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Two in harmony are in god's company.

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You Are My God

You are my God
And I live for you God
You are my God
Everyday
You are my God
Because you forgive me

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We Are All God's Children

We are all God's children
Can you believe that we are all God's children
And we belong in the Chapel of love

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We Are of God

We are of God
Men who believe
We are of God
Who does not deceive.
We are of God
Hearing His Word
'Yeshua is Saviour'
Have you not heard?
We are of God
And worship in truth
For Christ is arisen
We need not have proof!
We are of God
The Comforter does dwell
Abiding with us
Saving from hell.
We are of God
With peace we are shod
Cleansed by His blood;

We are of God!

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You are the God who leads me to victory (Novelinee)

When about me the heavens do rumble,
you are the God, who leads me to victory,
in destiny's roughest kind of tumble
in all things you help me to remain free,
when there is no resistance I can muster,
when everything about me burns like fuel,
when all of my own reserves do fluster
in the world's darkest, most ominous duel
you give me the will to face another sequel.

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You Are Love God, I Am Happiness and She Is Hate

You are love God
Because you put love into our lives
Every single day
I am happiness and I give all the happiness
To every one that is in my life
Every single day
And she is hate
But that alone is a bad road to walk on
By avoiding that bad road you will be able to stay safe
And feel that you are loved by God
Even though I have plenty of happiness to give
You can either choose to be a part of my life
Every single day

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You Are The God Of Me

I exalt thee oh, Lord
I bow at your feet
All your wonder and grace
Your precious blood I plead

You're the same when the sun rises
Still the same in the eve
You're an unchanging God
You are the God of me

You're a God of laughter
You're a God of peace
You are the only God
You are the God of me

Some people worship and pray
To a god dead and gone
My God, you're alive
And forever will live on

Your spirit that touches my soul
Words just can't be found
The creator touching the created
So awesome and profound

My God, can't people see
The splendor and the awe
The power and the mercy
The God of us all

My God I give thanks
As I fall at your feet
God I am yours
You are the God of me

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Whose Words These Are Only God Knows

WHOSE WOODS THESE ARE ONLY GOD KNOWS


Whose woods these are only God knows
Sparse and bare the trees
A pleasant morning in the hottest time of the year-

My task here is no more-

The man I took care of for one year and one half is in his grave
His kind and good wife said goodbye
With a gift for my daughter and her child
And a compensation check for me.

What Promises are there for me to keep now?
In these last years
Before I too fade and die?

The woods are light and small
And the Developers will soon be here-

I look up out at the Hill of the Holy city
A soft calm wind blows-
Never have I been so still inside-
And miles to go before I sleep?
The City sad and light and deep.

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If You Are Not God

With a perishable faith
I was guided towards you for love
where I come to you like a blank paper
where desire wants to see success
and not a darkness of uncertainty
but after a long journey of
my aesthetic sense of soul
where all the theories and notions are failed
in front of visual imaginations
I find a new visionary status
that there's an illusion of faith..
which is the reason of my perplexity
i need to know the existence of love
But, the condition is 'if you are not God'
not to be the God is only my reliable source
it may be humane or something else but not God
which can lead to the glory of my heart not God
and if you are not God
I am ready to follow you whatever you say
this is heart to heart not heart to unknown
where my origen is a reflecting mirror
and the hidden combination of soul and body,
with a large canvas of aspirations

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God and me

GOD: no way sushanta and why do ask me to,
Fulfill that your same wish every time.
You know that wish of yours I cannot do,
She is not made for you fulfilling ur wish is a crime.

ME: then tell me god why do can't I stop for,
a minute thinking, loving, caring, Wondering,
Sharing our feelings n worrying about her
n god I know that you are just lying..

GOD: I am a god you idiot n I don't lie.
I know u love her more than anything else.
But still they love each other too and try,
Breaking their bond, their love story is like fairy tales.

ME: I don't care if it's a fairytale or their bond is strong.
I will love her till the last day of my life.
I know and I can't do, but god don't get me wrong,
Sometimes I wish that I could cut him with knife

GOD: I know you are a good boy. May be one day,
You n she will be together. But suddenly you
Started believing in me n these days u even pray.
Tell me the reason n I will fulfill your one wish or two.


ME: you are a god you know everything why are u asking.
She has a cancer n fine I don't want her but cure her.
I want to see her always laughing n smiling.
Just fulfill this wish I want nothing please father

GOD: ok I will do that that's too easy.
By the way I need to tell you one thing,
Wake up its 8: 30 already don't feel dizzy,
U need to go to colllege n yet u r still in your dream.

