her golden tides profuse
Of elegance and ev'ry joy of life.
ACASTO.
Since then Leander you attempt a strain
So new, so noble and so full of fame;
And since a friendly concourse centers here
America's own sons, begin O muse!
Now thro' the veil of ancient days review
The period fam'd when first Columbus touch'd
The shore so long unknown, thro' various toils,
Famine and death, the hero made his way,
Thro' oceans bestowing with eternal storms.
But why, thus hap'ly found, should we resume
The tale of Cortez, furious chief, ordain'd
With Indian blood to dye the sands, and choak
Fam'd Amazonia's stream with dead! Or why,
Once more revive the story old in fame,
[...] Read more
poem by Hugh Henry Brackenridge
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Wasting
Wealth wastes on the rich with no value
Beauty wastes on virgins with no access.
Youth wastes on the young with the denial.
The society is willingly witness.
11.11.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Something To Live For
(hymas / brown)
Weve seen so many towns
Where the trains dont ever stop
Though we hear all night sounds
Theres no side left to the shop
Nothing but changes of face
That life arranges
Nothing but strangeness that wastes
Anything it replaces
Weve seen so many dreams
Floating out into the tide
Theyre never what they seem
And theres emptiness inside
Nothing but changes of face
That life arranges
Nothing but strangeness that wastes
Anything it replaces
Keep pushing tomorrow
You might just find
Something to live for
Keep hustling tomorrow
You might just find
That elusive something
Weve got so many ways
To take the world apart
And almost no one stays
If they make it from the start
Nothing but changes of face
That life arranges
Nothing but strangeness that wastes
Anything it replaces
Keep pushing tomorrow
You might just find
Something to live for
Keep hustling tomorrow
You might just find
Something to live for
Keep pushing tomorrow
You might just find
Something to live for
Keep hustling tomorrow
Until you find that elusive something
song performed by Hollies
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I Live For Only Fourteen Days
They say I live for only fourteen days
Not many know I can live longer
By another sixteen days
If people around turn kind
In this short life span
We grow, develop, and mature
Multiply in plenty
Eat well and to die at last
You may see us every where
In tropical countries
But not during night time
Our people are clear about our life style
We do not work more than twelve hours a day
As we do not keep awake more than that
We keep awake only to keep doing something
We are busy most of the time
Devouring all that you term waste
We do not nurse any great taste
As our hunger puts us ever in haste
We prefer liquid or semi solid food
We have also the capability to
Soften any other edibles with our saliva
And consume it
You people do not even tolerate our presence
You take intensive measures to keep us off
We do not mind all that
We gain our way into your cordoned areas
To your dismay and discomfort
You say we act as carriers of certain diseases
We intend not to do that
It happens probably because of our anatomy
With hair like projections all along the body
We are bound to carry micro organisms
On your biological wastes
And these organisms reach new targets
Our getting branded as disease carriers
Why you find it difficult to appreciate us
Who really cleanse your wastes by consuming them
And why you do not realize that
You only created the waste,
Allowed it to rot in the open
And made us drawn to your waste
You call us house fly
You have complaints against us high sky
We cannot speak to defy
But your wastes you may away shy
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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The Ballad of the White Horse
DEDICATION
Of great limbs gone to chaos,
A great face turned to night--
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
Sight of strong lords and light?
Where seven sunken Englands
Lie buried one by one,
Why should one idle spade, I wonder,
Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder
To smoke and choke the sun?
In cloud of clay so cast to heaven
What shape shall man discern?
These lords may light the mystery
Of mastery or victory,
And these ride high in history,
But these shall not return.
Gored on the Norman gonfalon
The Golden Dragon died:
We shall not wake with ballad strings
The good time of the smaller things,
We shall not see the holy kings
Ride down by Severn side.
Stiff, strange, and quaintly coloured
As the broidery of Bayeux
The England of that dawn remains,
And this of Alfred and the Danes
Seems like the tales a whole tribe feigns
Too English to be true.
Of a good king on an island
That ruled once on a time;
And as he walked by an apple tree
There came green devils out of the sea
With sea-plants trailing heavily
And tracks of opal slime.
Yet Alfred is no fairy tale;
His days as our days ran,
He also looked forth for an hour
On peopled plains and skies that lower,
From those few windows in the tower
That is the head of a man.
But who shall look from Alfred's hood
[...] Read more
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Last Instructions to a Painter
After two sittings, now our Lady State
To end her picture does the third time wait.
But ere thou fall'st to work, first, Painter, see
If't ben't too slight grown or too hard for thee.
Canst thou paint without colors? Then 'tis right:
For so we too without a fleet can fight.
Or canst thou daub a signpost, and that ill?
'Twill suit our great debauch and little skill.
Or hast thou marked how antic masters limn
The aly-roof with snuff of candle dim,
Sketching in shady smoke prodigious tools?
'Twill serve this race of drunkards, pimps and fools.
But if to match our crimes thy skill presumes,
As th' Indians, draw our luxury in plumes.
Or if to score out our compendious fame,
With Hooke, then, through the microscope take aim,
Where, like the new Comptroller, all men laugh
To see a tall louse brandish the white staff.
Else shalt thou oft thy guiltless pencil curse,
Stamp on thy palette, not perhaps the worse.
