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The grass is always greener on your neighbor's yard.

Portuguese proverbs
Added by Lucian Velea
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Nun in FRiar Small-Bro's Grave... Yard

The midnight clings to dwarfish kings
While robot drones, adorning thrones,
Kneel, bowing to the Old...Guard.
Arrhythmic clocks and wooden box
Grace FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

The diplohacks, in melting wax,
Are swept along, a thriving throng,
Just dying for a life...guard.
And Nun, alone, has beached their bones
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

Beyond the streams, a raven screams
At loser fish that swarm and swish;
Nun gently drips her dreams...jarred.
There are no thanks along the banks
Of FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

While FRiar smiles and prowls the aisles
The hierarch obeys his bark;
His maw is oozing pure...lard.
He tells you who and what to do
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

Well, FRiar's pets are in a sweat;
He calls the tunes near burning dunes
And taps his cloven feet...charred.
They roast in rooms within the tombs
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

His myrmidons, they drool and fawn
While chanting verse near FRiar's hearse -
Extolling, wild, the van...guard.
Remote controls promote the trolls
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

With faces straight, in bent debate,
They compromise their empty lies
With any passing re...tard.
Grey zombies groom white flies in bloom
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

With ghouls, unlearned, no stone's unturned,
They burnish blame with Nun's proud name
And leave the midnight sky... scarred.
They raise their hats to copy cats
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

The rumours spread amongst the dead -
Nun marks the place with saving grace,

[...] Read more

poem by Terry O'Leary
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Green

Sometime ago we broke up for no reason I know
Why do I have this feeling youre still in control
Im confused like Im used to whenever Im in trouble again
But this time I have to grow up and learn to decide
The grass is greener on your side
It was always greener on your side
It will always be greener on your side
Im way too nervous to be patient right now
Why do I have this feeling Im not in control
The price that I pay for in my almost obsessive devotion you see
Is much higher than I would ever expect it to be
The grass is greener on your side
It was always greener on your side
It will always be greener on your side
It will always be greener on your side x5
The grass is greener on your side
It was always greener on your side
It will always be greener on your side

song performed by Hooverphonic
Added by Lucian Velea
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Grass Is Greener

One thing that I have heard
As I have often been told
Was the grass is always greener
On the other side of the road,
And to the that one statement
I truly had no ideal,
Was it but a lie that I often heard
Or was that assumption for real.
So on top of my own roof
I went to, after my climb
To check another ones yard
Of course a yard, that wasn't mine.
And there is where I stood
As I surveyed across the road
To see if anyone's grass was greener
As I often had heard and also been told.
And there from where that I stood
And from what that I could see
Their grass was not any greener
Than my yard, that I do believe.
So I surveyed the yards of my neighbors
As up on my roof I stood as I thought
Maybe all yards are all different then
So I got off my roof, and I went for a walk.
I walked down the street
Then I walked up the next block
Seems as though the houses got bigger
Along with their possession's and their lots.
Their grass didn't seem any greener
Than mine or the other that I have seen
Though theirs yards were much larger
As though a good picture from everyone's dream.
So there I left, and I continued my walk
I then came across some railroad tracks
And there stood houses and from what I saw,
Their grass was as green, front yard and back.
Though their yards they wasn't as large
As the ones I have seen
And their houses weren't as large or as nice
But their yards, they were just as green.
So then I headed back unto my home
To reflect back on the things that I have seen,
And of the ideals people thought of and said
And what in their mind they really did mean.
So when I got back unto my home
I climbed again on top of my roof
So there I could reflect and think to myself
About my neighbors and me and to tell the truth.
Though the grass might be greener, I did say
On the other side of the road,

[...] Read more

poem by Randy McClave
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Uncle Jim's Baptist Revival Hymn

By Sidney and Clifford Lanier.

[Not long ago a certain Georgia cotton-planter, driven to desperation
by awaking each morning to find that the grass had
quite outgrown the cotton overnight, and was likely to choke it,
in defiance of his lazy freedmen's hoes and ploughs,
set the whole State in a laugh by exclaiming to a group of fellow-sufferers:
"It's all stuff about Cincinnatus leaving the plough to go into politics
FOR PATRIOTISM; he was just a-runnin' from grass!"