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Me and God

Eternity is the Universe,
Swaying are the leaves
Rain splatters
Around I see lives
Wind, earth and heaven it kisses
Lightening roars and strikes
God, harmony, is yours
God, fountain of life, is yours
God, a humble soul, I'm yours.

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A Sonnet (Two Voices Are There)

Two voices are there: one is of the deep;
It learns the storm-cloud's thunderous melody,
Now roars, now murmurs with the changing sea,
Now bird-like pipes, now closes soft in sleep:
And one is of an old half-witted sheep
Which bleats articulate monotony,
And indicates that two and one are three,
That grass is green, lakes damp, and mountains steep:
And, Wordsworth, both are thine: at certain times
Forth from the heart of thy melodious rhymes,
The form and pressure of high thoughts will burst:
At other times -- good Lord! I'd rather be
Quite unacquainted with the A.B.C.
Than write such hopeless rubbish as thy worst.

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The Power of Two

The power of two,
It all began,
With one woman and one man,
Who became wife and husband.
A perfect union.
Two winners of one team.
The power of two.
The beginning of a great book,
Begins with two sentences,
That's part of the first paragraph.
You two will begin a new path,
Of late night laughs,
Beach walks,
Endless hours of long talks,
Treasuring one another thoughts.
Bible taught church visits,
Memorable memories,
That you will never forget.
Always thanking God that you met.
The power of two,
The bible says,
When two or more are gather,
There He will be in the mist of them.
The power of two,
Two colors mixed together,
Becomes another.
What therefore God hath,
Joined together,
Let no man put asunder.

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God Give |Me strength of a Vindaloo

God give me the strength of a Vindaloo
To order for the first time a Vindaloo
My pals are expecting me to show I’m game
God Vindaloo strength, lift up my name

I’ll be seen as top man, if I swallow and chew
This initiation dish, that so many spew
I’ll be able to say which pub we go next
I’ll be the first in the morning the others will text

God give me the strength of a Vindaloo
The waiter is here, I’m in full view
My pals are waiting to hear what I say
Theres no way out, pray, pray pray

He’s asked me to order, the tension is here
I’ll buy more time if I order more beer
But I’ve already got two pints on the table
God Vindaloo strength, help me show them I’m able

“Sir, can I take your order please”
God Vindaloo strength, stop these knocking knees
I stood up and shouted “CHICKEN VINDALOO”
“IM A MAN AT LAST, YIPPERDEEDOO”
“AND VINDALOO FOR MY PALS, THAT’S YOU, AND YOU TOO! ”
God Vindaloo strength I thank you
Same again tomorrow
When I need the loo

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God's Little Champions

We know there's victory in Jesus
Our strength is trusting in Him
Nations will stand and glorify the Lord
All God's children, always win
We are all God's little champions
There's power in Him even if we fall
We are all God's little champions
The Cross is there for us all

**CHORUS**
We carry the torch of truth
With His Spirit in our hearts
We are all God's little champions
With Him we are set a part

Across the finish line to Heaven
It doesn't matter to Him the score
For in Him there is true Victory
Eternal life forever more
We are all God's little champions
There's power in Him even if we fall
We are all God's little champions
The Cross is there for us all

We carry the torch of truth
With His Spirit in our hearts
We are all God's little champions
With Him we are set a part

We carry the torch of truth
With His Spirit in our hearts
We are all God's little champions
With Him we are set a part

We are all God's little champions
With His Spirit in our hearts
We are all God's little champions
With Him we are set a part

(c) 1996 Words & Music - Gene Gamble /Two-G's Music
Key of C
Chord rotation - C - F - G (fill chord Bb for return) 4/4 moderate pace

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You Are Not On That Road

There is no where to rebuild
Those shadows of weaknesses,
Behind doors closed.

No cracked and opened windows,
To overhear gossiped...
Or rehashed innuendos!

We live in these moments.
Now!
There is a clearing of hidden remorse,
And guilt.
Declare nothing meant to burden your load.
Give that back to the ones...
Who lived with masks,
And tasks that were shallow.
Those waters are no longer yours to tread!
Nor does a tear needs from you to be shed.

When you realize it is time to be distanced,
From someone...anyone!
Who in the past offered you resistance.
Ask these two questions...
And insist upon a response!

'How far is the lightening bolt from the ground,
Before it strikes? '
And...
'How far does a raindropp fall from a cloud? '

If they do not know...
You tell them,
You wish to have that space and more,
Between you and their nonsense.
There are Sun rays appearing on your path!