The painter so, long having vexed his cloth--
Of his hound's mouth to feign the raging froth--
His desperate pencil at the work did dart:
His anger reached that rage which passed his art;
Chance finished that which art could but begin,
And he sat smiling how his dog did grin.
So mayst thou pérfect by a lucky blow
What all thy softest touches cannot do.
Paint then St Albans full of soup and gold,
The new court's pattern, stallion of the old.
Him neither wit nor courage did exalt,
But Fortune chose him for her pleasure salt.
Paint him with drayman's shoulders, butcher's mien,
Membered like mules, with elephantine chine.
Well he the title of St Albans bore,
For Bacon never studied nature more.
But age, allayed now that youthful heat,
Fits him in France to play at cards and treat.
Draw no commission lest the court should lie,
That, disavowing treaty, asks supply.
He needs no seal but to St James's lease,
Whose breeches wear the instrument of peace;
Who, if the French dispute his power, from thence
Can straight produce them a plenipotence..
Nor fears he the Most Christian should trepan
Two saints at once, St Germain, St Alban,
But thought the Golden Age was now restored,
When men and women took each other's word.
[...] Read more
poem by Andrew Marvell
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Table Talk
A. You told me, I remember, glory, built
On selfish principles, is shame and guilt;
The deeds that men admire as half divine,
Stark naught, because corrupt in their design.
Strange doctrine this! that without scruple tears
The laurel that the very lightning spares;
Brings down the warrior’s trophy to the dust,
And eats into his bloody sword like rust.
B. I grant that, men continuing what they are,
Fierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war,
And never meant the rule should be applied
To him that fights with justice on his side.
Let laurels drench’d in pure Parnassian dews
Reward his memory, dear to every muse,
Who, with a courage of unshaken root,
In honour’s field advancing his firm foot,
Plants it upon the line that Justice draws,
And will prevail or perish in her cause.
‘Tis to the virtues of such men man owes
His portion in the good that Heaven bestows.
And, when recording History displays
Feats of renown, though wrought in ancient days,
Tells of a few stout hearts, that fought and died,
Where duty placed them, at their country’s side;
The man that is not moved with what he reads,
That takes not fire at their heroic deeds,
Unworthy of the blessings of the brave,
Is base in kind, and born to be a slave.
But let eternal infamy pursue
The wretch to nought but his ambition true,
Who, for the sake of filling with one blast
The post-horns of all Europe, lays her waste.
Think yourself station’d on a towering rock,
To see a people scatter’d like a flock,
Some royal mastiff panting at their heels,
With all the savage thirst a tiger feels;
Then view him self-proclaim’d in a gazette
Chief monster that has plagued the nations yet.
The globe and sceptre in such hands misplaced,
Those ensigns of dominion how disgraced!
The glass, that bids man mark the fleeting hour,
And Death’s own scythe, would better speak his power;
Then grace the bony phantom in their stead
With the king’s shoulder-knot and gay cockade;
Clothe the twin brethren in each other’s dress,
The same their occupation and success.
A. ‘Tis your belief the world was made for man;
Kings do but reason on the self-same plan:
Maintaining yours, you cannot theirs condemn,
Who think, or seem to think, man made for them.
[...] Read more
poem by William Cowper
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And So It Goes
This song was first released on the stonehaven sunrise album. it is the only album it has been released on.
A mansion on a hill is a lovely sight to see
But like any other house its only temporary
Home is anywhere you choose to put your heart
If theres no love inside, it will soon fall apart
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Buildings will crumble, bridges will rust
Mountains will disappear, rivers will dry up
And so it goes with everything but love
You can drive around in a long imousine
If you dont know where youre going, it dont mean a thing
He whod walk a mile just to hold an empty hand
Knows what it means to be a wealthy man
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Palaces will crumble, bridges will rust
Mountains will disappear, rivers will dry up
And so it goes with everything but love
Worldly treasures will all pass away
Theres just one thing that was put here to stay
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Kingdoms will crumble, bridges will rust
Mountains will disappear, rivers will dry up
And so it goes with everything but love
Words and music by paul overstreet and don schlitz
song performed by John Denver
Added by Lucian Velea
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Your Everything
The first time I looked in your eyes I knew
That I would do anything for you
The first time you touched my face I felt
Like I've never felt with anyone else
I wana give back what you've givin' to me
And I wanna witness all of your dreams
Now that you've shown me who I really am
I wanna be more then just your man
I wanna be the wind that fills your sails
And be the hand that lifts your veil
And be the moon that moves your tide
The sun coming up in your eyes
Be the wheels that never rust
And be the spark that lights you up
All that you've been dreaming of and more
So much more, I wanna be your everything...
When you wake up, I'll be the first thing you see
And when it gets dark you can reach out for me
I'll cherish your words and I'll finish your thoughts
And I'll be your compass baby, when you get lost
I wanna be the wind that fills your sails
And be the hand that lifts your veil
And be the moon that moves your tide
The sun coming up in your eyes
Be the wheels that never rust
And be the spark that lights you up
All that you've been dreaming of and more
So much more, I wanna be your everything...
Be the wheels that never rust
And be the spark that lights you up
All that you've been dreaming of and more
So much more, I wanna be your everything...
I wanna be your everything
song performed by Keith Urban
Added by Lucian Velea
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