In any grass-roots campaign, building an ongoing base of support is as important as winning the ultimate goal.
quote by Patricia Ireland
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The Golden Age
Long ere the Muse the strenuous chords had swept,
And the first lay as yet in silence slept,
A Time there was which since has stirred the lyre
To notes of wail and accents warm with fire;
Moved the soft Mantuan to his silvery strain,
And him who sobbed in pentametric pain;
To which the World, waxed desolate and old,
Fondly reverts, and calls the Age of Gold.
Then, without toil, by vale and mountain side,
Men found their few and simple wants supplied;
Plenty, like dew, dropped subtle from the air,
And Earth's fair gifts rose prodigal as prayer.
Love, with no charms except its own to lure,
Was swiftly answered by a love as pure.
No need for wealth; each glittering fruit and flower,
Each star, each streamlet, made the maiden's dower.
Far in the future lurked maternal throes,
And children blossomed painless as the rose.
No harrowing question `why,' no torturing `how,'
Bent the lithe frame or knit the youthful brow.
The growing mind had naught to seek or shun;
Like the plump fig it ripened in the sun.
From dawn to dark Man's life was steeped in joy,
And the gray sire was happy as the boy.
Nature with Man yet waged no troublous strife,
And Death was almost easier than Life.
Safe on its native mountains throve the oak,
Nor ever groaned 'neath greed's relentless stroke.
No fear of loss, no restlessness for more,
Drove the poor mariner from shore to shore.
No distant mines, by penury divined,
Made him the sport of fickle wave or wind.
Rich for secure, he checked each wish to roam,
And hugged the safe felicity of home.
Those days are long gone by; but who shall say
Why, like a dream, passed Saturn's Reign away?
Over its rise, its ruin, hangs a veil,
And naught remains except a Golden Tale.
Whether 'twas sin or hazard that dissolved
That happy scheme by kindly Gods evolved;
Whether Man fell by lucklessness or pride,-
Let jarring sects, and not the Muse, decide.
But when that cruel Fiat smote the earth,
Primeval Joy was poisoned at its birth.
In sorrow stole the infant from the womb,
The agëd crept in sorrow to the tomb.
The ground, so bounteous once, refused to bear
More than was wrung by sower, seed, and share.
[...] Read more
poem by Alfred Austin
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Up By Two Possessions
Up by two possessions,
In a heated competing session.
And the hope is to reach to the goal,
To keep...
A winning told.
And keep...
That winning bold.
You can't let moss grow under your feet!
And keep...
A winning told.
You can't stay satisfied and sleep!
And keep...
That winning bold.
You must push alibis aside!
To keep...
A winning told.
And sacrifice with a drive inside!
To keep...
A winning told.
And keep...
That winning bold.
Up by two possessions,
In a heated competing session.
And the hope is to reach to the goal,
To keep...
A winning told.
Up by two possessions,
In a heated competing session.
And the hope is to reach to the goal,
To keep...
That winning bold.
You can't let moss grow under your feet!
And keep...
A winning told.
You can't stay satisfied and sleep!
And keep...
That winning bold.
You must push alibis aside!
To keep...
A winning told.
And sacrifice with a drive inside!
To keep...
A winning told.
And keep...
That winning bold.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Twin State
university of chicago summer basketball
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university of dayton soccer camp
university of dayton summer soccer camp
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university of delaware 4h camp applicati
university of delaware baseball camp
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university of delaware volleyball camp
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university of delware soccer camp
university of denver and lacrosse camp
university of denver swimming summer cam
[...] Read more
poem by Caasder Fronds
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Soccer–Passion Song
Soccer–Passion Song
Soccer in the evening;
Soccer in the morning;
Soccer in spring and fall.
Soccer in the raining;
Soccer in the snowing;
Soccer in winter and summer.
Soccer in between my feet,
where I walk;
Soccer in my heart and mind,
how I live;
Soccer my love and life.
Soccer I wake up and play;
Soccer I hold it to sleep;
Soccer my work and rest.
Soccer I sing a new song;
Soccer I dance the magic steps;
Soccer my tears and joy.
Soccer my Mom buys it for me to play;
Soccer my Dad brings me to the game;
Soccer my dear Love watches me to score.