You are not on that road,
To be reminded of bad weather!
You tell them,
To remove themselves from your light!

And let them prove to you they can do it.
On your journey,
You are not seeking the company...
Of hitchhikers!
And let that be known.

There is no where to rebuild
Those shadows of weaknesses,
Behind doors closed.
And no where...
Are you to seek,
Substitutes to please!

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Pick The Right God.

One god cares for you, the other is so great he could careless.

One god cares for you, the other is so great he could careless, so very great he does not have time to care so he so artfully pretends to care. If you see he is a fake he will destroy you.

Yes there are two gods.

There are two kinds of gods, one is always making creations, life, creatures, beings, consciousness, and going on without looking back, creating even more spectacular creations, universes, multiverses, ever greater complex life forms one more fantastic than the other.

There is another sort of god, one that creates a universe but gives a ram about the beings he created. This god is there, this god stays with his creatures, with her beings as they struggle, as they strive, he gives them space and the ability to co-create with her. The other god, could care less, he has other better universes and forms of life to make.

in this universe in our life now, these two gods are fighting it out, in our life now we are fighting it out with them as well. Do you want the greatness of the narcissistic god of cold selfish greatness. What a price you pay for being like this god or worshipping this god. He just made you to prove to himself how great he is, or do you align your self up with the god that gives a tam about you, he made you because she wanted to share herself and all of creation with you,

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Robert Frost

Two Tramps in Mud Time

Out of the mud two strangers came
And caught me splitting wood in the yard,
And one of them put me off my aim
By hailing cheerily "Hit them hard!"
I knew pretty well why he had dropped behind
And let the other go on a way.
I knew pretty well what he had in mind:
He wanted to take my job for pay.

Good blocks of oak it was I split,
As large around as the chopping block;
And every piece I squarely hit
Fell splinterless as a cloven rock.
The blows that a life of self-control
Spares to strike for the common good,
That day, giving a loose my soul,
I spent on the unimportant wood.

The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day
When the sun is out and the wind is still,
You're one month on in the middle of May.
But if you so much as dare to speak,
A cloud comes over the sunlit arch,
A wind comes off a frozen peak,
And you're two months back in the middle of March.

A bluebird comes tenderly up to alight
And turns to the wind to unruffle a plume,
His song so pitched as not to excite
A single flower as yet to bloom.
It is snowing a flake; and he half knew
Winter was only playing possum.
Except in color he isn't blue,
But he wouldn't advise a thing to blossom.

The water for which we may have to look
In summertime with a witching wand,
In every wheelrut's now a brook,
In every print of a hoof a pond.
Be glad of water, but don't forget
The lurking frost in the earth beneath
That will steal forth after the sun is set
And show on the water its crystal teeth.

The time when most I loved my task
The two must make me love it more
By coming with what they came to ask.
You'd think I never had felt before
The weight of an ax-head poised aloft,
The grip of earth on outspread feet,
The life of muscles rocking soft
And smooth and moist in vernal heat.

Out of the wood two hulking tramps
(From sleeping God knows where last night,
But not long since in the lumber camps).
They thought all chopping was theirs of right.
Men of the woods and lumberjacks,
They judged me by their appropriate tool.
Except as a fellow handled an ax
They had no way of knowing a fool.

Nothing on either side was said.
They knew they had but to stay their stay

And all their logic would fill my head:
As that I had no right to play
With what was another man's work for gain.
My right might be love but theirs was need.
And where the two exist in twain
Theirs was the better right--agreed.

But yield who will to their separation,
My object in living is to unite
My avocation and my vocation
As my two eyes make one in sight.
Only where love and need are one,
And the work is play for mortal stakes,
Is the deed ever really done
For Heaven and the future's sakes.

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Two Gardens in Linndale

Two brothers, Oakes and Oliver,
Two gentle men as ever were,
Would roam no longer, but abide
In Linndale, where their fathers died,
And each would be a gardener.

“Now first we fence the garden through,
With this for me and that for you,”
Said Oliver.—“Divine!” said Oakes,
“And I, while I raise artichokes,
Will do what I was born to do.”

“But this is not the soil, you know,”
Said Oliver, “to make them grow:
The parent of us, who is dead,
Compassionately shook his head
Once on a time and told me so.”

“I hear you, gentle Oliver,”
Said Oakes, “and in your character
I find as fair a thing indeed
As ever bloomed and ran to seed
Since Adam was a gardener.