This state of things -- when the delicate young rootlets of the cotton
are struggling against the hardier multitudes of the grass-suckers --
is universally described in plantation parlance by the phrase "in the grass";
and Uncle Jim appears to have found in it so much similarity
to the condition of his own ("Baptis'") church, overrun, as it was,
by the cares of this world, that he has embodied it in the refrain
of a revival hymn such as the colored improvisator of the South
not infrequently constructs from his daily surroundings.
He has drawn all the ideas of his stanzas from the early morning phenomena of
those critical weeks when the loud plantation-horn is blown before daylight,
in order to rouse all hands for a long day's fight against the common enemy
of cotton-planting mankind.

In addition to these exegetical commentaries, the Northern reader
probably needs to be informed that the phrase "peerten up" means substantially
`to spur up', and is an active form of the adjective "peert"
(probably a corruption of `pert'), which is so common in the South,
and which has much the signification of "smart" in New England, as e.g.,
a "peert" horse, in antithesis to a "sorry" -- i.e., poor, mean, lazy one.]

Solo. -- Sin's rooster's crowed, Ole Mahster's riz,
De sleepin'-time is pas';
Wake up dem lazy Baptissis,
Chorus. -- Dey's mightily in de grass, grass,
Dey's mightily in de grass.

Ole Mahster's blowed de mornin' horn,
He's blowed a powerful blas';
O Baptis' come, come hoe de corn,
You's mightily in de grass, grass,
You's mightily in de grass.

De Meth'dis team's done hitched; O fool,
De day's a-breakin' fas';
Gear up dat lean ole Baptis' mule,
Dey's mightily in de grass, grass,
Dey's mightily in de grass.

[...] Read more

poem by Sidney Lanier
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Neighbor, Neighbor

Neighbor, neighbor, why you messin in my life?
Neighbor, neighbor, youve been talkin to my wife,
Tellin her you seen me
Runnin wild the other night,
Runnin wild the other night.
A neighbor, neighbor, theress always one in every crowd.
A neighbor, neighbor, tellin lies and talkin loud.
You better watch your step now.
You might fall off your cloud.
You might fall off your cloud.
Now I was walking down a dusty road
When along came a neighbor of mine.
He saw me walkin with my head hung down,
He just had to stop and pass the time.
Neighbor, neighbor, floatin in the salty brine.
Floatin in the salty brine.

song performed by ZZ Top
Added by Lucian Velea
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From an Upper Verandah

What happier haunt could the gods allot
For loftiest musing to sage or bard?—
Yet I would that this upper verandah did not
Look down on my beautiful Neighbour's Back-yard!

I stir the afflatus: Descend, O ye Nine!
Let the crystalline gates of the soul be unbarred!
No. My thoughts will keep running in one fixed line—
The clothes-line that hangs in my Neighbour's Back-yard!

Let me gaze on the hills; let me think of the sea;
Of the dawn rosy-fingered—the night silver-starred:—
(What dear little feet must the owner's be
Of those stockings that hang in my Neighbour's Back-yard!)

Let me tune my soul to a measure devout:—
Ah, the musical mood is all jangled and jarred,
While things with borders, and things without,
Keep flutt'ring down there in my Neighbour's Back-yard!

Are the True and the Good and the Beautiful dead,
That I win not one gleam of Pierian regard?
(Does she suffer, I wonder, from cold in the head?—
Such a lot of mouchoirs in my Neighbour's Back-yard!)

Comes the fit. While it sways me, high themes would I sing!
Prometheus! Achilles! Have at you! En grade!
Alexander the Great—(oh that I were a string
On that apron hung out in my Neighbour's Back-yard!)

I will shut my eyes fast—I have hit it at last,
Now my purest Ideals flit by me unmarred;
And odours of memory rise from the past,
(And an odour of suds from my Neighbour's Back-yard!)

Ah, yes! when the eyelids together are prest,
Every vestige of earth we throw off and discard.
(These are flannels, I think. Is she weak in the chest?—
There! I'm looking again at my Neighbour's Back-yard!)
Since the Muses back out, let Philosophy in:
Let me ponder its problems cold and hard.
Ah! Philosophy dies in a celibate grin
At that bolster-case down in my Neighbour's Back-yard!

Oh shame on my rapidly silvering hairs!
Oh shame on this veteran battered and scarred!

I to be witched with these frilled—affairs!
Confound my neighbour! Confound her Back-yard!