Soccer I dribble and shoot;
Soccer I pass and fall;
Soccer my glory and downfall.
Soccer I strike to attack;
Soccer I tackle to defend;
Soccer my struggle and survival.
Soccer I receive the flags and the whistles;
Soccer I get the yellow and red card;
Soccer my moves and stop.
Soccer I meet my friends;
Soccer I make my enemies;
Soccer my conflict and peace.
Soccer I play and watch;
Soccer I watch but cannot play;
Soccer my dream and reality.
Soccer I learn the rights;
Soccer I confess the fouls;
[...] Read more
poem by Laijon Liu
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Roots
Roots natty roots
Dread binghi dread
I and I are the roots
Some are the dry wood
Fe catch up the fire
Whoa, lo ok at that
They need some dry wood
To cook up the raw food
Whoa, look at that
I got to survive
Inna dis man maniac downpression
Got to survive
In iration, yeah
Roots natty roots
Dread binghi dread
Remember that I and I are the roots
Some are wolf
Inna sheeps clothing
Whoa, look at that
Many are called
But only a few are chosen
Whoa, look at that
Nothing that dividers can do
Cant seperate us from our father
Whoa, look at that
You see, blood is thicker than water
Whoa, look at that
Got to survive
Inna disyah ghetto, yeah
Roots natty roots
Dread binghi dread
Remember that I and I are the roots
Roots natty roots
Dread binghi dread
Whoa, I and I are the roots
Some are leaves
While some are branches
But remember I and I are the roots
Some are dry wood
Fe catch up the fire
Whoa, look at that
Got to survive
Inna dis man maniac downpression
Got to survive
In iration
Roots natty roots
Dread binghi dread
Hey, I and I are the roots
Ooh we, roots natty roots
Dread binghi dread
[...] Read more
song performed by Bob Marley
Added by Lucian Velea
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Forgot To Follow
All I can hear is another year pass me by.
They pass me by.
They pass underneath you know theres nothing to see here, except ten bridges.
They pass underneath you know theres nothing to see here, except ten bridges.
Coz when you're winning you're charming,
you're winning you're charming,
when you're winning you're charming, it wont...
You might have noticed that i've fallen down on the road,
It could happen to anyone, I know.
They pass underneath you know theres nothing to see here, except ten bridges.
They pass underneath you know theres nothing to see here, except ten bridges.
Coz when you're winning you're charming,
you're winning you're charming,
when you're winning you're charming, it wont...
You're winning you're charming,
coz when you're winning you're charming,
when you're winning you're charming,
coz when you're winning you're charming,
when you're winning you're charming,
when you're winning you're charming,
when you're winning you're charming,
when you're winning you're charming.
ohhh!
song performed by Idlewild
Added by Lucian Velea
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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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Roots Bloody Roots
Roots Bloody Roots
Roots Bloody Roots
Roots Bloody Roots
Roots Bloody Roooaaaaaahh
I believe
In Our Fate
We Don't Need To Fake
It's All We Wanna Be
Watch Me Freeeaaak !!
I Say
We're Growing Every Day
Getting Stronger In Every Way
I'll Take You To A Place
Where We Shall Find Our
Roots Bloody Roots
Roots Bloody Roots
Roots Bloody Roots
Roots Bloody Roots
Rain
Bring Me The Strength
Is Breeding Me This Way
To Get To Another Day
And All I Want To See
Set Us Free
Why
Can't You See
Can't You Feel
This Is Real
Ahhh
I Pray
We Don't Need To Change
Our Ways To Be Saved
That All We Wanna Be
Watch Us Freak
song performed by Sepultura
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Winning Side
Its the winning side
And everybodys cheering for the winning side
And the children leave their homes to join the winning side
And when jesus comes hell march on with the winning side
And weve got all the right answers on the winning side
And the guiding light
Whether wrong or right
And we have no fear
No we have no fear
Waiting for the sign
We will give our lives
We will give our lives
And I feel so isolated
Its so lonely here at night
I could almost feel you near me
I imagine that youre with me
On the winning side
We dont ask too many questions on the winning side
And Ive got this strange sensation on the winning side
I dont recognize the faces of the winning side
And we all live here in cages . . .