“Still, whatsoever I find there,
Forgive me if I do not share
The knowing gloom that you take on
Of one who doubted and is done:
For chemistry meets every prayer.”

“Sometimes a rock will meet a plough,”
Said Oliver; “but anyhow
’Tis here we are, ’tis here we live,
With each to take and each to give:
There’s no room for a quarrel now.

“I leave you in all gentleness
To science and a ripe success.
Now God be with you, brother Oakes,
With you and with your artichokes:
You have the vision, more or less.”

“By fate, that gives to me no choice,
I have the vision and the voice:
Dear Oliver, believe in me,
And we shall see what we shall see;
Henceforward let us both rejoice.”

“But first, while we have joy to spare
We’ll plant a little here and there;
And if you be not in the wrong,
We’ll sing together such a song
As no man yet sings anywhere.”

They planted and with fruitful eyes
Attended each his enterprise.
“Now days will come and days will go,
And many a way be found, we know,”
Said Oakes, “and we shall sing, likewise.”

“The days will go, the years will go,
And many a song be sung, we know,”
Said Oliver; “and if there be
Good harvesting for you and me,
Who cares if we sing loud or low?”

They planted once, and twice, and thrice,
Like amateurs in paradise;
And every spring, fond, foiled, elate,
Said Oakes, “We are in tune with Fate:
One season longer will suffice.”

Year after year ’twas all the same:
With none to envy, none to blame,
They lived along in innocence,
Nor ever once forgot the fence,
Till on a day the Stranger came.

He came to greet them where they were,
And he too was a Gardener:
He stood between these gentle men,
He stayed a little while, and then
The land was all for Oliver.

’Tis Oliver who tills alone
Two gardens that are now his own;
’Tis Oliver who sows and reaps
And listens, while the other sleeps,
For songs undreamed of and unknown.

’Tis he, the gentle anchorite,
Who listens for them day and night;
But most he hears them in the dawn,
When from his trees across the lawn
Birds ring the chorus of the light.

He cannot sing without the voice,
But he may worship and rejoice
For patience in him to remain,
The chosen heir of age and pain,
Instead of Oakes—who had no choice.

’Tis Oliver who sits beside
The other’s grave at eventide,
And smokes, and wonders what new race
Will have two gardens, by Gods grace,
In Linndale, where their fathers died.

And often, while he sits and smokes,
He sees the ghost of gentle Oakes
Uprooting, with a restless hand,
Soft, shadowy flowers in a land
Of asphodels and artichokes.