[...] Read more

poem by James Brunton Stephens
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The Fence

Around my yard there stands a fence
It keeps the outside world out and I safe within
Though the structure is not that immense
It does the purpose as which it was built for and meant.
Neighbors and strangers it keeps out of my yard
Along with their trash and pets which does it harm
I am my yards protector, landscaper and guard
As it is my beauty, and not a trash bin or someone's farm.
My fence allows and welcomes the sunshine and the wind
Mother nature is always welcomed to visit and roam
The squirrels and the birds are always welcomed in
And welcome are the bee's with the pollen they've sewn.

Around my yard there stands a fence
It protects my yard from the enemies about
Too me it makes such perfect sense
Better to stop the entering, than for me to scream and shout.
As my yard is not the playground for a child to use
Or a shortcut for many persons to walk or run
As it it my yard which I won't neglect or abuse
And the work that I do on it, it will never be done.
In the summertime there will be  plants to raise
And the leaves to rake when it becomes the fall
While hoping mother nature with me will always stay
And because of my fence, it will protect it all.

Around my yard there stands a fence
It protects and guards my yard everyday of the year
To others though it might cause an offense
As though it tells the people, not to come over here.
It is my yard which is mine to raise it like a child
To cut it and groom it and keep it nice for all to see
But truly it is GOD'S acre, which I saved from the wild
Then through the wonder of nature, in life I do believe.
So as days will come you will see myself in my yard
And sometimes you might see me nervous and tense
I hate clutter and trash so from there it is always barred
Also to protect my yard and myself, is my mighty fence.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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Greener Pastures

Youre always tellin me to go out more
Go ahead, get out and see the world
But then I think, why should i
Id rather stay home and cry
I never thought that I could be the other
The other way like the other ones
Let me open wide, let you see inside
And then you might agree
Would you say they find me unstable
cause they see me act a little bit different
But I know my way to greener pastures and
Think about it, wont you think it over
Please
Without you I can move
I can stretch my arms out, I can feel it
And when Im in my room alone I feel good
Because I dont have to deal with you or the outside world
Would you say they find me unstable
cause they see me act a little bit different
But I know my way to greener pastures and
Think about it, wont you think it over
Please
I guess Ill get over it
Ooh - I guess Ill get over it
I guess Ill get over it
I guess Ill get over it
Would you say they find me unstable
cause they see me act a little bit different
But I know my way through greener pastures
Would you say they find me unstable
cause they see me act a little bit different
But I know my way through greener pastures
Would you say they find me unstable
Cause they see me act a little bit different
But I know my way through greener pastures
Greener pastures
See me act a little bit different
But I know my way through greener pastures

song performed by Gwen Stefani
Added by Lucian Velea
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Twixt the Wings of the Yard

Hear the loud swell of it, mighty pell mell of it,
Thousands of voices all blent into one:
See “hell for leather” now trooping together, now
Down the long slope of the range at a run,
Dust in the wake of ‘em: see the wild break of ‘em,
Spear-horned and curly, red, spotted and starred:
See the lads bringing ‘em, blocking ‘em, ringing ‘em.
Fetching ‘em up to the wings of the yard.

Mark that red leader now: what a fine bleeder now,
Twelve hundred at least if he weighs half a pound,
None go ahead of him. Mark the proud tread of him,
See how he bellows and paws at the ground.
Watch the mad rush of ‘em, raging and crush of ‘em.
See when they struck how the corner post jarred.
What a mad chasing and wheeling and racing and
Turbulent talk ‘twixt the wings of the yard.

Harry and Teddy, there! let them go steady there!
Some of you youngsters will surely get pinned.
What am I saying? I’ve had my last day in
The saddle: I might as well talk to the wind.
Why should I grieve at all? soon I must leave it all -
Leave it for ever; and yet it seems hard
That I should be lingering here ‘stead of fingering
Handle of whip ‘twixt the wings of the yard.

Hear the loud crack of the whips on the back of the
Obstinate weaners who will not go in -
Sharp fusilade of it till, half afraid of it,
Echo herself shuts her ears at the din.
They’ll say when it’s over now that I’m in clover now -
Happy old pensioner, yet it seems hard,
E’en on the brink of the grave, when I think of the
Times out of mind that I rode to that yard.