Someone cried last night
And it made a sound
With my eyes closed tight
I hear everything
I can hear your voice
When I kiss the ground
When I kiss the ground
And Id like to know you better
And Id like to know your name
I could really show you something
If you give me half a chance
cuz Im on the winning side
(winning side)
In the sleepless night
When the blindness comes
Washing over me
Like a giant wave
On a sandless beach
Washing over me
I am proud to be . . .
And Id like to take you somewhere
That youve never been before
And I feel so isolated
And I feel so all alone
Here on the winning side
(and I feel so all alone)
song performed by Oingo Boingo
Added by Lucian Velea
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Winning Side
It's the winning side
And everybody's cheering for the winning side
And the children leave their homes to join the winning side
And when Jesus comes He'll march on with the winning side
And we've got all the right answers on the winning side
And the guiding light
Whether wrong or right
And we have no fear
No we have no fear
Waiting for the sign
We will give our lives
We will give our lives
And I feel so isolated
It's so lonely here at night
I could almost feel you near me
I imagine that you're with me
On the winning side
We don't ask too many questions on the winning side
And I've got this strange sensation on the winning side
I don't recognize the faces of the winning side
And we all live here in cages . . .
Someone cried last night
And it made a sound
With my eyes closed tight
I hear everything
I can hear your voice
When I kiss the ground
When I kiss the ground
And I'd like to know you better
And I'd like to know your name
I could really show you something
If you give me half a chance
'Cuz I'm on the winning side
(Winning side)
In the sleepless night
When the blindness comes
Washing over me
Like a giant wave
On a sandless beach
Washing over me
I am proud to be . . .
And I'd like to take you somewhere
That you've never been before
And I feel so isolated
And I feel so all alone
Here on the winning side
(And I feel so all alone
song performed by Oingo Boingo
Added by Lucian Velea
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Tom Zart's 52 Best Of The Rest America At War Poems
SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF WORLD WAR III
The White House
Washington
Tom Zart's Poems
March 16,2007
Ms. Lillian Cauldwell
President and Chief Executive Officer
Passionate Internet Voices Radio
Ann Arbor Michigan
Dear Lillian:
Number 41 passed on the CDs from Tom Zart. Thank you for thinking of me. I am thankful for your efforts to honor our brave military personnel and their families. America owes these courageous men and women a debt of gratitude, and I am honored to be the commander in chief of the greatest force for freedom in the history of the world.
Best Wishes.
Sincerely,
George W. Bush
SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF WORLD WAR III
Our sons and daughters serve in harm's way
To defend our way of life.
Some are students, some grandparents
Many a husband or wife.
They face great odds without complaint
Gambling life and limb for little pay.
So far away from all they love
Fight our soldiers for whom we pray.
The plotters and planners of America's doom
Pledge to murder and maim all they can.
From early childhood they are taught
To kill is to become a man.
They exploit their young as weapons of choice
Teaching in heaven, virgins will await.
Destroying lives along with their own
To learn of their falsehoods too late.
The fearful cry we must submit
And find a way to soothe them.
Where defenders worry if we stand down
The future for America is grim.
[...] Read more
poem by Tom Zart
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society
Epigraph
Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.
I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.
You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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House of fire (Lyrics)
House of fire
House of fire, yeah
Let's build a house of fire, baby
Not one of wood or stone
Walk thru my door of desire, baby
Come on in and make it your home
Don't need a window to watch you, baby
Don't need no roof overhead
Don't need no key to unlock ya, baby
I'll use my lovin'instead
I won't tire
Take me higher
Building a house of fire, baby
Buildin'it with our love
We are buildin'a house of fire every time we touch
House of fire
House of fire
We ain't gotta pay rent now, baby
No landlord to throw us out
I want to play in your garden, baby
When you want it give me a shout
I won't tire
Take me higher
Building a house of fire, baby
Buildin'it with our love
We are building a house of fire every time we touch
We are building this house together, baby
Standing on solid ground
We are building a house of fire
That you can't tear down
Brick by brick the flames get higher
Build it strong with our desire
Building a house of fire, baby
Building it with our love
We are building a house of fire every time we touch
We are building this house together, baby
Standing on solid ground
We are building a house of fire
That you can't tear down
Building a house of fire, baby
Building it with our love
We are building a house of fire every time we touch
poem by Satan's Sibling
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The Great Hunger
I
Clay is the word and clay is the flesh
Where the potato-gatherers like mechanised scarecrows move
Along the side-fall of the hill - Maguire and his men.