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Jimmy The Explorer

JIMMY THE EXPLORER
Now Jimmy
Well, do you want an explosion now?
Yeah Jimmy
Do you want to explode now?
Yeah monkey
Now you seeing red now
Yeah monkey
Jumping on the bed now
Hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo
Green apples
On the tree and growing now
Green apples
Are gonna be exploding now
Yeah monkey
Are you seeing red now?
Yeah monkey
Jumping on the bed now
Woo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo
STOP BREAKING DOWN
Everytime Im walkin, down the streets,
some pretty mama she starts breakin down
Stop breakin down, yes stop breakin down
The stuff I gotll bust your brains out, baby, hoo hoo,
itll make you lose your mind.
Now, you Saturday night womens, you love to ape and clown,
you wont do nothin but tear good man (i.e Jack White) reputation down
Stop breakin down, please stop breakin down
The stuff I gotll bust your brains out, baby, hoo hoo,
itll make you lose your mind
Now, I give my baby, now, the ninety-nine degree,
she jumped up and throwed a pistol down on me
Stop breakin down, please stop breakin down
Stuff I gotll bust your brains out, if you think you lose your mind
THE BIG THREE KILLED MY BABY
The big three killed my baby
no money in my hand again
the big three killed my baby
nobody's coming home again
Their ideas made me want to spit
a hundred dollars goes down the pit
30,000 wheels are rollin
and my stick shift hands are swollen
everything involved is shady
the big three killed my baby
The big three killed my baby
no money in my hand again
the big three killed my baby
nobody's coming home again
Why dont you take the day off and try to repair
a billion others dont seem to care
better ideas are stuck in the mud
the motors runnin on tuckers blood
dont let them tell you the future's electric
cause gasolines not measured in metric
30,000 wheels are spinnin'
and oil company faces are grinnin
now my hands are turnin' red
and i found out my baby is dead
The big three killed my baby
no money in my hand again
the big three killed my baby
nobodys coming home again
Well i've said it now, nothings changed
people are burnin for pocket change
and creative minds are lazy
and the big three killed my baby
And my babys my common sense
so dont feed me planned obsolescence
yeah my baby's my common sense
so dont feed my planned obsolescence
im about to have another blowout
im about to have another blowout
SUZY LEE
Theres a story
I would like to tell
My problem is
Its one you know too well
Its one you know too well
Me Suzy Lee
The one im speaking of
The question is
Is she the one i love ?
Is she the one i love ?
(all right)
Is she the one i love ?
Shell send me flowers
With her tears bored inside
And you know what id do
I would run and hide
I would run and hide
And the paper
On it was my name
With the question
Do you feel the same ?
Do you feel the same ?
To end this tale
The one im speaking of
I wish i have an answer (but i dont know)
Is this really love ?
Is this really love ?
Is this really love ?
SUGAR NEVER TASTED SO GOOD
Sugar never tasted so good
Sugar never tasted so good
Sugar never tasted good to me
Yeah
Until her eyes crossed over
Until her mind crossed over
Until her soul fell next to me
Now
If the wrinkle that is in your brain
Has given you quite a steam
Your fingers have become a crane
Pulling on these puppet strings
Yeah
What a feeling thats begun
What a feeling thats begun
What a feeling thats begun
What a feeling thats begun
I felt just like a baby
Until I held a baby
What a fool this boy can be
Yeah
And her thougths like a daisy
Until my mind gets lazy
I mustve been crazy not to see
Alright
If the wrinkle that is in your brain
Sting, not steam
Your fingers have become a crane
Your fingers have become a crane
Your fingers have become a crane
Pulling on these puppet strings
Water never tasted so good
Water never tasted so good
Water never tasted good to me
WASTING MY TIME
And if im wasting my time
then nothing could be better
than hanging on the line
and waiting for an honest word forever
And if youre saying goodbye
please dont you think me bitter
for recalling every rhyme
from the book the page
the line the word the letter
Well the windows turning blue
and the waters ever flowing
and i hope im not a fool
for laughing at myself
as you are going
ASTRO
One two three four.
Maybe jasper does the astro,
Maybe jasper does the astro,
Maybe jasper does the astro astro.
Maybe lilly does the astro,
Maybe lilly does the astro,
Maybe lilly does the astro astro.
Well maybe jackson does the astro,
Maybe jackson does the astro,
Maybe jackson does the astro astro.
Maybe Momma does the astro,
Maybe Momma does the astro,
Maybe Momma does the astro astro.
Well maybe tesla does the astro,
Maybe tesla does the astro,
Maybe edison is AC-DC
BROKEN BRICKS
Have you been to the broken bricks girl
Snuck down through the cyclone fence
Past the caution tape
And the security gate
Back way to the breakroom bench
Well there's a little corner where you first got kissed