Hark to the row at the rails, there’s a cow at the
Charge: how she laughs all their lashes to scorn.
Mark how she ran ag’in little Tom Flannagan.
Lucky for him that it wasn’t her horn:
He’d make no joke of it had he a poke of it.
There she comes back! but he’s put on his guard,
Greenhide descending now, sharp reports blending now,
Flogging her back up the wings of the yard.

The breeze brings their bellowing, soft’ning it, mellowing,
Till it sounds like a spent giant in pain -
Steals up the valley on, sounding a rally on

[...] Read more

poem by Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
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The Shepherds Calendar - July

Daughter of pastoral smells and sights
And sultry days and dewy nights
July resumes her yearly place
Wi her milking maiden face
Ruddy and tand yet sweet to view
When everywhere's a vale of dew
And raps it round her looks that smiles
A lovly rest to daily toils
Wi last months closing scenes and dins
Her sultry beaming birth begins

Hay makers still in grounds appear
And some are thinning nearly clear
Save oddly lingering shocks about
Which the tithman counteth out
Sticking their green boughs where they go
The parsons yearly claims to know
Which farmers view wi grudging eye
And grumbling drive their waggons bye
In hedge bound close and meadow plains
Stript groups of busy bustling swains
From all her hants wi noises rude
Drives to the wood lands solitude
That seeks a spot unmarkd wi paths
Far from the close and meadow swaths
Wi smutty song and story gay
They cart the witherd smelling hay
Boys loading on the waggon stand
And men below wi sturdy hand
Heave up the shocks on lathy prong
While horse boys lead the team along
And maidens drag the rake behind
Wi light dress shaping to the wind
And trembling locks of curly hair
And snow white bosoms nearly bare
That charms ones sight amid the hay
Like lingering blossoms of the may
From clowns rude jokes they often turn
And oft their cheeks wi blushes burn
From talk which to escape a sneer
They oft affect as not to hear
Some in the nooks about the ground
Pile up the stacks swelld bellying round
The milking cattles winter fare
That in the snow are fodderd there
Warm spots wi black thorn thickets lind
And trees to brake the northern wind
While masters oft the sultry hours
Will urge their speed and talk of showers
When boy from home trotts to the stack

[...] Read more

poem by John Clare
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The Cock And The Fox: Or, The Tale Of The Nun's Priest

There lived, as authors tell, in days of yore,
A widow, somewhat old, and very poor;
Deep in a dale her cottage lonely stood,
Well thatched, and under covert of a wood.
This dowager, on whom my tale I found,
Since last she laid her husband in the ground,
A simple sober life, in patience led,
And had but just enough to buy her bread;
But huswifing the little Heaven had lent,
She duly paid a groat for quarter rent;
And pinched her belly, with her daughters two,
To bring the year about with much ado.
The cattle in her homestead were three sows,
An ewe called Mally, and three brinded cows.
Her parlour window stuck with herbs around,
Of savoury smell; and rushes strewed the ground.
A maple-dresser in her hall she had,
On which full many a slender meal she made,
For no delicious morsel passed her throat;
According to her cloth she cut her coat;
No poignant sauce she knew, nor costly treat,
Her hunger gave a relish to her meat.
A sparing diet did her health assure;
Or sick, a pepper posset was her cure.
Before the day was done, her work she sped,
And never went by candle light to bed.
With exercise she sweat ill humours out;
Her dancing was not hindered by the gout.
Her poverty was glad, her heart content,
Nor knew she what the spleen or vapours meant.
Of wine she never tasted through the year,
But white and black was all her homely cheer;
Brown bread and milk,(but first she skimmed her bowls)
And rashers of singed bacon on the coals.
On holy days an egg, or two at most;
But her ambition never reached to roast.
A yard she had with pales enclosed about,
Some high, some low, and a dry ditch without.
Within this homestead lived, without a peer,
For crowing loud, the noble Chanticleer;
So hight her cock, whose singing did surpass
The merry notes of organs at the mass.
More certain was the crowing of the cock
To number hours, than is an abbey-clock;
And sooner than the matin-bell was rung,
He clapped his wings upon his roost, and sung:
For when degrees fifteen ascended right,
By sure instinct he knew ’twas one at night.
High was his comb, and coral-red withal,
In dents embattled like a castle wall;

[...] Read more

poem by John Dryden
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A cartoon's speech