If we watch them an hour is there anything we can prove
Of life as it is broken-backed over the Book
Of Death? Here crows gabble over worms and frogs
And the gulls like old newspapers are blown clear of the hedges, luckily.
Is there some light of imagination in these wet clods?
Or why do we stand here shivering?
Which of these men
Loved the light and the queen
Too long virgin? Yesterday was summer. Who was it promised marriage to himself
Before apples were hung from the ceilings for Hallowe'en?
We will wait and watch the tragedy to the last curtain,
Till the last soul passively like a bag of wet clay
Rolls down the side of the hill, diverted by the angles
Where the plough missed or a spade stands, straitening the way.
A dog lying on a torn jacket under a heeled-up cart,
A horse nosing along the posied headland, trailing
A rusty plough. Three heads hanging between wide-apart legs.
October playing a symphony on a slack wire paling.
Maguire watches the drills flattened out
And the flints that lit a candle for him on a June altar
Flameless. The drills slipped by and the days slipped by
And he trembled his head away and ran free from the world's halter,
And thought himself wiser than any man in the townland
When he laughed over pints of porter
Of how he came free from every net spread
In the gaps of experience. He shook a knowing head
And pretended to his soul
That children are tedious in hurrying fields of April
Where men are spanning across wide furrows.
Lost in the passion that never needs a wife
The pricks that pricked were the pointed pins of harrows.
Children scream so loud that the crows could bring
The seed of an acre away with crow-rude jeers.
Patrick Maguire, he called his dog and he flung a stone in the air
And hallooed the birds away that were the birds of the years.
Turn over the weedy clods and tease out the tangled skeins.
What is he looking for there?
He thinks it is a potato, but we know better
Than his mud-gloved fingers probe in this insensitive hair.
'Move forward the basket and balance it steady
In this hollow. Pull down the shafts of that cart, Joe,
And straddle the horse,' Maguire calls.
'The wind's over Brannagan's, now that means rain.
Graip up some withered stalks and see that no potato falls
Over the tail-board going down the ruckety pass -
And that's a job we'll have to do in December,
[...] Read more
poem by Patrick Kavanagh
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Building The Perfect Beast
The power of reason, the top of the heap
Were the ones who can kill the things we
Dont eat
Sharper than a serpents tongue
Tighter than a bongo drum
Quicker than a one-night stand
Slicker than a mambo band
And now the day is come
Soon he will be released
Glory hallelujah!
Were building the perfect beast
(building, building, etc..)
Its olympus this time- olympus or bust
For we have met the enemy -and he is us
And now the day is come
Soon he will be released
Glory hallelujah!
Were building the perfect beast
(building, building)
Ever since we crawled out of the ocean
And stood upright on the land
There are some things that we just dont
Understand:
Relieve all pain and suffering
And lift us out of the dark
Turn us all into methuselah-
But where are we gonna park?
(building, building)
The secrets of eternity-
Weve found the lock and turned the key
Were shakin up those building blocks
Going deeper into that box- (pandora
Wouldnt like it)
And now the day is come
Soon he will be released
Glory hallelujah!
Were building the perfect beast
(building, building)
All the way to malibu from the land of the
Talking drum-
Just look how far-look how far weve come
song performed by Don Henley
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Courtship of Miles Standish
I
MILES STANDISH
In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.
Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Pull Up The Roots
Hello again
Yes indeed my friend
I can tell
Goin get together again
I could be right
I could b ewrong
I feel nice when I sing this song
And I dont mind
Whatever happens is fine
Baby likes to keep on playing . . .
What do I know, what do I know?
Wilder than the place we live in . . .
Ill take you there, Ill take you there
I dont mind some slight disorder . . .
Pull up the roots pull up the roots
And I know evry living creature . .