And felt your boyfriends fist and made the company list
And there's a little spot where your dad ate lunch
And your brother landed his first punch yeah,yeah,yeah
Well have you been to the broken bricks girl
Seen the barrels that they left behind
Seen the machine that cut aluminium clean
And got tape from the caution sign
And broke into the window panes
Just a rusty colored rain that drives a man insane
You try to jump over water but you land in oil
Climb the ladder up a broken crane yeah,yeah,yeah
Don't go to the broken bricks girl
It's not a place that you want to be
Think of the spot your father spent his life
Demolition calls it Building C
Demolition calls it Building C now
Demolition calls it Building C now
WHEN I HEAR MY NAME
when i hear my name i want to disappear
when i hear my name i want to disappear
oh oh oh oh
when i see my face i want to disappear
when i see my face i want to disappear
oh oh oh oh
Do
Well somebody walked up to me
but i didnt know what to do
and then somebody said hello to me
but i didnt know what to do
because i think that my words could get
twisted so i bend my back over take a
gulp be funny cause i know theres nothing i can do
Then my mother tried to pick me up
when i was sittin down on the ground
something forced my little eyes come open
but i couldnt make out the sound
it doesnt matter cause my eyes are lying
and they dont have emotion
dont wanna be social, cant take it when they hate me
but i know theres nothing i can do
When my thoughts start to feel like mine
theyre taken from me it seems to happen
all the time (every time)
and the feelings that are fine for you
theres somebody there
who doesnt think they are true
so think of something new
theres nothing left to do
And then my idols walk next to me
i look up at them they fade away
its a destruction of a mystery
the more i listen to what they say
so does that mean that theres no more doin
and theres no more thinkin
and theres no more feeling
cause theres no right opinion
so can you tell me what im supposed to do
SCREWDRIVER
Tuesday morning now
I gotta have somewhere to go
I call up tommy now
I call him on the telephone
Wont you wake up and come with me now
Im going to the pawn and loan
Walking down thirty three
Walking on thirty o
Well what am i supposed to think
I drop a nickel in the sink
I love people like a brother now
But im not gonna be their mother now
What if someone walked up to me
And like an apple cut right through me
Im not the one whos sinnin
Screwdriver
Now that you have heard my story now
Ive got a little ending to it now
Whenever you go out alone
Take a little dog a bone
Think about your little sister
Then you got to drive it home
With a screwdriver
I got a little feeling goin now
I got a little feeling goin now
ONE MORE CUP OF COFFEE
Your breath is sweet
Your eyes are like two jewels in the sky.
Your back is straight, your hair is smooth
On the pillow where you lie.
But I dont sense affection
No gratitude or love
Your loyalty is not to me
But to the stars above.
One more cup of coffee for the road
One more cup of coffee fore I go
To the valley below.
Your daddy hes an outlaw
And a wanderer by trade
Hell teach you how to pick and choose
And how to throw the blade
He oversees his kingdom
So no stranger does intrude
His voice it trembles as he calls out
For another plate of food
One more cup of coffee for the road,
One more cup of coffee fore I go
To the valley below
Your sister sees the future
Like your mama and yourself
Youve never learned to read or write
Theres no books upon your shelf.
And your pleasure knows no limits
Your voice is like a meadowlark
But your heart is like an ocean
Mysterious and dark
One more cup of coffee for the road,
One more cup of coffee fore I go
To the valley below
ST. JAMES INFIRMARY BLUES
Folks, Im goin down to St. James Infirmary,
See my baby there;
Shes stretched out on a long, white table,
Shes so sweet, so cold, so fair.
Let her go, let her go, God bless her,
Wherever she may be,
She will search this wide world over,
But shell never find another sweet man like me.
Now, when I die, bury me in my straight-leg britches,
Put on a box-back coat and a stetson hat,
Put a twenty-dollar gold piece on my watch chain,
So you can let all the boys know I died standing pat.
Folks, now that you have heard my story,
Say, boy, hand me another shot of that booze;
If anyone should ask you,
Tell em Ive got those St. James Infirmary blues.
I FOUGHT PIRHANAS
Well i hold the rope
and i hold the sail
and i kept my papers
to keep from land in jail
and i fought piranhas
and i fought the cold
there was no one with me
i was all alone
Well its easter morning now
and theres noone around
so i unroll the cement
and walk into the town
there was noone with me
and i was all alone
and i fought piranhas
and i fought the cold
Well you know what its like
i dont got to tell you
who puts up a fight
walking out of hell now
when you fought piranhas
and you fought the cold
theres nobody with you
and youre all alone