YEllow Grass but conceptual light
YEllow Grass but conceptual light
YEllow Grass but conceptual light
YEllow Grass but conceptual light
YEllow Grass but conceptual light
YEllow Grass but conceptual light
YEllow Grass but conceptual light
YEllow Grass but conceptual light
YEllow Grass but conceptual light
YEllow Grass but conceptual light
YEllow Grass but conceptual light
YEllow Grass but conceptual light
YEllow Grass but conceptual light
YEllow Grass but conceptual light
YEllow Grass but conceptual light
popet nyein way

poem by Nyein Way
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On The Other Side

La, la, see the morning sunshine, shine, shine on the mountain side
Dont think the grass is always greener, on the other side
There was a time I felt like you, did not know what to do
Dont worry now youll be alright,, youre alright, I see, see
La, la, see the morning sunshine, shine, shine on the mountain side
Dont think the grass is always greener, on the other side
Oh, I know how you feel, if you really do
Dont worry now youll be alright, hold on tight, youll see, see
La, la, see the morning sunshine, shine, shine on the mountain side
Dont think the grass is always greener, on the other side-on the other side
La, la, see the morning sunshine, shine, shine on the mountain side
Dont think the grass is always greener, on the other side
On the other side...

song performed by Rick Springfield
Added by Lucian Velea
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Milkshake

My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard
And they're like, it's better than yours
Damn right it's better than yours
I could teach you
But I have to charge
My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard
And they're like, it's better than yours
Damn right it's better than yours
I could teach you
But I have to charge
I know you want it
The thing that makes me
What the guys go crazy for
They lose their minds
The way I whine
I think it's time
La,La,La,La,La
Warm it up
La,La,La,La,La
The boys are waiting
La,la,La,La,La
Warm it up
La,La,La,La,La
The boys are waiting
My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard
And they're like, it's better than yours
Damn right it's better than yours
I could teach you but I have to charge
My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard
And they're like, it's better than yours
Damn right it's better than yours
I could teach you but I have to charge
I see you're on it
You want me to teach thee
Techniques that freaks these boys
It can't be bought
Just the thieves get caught
Watch if you're smart
La,La,La,La,La
Warm it up
La,La,La,La,La
The boys are waiting
La,La,La,La,La,
Warm it up
La,La,La,La,La
The boys are waiting
My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard
And they're like, it's better than yours
Damn right it's better than yours
I could teach you but I have to charge

[...] Read more

song performed by Kelis
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The Last of the Narwhale

THE STORY OF AN ARCTIC NIP.

AY, ay, I'll tell you, shipmates,
If you care to hear the tale,
How myself and the royal yard alone
Were left of the old Narwhale.
'A stouter ship was never launched
Of all the Clyde-built whalers;
And forty years of a life at sea
Haven't matched her crowd of sailors.
Picked men they were, all young and strong,
And used to the wildest seas,
From Donegal and the Scottish coast,
And the rugged Hebrides.
Such men as women cling to, mates,
Like ivy round their lives:
And the day we sailed, the quays were lined
With weeping mothers and wives.
They cried and prayed, and we gave 'em a cheer,
In the thoughtless way of men;
God help them, shipmates—thirty years
They've waited and prayed since then.
'We sailed to the North, and I mind it well,
The pity we felt, and pride
When we sighted the cliffs of Labrador
From the sea where Hudson died.
We talked of ships that never came back,
And when the great floes passed,
Like ghosts in the night, each moonlit peak
Like a great war frigate's mast,
'Twas said that a ship was frozen up
In the iceberg's awful breast,
The clear ice holding the sailor's face
As he lay in his mortal rest.
And I've thought since then, when the ships came home
That sailed for the Franklin band,
A mistake was made in the reckoning
That looked for the crews on land.
'They're floating still,' I've said to myself,
'And Sir John has found the goal;
The Erebus and the Terror, mates,
Are icebergs up at the Pole!'