Pull up the roots, pull up the roots
And I know you
I understand what you do
Yes, indeed
I put the hat on my head
Come outa your mess
Bring yourself in
I feel nice when I start to sing
And I can see
Evryone else is like me
Towns that dissapeared completely . . .
Pull up the roost, pull up the roots
Miles and miles of endless highway . . .
Pull up the roost, pull up the roots
Colored lights and shiney curtains . . .
Ill take you there, Ill take you there
Evrything has been forgiven . . .
Pull up the roost, pull up the roots
Well I have a good time . . . when I go out of my mind
And its a wonderful place . . . and I cant wait to be there
And I hear beautiful sounds . . . coming outa the ground
Gonna take us a while . . . but well go hundreds of times
Baby likes to keep on playing . . .
What dyou know? what dyou I know?
Wilder than the place we live in . . .
Ill take you there, Ill take you there
And I dont mind some slight disorder . . .
Pull up the roots pull up the roots
And no more time for talkin it over . . .
Pull up the roots, pull up the roots
Well I have a good time . . . when I go out of my mind
And its a wonderful place . . . and I cant wait to be there
And I hear beautiful sounds . . . coming outa the ground
Someone musta been high . . . but I guess its alright
song performed by Talking Heads
Added by Lucian Velea
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An uncreative medicine
no hope
no friend
no family
no home
no nativity
no nationality
no fame
no name
no future
no points
no market
no identity
no possessions still a tree without roots
no relationship still a tree without roots
no anarchism still a tree without roots
no hiearchy still a tree without roots
no country still a tree without roots
no colours still a tree without roots
no degrees still a tree without roots
no certificates
no imaginations
no dream
no poetry
no fiction
no story
no news
no media
no happiness still a tree without roots
no genre still a tree without roots
no labels still a tree without roots
no names still a tree without roots
THE FOURTH EYE
of
A post-conceptual poet.
poem by Nyein Way
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Ultimate Sin
Overkill enough is enough
Theres nothing left of me to devour
Youve had your fill Im all I have left
What can stop your hunger for power
cos you took advantage of things that I said
Now the feeling is dead
And thats the ultimate sin
And thats the ultimate sin
Anyway I look at it now
The doors are closed and cannot be opened
Bury your anger and bury your dead
Or youll be left with nothing and no one
Theres no point in screaming cos you wont be heard
Now that tables have turned
It was the ultimate sin
It was the ultimate sin
It was the ultimate sin
I warned you then and Im warning you now
If you mess with me youre playing with fire
Winds of change that are fanning the flames
Will carry you to your funeral pyre
Its pulling you down
Its your final descent
Its too late to repent
When its the ultimate sin
When its the ultimate sin
When its the ultimate sin
When its the ultimate sin
song performed by Ozzy Osbourne
Added by Lucian Velea
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Dont Worry About The Government
I see the clouds that move across the sky
I see the wind that moves the clouds away
It moves the clouds over by the building
I pick the building that I want to live in
I smell the pine trees and the peaches in the woods
I see the pinecones that fall by the highway
Thats the highway that goes to the building
I pick the building that I want to live in
Its over there, its over there
My building has every convenience
Its gonna make life easy for me
Its gonna be easy to get things done
I will relax alone with my loved ones
Loved ones, loved ones visit the building,
Take the highway, park and come up and see me
Ill be working, working but if you come visit
Ill put down what Im doing, my friends are important
Dont you worry bout me
I wouldnt worry about me
Dont you worry bout me
Dont you worry bout me
I see the states, across this big nation
I see the laws made in washington, d.c.
I think of the ones I consider my favorites
I think of the people that are working for me
Some civil servants are just like my loved ones
They work so hard and they try to be strong
Im a lucky guy to live in my building
They own the buildings to help them along
Its over there, its over there
My building has every convenience
Its gonna make life easy for me
Its gonna be easy to get things done
I will relax along with my loved ones
Loved ones, loved ones visit the building
Take the highway, park and come up and see me
Ill be working, working but if you come visit
Ill put down what Im doing, my friends are important
I wouldnt worry bout
I wouldnt worry about me
Dont you worry bout me
Dont you worry bout me..........
song performed by Talking Heads
Added by Lucian Velea
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