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Andrea del Sarto

But do not let us quarrel any more,
No, my Lucrezia; bear with me for once:
Sit down and all shall happen as you wish.
You turn your face, but does it bring your heart?
I'll work then for your friend's friend, never fear,
Treat his own subject after his own way,
Fix his own time, accept too his own price,
And shut the money into this small hand
When next it takes mine. Will it? tenderly?
Oh, I'll content him,--but to-morrow, Love!
I often am much wearier than you think,
This evening more than usual, and it seems
As if--forgive now--should you let me sit
Here by the window with your hand in mine
And look a half-hour forth on Fiesole,
Both of one mind, as married people use,
Quietly, quietly the evening through,
I might get up to-morrow to my work
Cheerful and fresh as ever. Let us try.
To-morrow, how you shall be glad for this!
Your soft hand is a woman of itself,
And mine the man's bared breast she curls inside.
Don't count the time lost, neither; you must serve
For each of the five pictures we require:
It saves a model. So! keep looking so--
My serpentining beauty, rounds on rounds!
--How could you ever prick those perfect ears,
Even to put the pearl there! oh, so sweet--
My face, my moon, my everybody's moon,
Which everybody looks on and calls his,
And, I suppose, is looked on by in turn,
While she looks--no one's: very dear, no less.
You smile? why, there's my picture ready made,
There's what we painters call our harmony!
A common greyness silvers everything,--
All in a twilight, you and I alike
--You, at the point of your first pride in me
(That's gone you know),--but I, at every point;
My youth, my hope, my art, being all toned down
To yonder sober pleasant Fiesole.
There's the bell clinking from the chapel-top;
That length of convent-wall across the way
Holds the trees safer, huddled more inside;
The last monk leaves the garden; days decrease,
And autumn grows, autumn in everything.
Eh? the whole seems to fall into a shape
As if I saw alike my work and self
And all that I was born to be and do,
A twilight-piece. Love, we are in God's hand.
How strange now, looks the life he makes us lead;
So free we seem, so fettered fast we are!
I feel he laid the fetter: let it lie!
This chamber for example--turn your head--
All that's behind us! You don't understand
Nor care to understand about my art,
But you can hear at least when people speak:
And that cartoon, the second from the door
--It is the thing, Love! so such things should be--
Behold Madonna!--I am bold to say.
I can do with my pencil what I know,
What I see, what at bottom of my heart
I wish for, if I ever wish so deep--
Do easily, too--when I say, perfectly,
I do not boast, perhaps: yourself are judge,
Who listened to the Legate's talk last week,
And just as much they used to say in France.
At any rate 'tis easy, all of it!
No sketches first, no studies, that's long past:
I do what many dream of, all their lives,
--Dream? strive to do, and agonize to do,
And fail in doing. I could count twenty such
On twice your fingers, and not leave this town,
Who strive--you don't know how the others strive
To paint a little thing like that you smeared
Carelessly passing with your robes afloat,--
Yet do much less, so much less, Someone says,
(I know his name, no matter)--so much less!
Well, less is more, Lucrezia: I am judged.
There burns a truer light of God in them,
In their vexed beating stuffed and stopped-up brain,
Heart, or whate'er else, than goes on to prompt
This low-pulsed forthright craftsman's hand of mine.
Their works drop groundward, but themselves, I know,
Reach many a time a heaven that's shut to me,
Enter and take their place there sure enough,
Though they come back and cannot tell the world.
My works are nearer heaven, but I sit here.
The sudden blood of these men! at a word--
Praise them, it boils, or blame them, it boils too.
I, painting from myself and to myself,
Know what I do, am unmoved by men's blame
Or their praise either. Somebody remarks
Morello's outline there is wrongly traced,
His hue mistaken; what of that? or else,
Rightly traced and well ordered; what of that?
Speak as they please, what does the mountain care?
Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,
Or what's a heaven for? All is silver-grey,
Placid and perfect with my art: the worse!
I know both what I want and what might gain,
And yet how profitless to know, to sigh
"Had I been two, another and myself,
"Our head would have o'erlooked the world!" No doubt.
Yonder's a work now, of that famous youth
The Urbinate who died five years ago.
('Tis copied, George Vasari sent it me.)
Well, I can fancy how he did it all,
Pouring his soul, with kings and popes to see,
Reaching, that heaven might so replenish him,
Above and through his art--for it gives way;
That arm is wrongly put--and there again--
A fault to pardon in the drawing's lines,
Its body, so to speak: its soul is right,
He means right--that, a child may understand.
Still, what an arm! and I could alter it:
But all the play, the insight and the stretch--
(Out of me, out of me! And wherefore out?
Had you enjoined them on me, given me soul,
We might have risen to Rafael, I and you!
Nay, Love, you did give all I asked, I think--
More than I merit, yes, by many times.
But had you--oh, with the same perfect brow,
And perfect eyes, and more than perfect mouth,
And the low voice my soul hears, as a bird
The fowler's pipe, and follows to the snare --
Had you, with these the same, but brought a mind!
Some women do so. Had the mouth there urged
"God and the glory! never care for gain.
"The present by the future, what is that?
"Live for fame, side by side with Agnolo!
"Rafael is waiting: up to God, all three!"
I might have done it for you. So it seems:
Perhaps not. All is as God over-rules.
Beside, incentives come from the soul's self;