'We sailed due North, to Baffin's Bay,
And cruised through weeks of light;
'Twas always day, and we slept by the bell,
And longed for the dear old night,
And the blessed darkness left behind,
Like a curtain round the bed;

[...] Read more

poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Grass (inspired by Whitman's A child asks what is grass)

grass gently waves,
sways, twists and swirls
with the gentle breeze
in a thousand steps and styles
god's merciful and caring hands

a bewildered young soul
asked ' what is grass? '
wrote lucky Whitman
who was so inspired by
the boy that he wrote
a long poem about life and death

well what is grass?

a genius mind would gather
it is god clothing his earth, men
his way of crocheting to cover up
nudity of his every land

and he so loves the task
he twists and dances in pleasure
as his breathe sweeps over the grass

there is music of joy
everywhere that his hand touches
- as he expends stitch by stitch
inch by inch to spread his cheer

to think of a man without clothes?
how a child would run
for cover on mere sight

grass is god's grace for the child
the mountains, the plains, us

how crude, barren, run down,
they would look without
the gentle and refreshing
green green grass

the grass that would
sweep us off
our feet for a dance
anytime of the day

well then let's answer the child
question: what is grass?

whitman's child would learn that

[...] Read more

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Differences

My neighbor lives on the hill,
And I in the valley dwell,
My neighbor must look down on me,
Must I look up?--ah, well,
My neighbor lives on the hill,
And I in the valley dwell.

My neighbor reads, and prays,
And I--I laugh, God wot,
And sing like a bird when the grass is green
In my small garden plot;
But ah, he reads and prays,
And I--I laugh, God wot.

His face is a book of woe,
And mine is a song of glee;
A slave he is to the great 'They say,'
But I--I am bold and free;
No wonder he smacks of woe,
And I have the tang of glee.

My neighbor thinks me a fool,
'The same to yourself,' say I;
'Why take your books and take your prayers,
Give me the open sky;'
My neighbor thinks me a fool,
'The same to yourself,' say I.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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September Grass

Well, the suns not so hot in the sky today
And you know I can see summertime slipping on away
A few more geese are gone, a few more leaves turning red
But the grass is as soft as a feather in a featherbed
So Ill be king and youll be queen
Our kingdoms gonna be this little patch of green
Wont you lie down here right now
In this september grass
Wont you lie down with me now
September grass
Oh the memory is like the sweetest pain
Yeah, I kissed the girl at a football game
I can still smell the sweat and the grass stains
We walked home together. I was never the same.
But that was a long time ago
And where is she now? I dont know
Wont you lie down here right now
In this september grass
Wont you lie down with me now
September grass
Oh, september grass is the sweetest kind
It goes down easy like apple wine
Hope you dont mind if I pour you some
Made that much sweeter by the winter to come
Do you see those ants dancing on a blade of grass?
Do you know what I know? thats you and me, baby
Were so small and the worlds so vast
We found each other down in the grass
Wont you lie down with me right here
September grass
Wont you lie down with me now
In this september grass
Lie down
Lie down
Lie down
Lie down
(repeat)
Wont you lie down here right now
In this september grass
Wont you lie down here now
In this september grass

song performed by James Taylor
Added by Lucian Velea
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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
Added by Poetry Lover
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River Of Orchids

Hey!
I heard the dandelions roar in piccadilly circus
I heard the dandelions roar in piccadilly circus
Take a packet of seeds
Take yourself out to play
I want to see river of orchids where we had a motorway
Push your car from the road
Push your car from the road
Just like a mad dog youre chasing your tail in a circle
Just like a mad dog youre chasing your tail in a circle
Its all in your back yard
Youve the whole world at your feet
I said the grass is always greener when it bursts up through concrete
Push your car from the road
Push your car from the road
River of orchids winding our way
Want to walk into london on my hands one day
River of orchids the road overgrows
Want to walk into london smelling like a peckham beggar rose
Just like a mad dog youre chasing your tail in a circle
Just like a mad dog youre chasing your tail in a circle
Its all in your back yard
Youve the whole world at your feet
I said the grass is always greener when it bursts up through concrete
I had a dream where the car is reduced to a fossil
I had a dream where the car is reduced to a fossil
Take a packet of seeds
Get yourself out to play
I want to see river of orchids where we had a motorway
Push your car... | its all in your back yard...
Push your car... | take a packet of seeds...
River of orchids winding my way
Want to walk into london on my hands one day
River of orchids the road overgrows
Want to walk into london smelling like a peckham rose
River of orchids... | I heard the dandelions...
River of orchids... | just like a mad dog...
River of orchids... | I had a dream...
River of orchids... | I heard the dandelions...

song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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