The rest avail not. Why do I need you?
What wife had Rafael, or has Agnolo?
In this world, who can do a thing, will not;
And who would do it, cannot, I perceive:
Yet the will's somewhat--somewhat, too, the power--
And thus we half-men struggle. At the end,
God, I conclude, compensates, punishes.
'Tis safer for me, if the award be strict,
That I am something underrated here,
Poor this long while, despised, to speak the truth.
I dared not, do you know, leave home all day,
For fear of chancing on the Paris lords.
The best is when they pass and look aside;
But they speak sometimes; I must bear it all.
Well may they speak! That Francis, that first time,
And that long festal year at Fontainebleau!
I surely then could sometimes leave the ground,
Put on the glory, Rafael's daily wear,
In that humane great monarch's golden look,--
One finger in his beard or twisted curl
Over his mouth's good mark that made the smile,
One arm about my shoulder, round my neck,
The jingle of his gold chain in my ear,
I painting proudly with his breath on me,
All his court round him, seeing with his eyes,
Such frank French eyes, and such a fire of souls
Profuse, my hand kept plying by those hearts,--
And, best of all, this, this, this face beyond,
This in the background, waiting on my work,
To crown the issue with a last reward!
A good time, was it not, my kingly days?
And had you not grown restless... but I know--
'Tis done and past: 'twas right, my instinct said:
Too live the life grew, golden and not grey,
And I'm the weak-eyed bat no sun should tempt
Out of the grange whose four walls make his world.
How could it end in any other way?
You called me, and I came home to your heart.
The triumph was--to reach and stay there; since
I reached it ere the triumph, what is lost?
Let my hands frame your face in your hair's gold,
You beautiful Lucrezia that are mine!
"Rafael did this, Andrea painted that;
"The Roman's is the better when you pray,
"But still the other's Virgin was his wife--"
Men will excuse me. I am glad to judge
Both pictures in your presence; clearer grows
My better fortune, I resolve to think.
For, do you know, Lucrezia, as God lives,
Said one day Agnolo, his very self,
To Rafael . . . I have known it all these years . . .
(When the young man was flaming out his thoughts
Upon a palace-wall for Rome to see,
Too lifted up in heart because of it)
"Friend, there's a certain sorry little scrub
"Goes up and down our Florence, none cares how,
"Who, were he set to plan and execute
"As you are, pricked on by your popes and kings,
"Would bring the sweat into that brow of yours!"
To Rafael's!--And indeed the arm is wrong.
I hardly dare . . . yet, only you to see,
Give the chalk here--quick, thus, the line should go!
Ay, but the soul! he's Rafael! rub it out!
Still, all I care for, if he spoke the truth,
(What he? why, who but Michel Agnolo?
Do you forget already words like those?)
If really there was such a chance, so lost,--
Is, whether you're--not grateful--but more pleased.
Well, let me think so. And you smile indeed!
This hour has been an hour! Another smile?
If you would sit thus by me every night
I should work better, do you comprehend?
I mean that I should earn more, give you more.
See, it is settled dusk now; there's a star;
Morello's gone, the watch-lights show the wall,
The cue-owls speak the name we call them by.
Come from the window, love,--come in, at last,
Inside the melancholy little house
We built to be so gay with. God is just.
King Francis may forgive me: oft at nights
When I look up from painting, eyes tired out,
The walls become illumined, brick from brick
Distinct, instead of mortar, fierce bright gold,
That gold of his I did cement them with!
Let us but love each other. Must you go?
That Cousin here again? he waits outside?
Must see you--you, and not with me? Those loans?
More gaming debts to pay? you smiled for that?
Well, let smiles buy me! have you more to spend?
While hand and eye and something of a heart
Are left me, work's my ware, and what's it worth?
I'll pay my fancy. Only let me sit
The grey remainder of the evening out,
Idle, you call it, and muse perfectly
How I could paint, were I but back in France,
One picture, just one more--the Virgin's face,
Not yours this time! I want you at my side
To hear them--that is, Michel Agnolo--
Judge all I do and tell you of its worth.
Will you? To-morrow, satisfy your friend.
I take the subjects for his corridor,
Finish the portrait out of hand--there, there,
And throw him in another thing or two
If he demurs; the whole should prove enough
To pay for this same Cousin's freak. Beside,
What's better and what's all I care about,
Get you the thirteen scudi for the ruff!
Love, does that please you? Ah, but what does he,
The Cousin! what does he to please you more?

I am grown peaceful as old age to-night.
I regret little, I would change still less.
Since there my past life lies, why alter it?
The very wrong to Francis!--it is true
I took his coin, was tempted and complied,
And built this house and sinned, and all is said.
My father and my mother died of want.
Well, had I riches of my own? you see
How one gets rich! Let each one bear his lot.
They were born poor, lived poor, and poor they died:
And I have laboured somewhat in my time
And not been paid profusely. Some good son
Paint my two hundred pictures--let him try!
No doubt, there's something strikes a balance. Yes,
You loved me quite enough. it seems to-night.
This must suffice me here. What would one have?
In heaven, perhaps, new chances, one more chance--
Four great walls in the New Jerusalem,
Meted on each side by the angel's reed,
For Leonard, Rafael, Agnolo and me
To cover--the three first without a wife,
While I have mine! So--still they overcome
Because there's still Lucrezia,--as I choose.

Again the Cousin's whistle! Go, my Love.

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