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We're a nation of liars. But I mean that in the kindest sense.

quote by Neil Cavuto
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The Believer's Principles : Chap. IV.

Faith and Sense Natural, compared and distinguished.

When Abram's body, Sarah's womb,
Were ripe for nothing but the tomb,
Exceeding old, and wholly dead,
Unlike to bear the promis'd seed:

Faith said, 'I shall an Isaac see;'
'No, no,' said Sense, 'it cannot be;'
Blind Reason, to augment the strife,
Adds, 'How can death engender life?'

My heart is like a rotten tomb,
More dead than ever Sarah's womb;
O! can the promis'd seed of grace
Spring forth from such a barren place?

Sense gazing but on flinty rocks,
My hope and expectation chokes:
But could I, skill'd in Abram's art,
O'erlook my dead and barren heart;

And build my hope on nothing less
That divine pow'r and faithfulness;
Soon would I find him raise up sons
To Abram, out of rocks and stones.

Faith acts as busy boatmen do,
Who backward look and forward row;
It looks intent to things unseen,
Thinks objects visible too mean.

Sense thinks it madness thus to steer,
And only trusts its eye and ear;
Into faith's boat dare thrust its oar,
And put it further from the shore.

Faith does alone the promise eye;
Sense won't believe unless it see;
Nor can it trust the divine guide,
Unless it have both wind and tide.

Faith thinks the promise sure and good;
Sense doth depend on likelihood;
Faith ev'n in storms believes the seers;
Sense calls all men, ev'n prophets, liars.

Faith uses means, but rests on none;
Sense sails when outward means are gone:

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poem by Ralph Erskine
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It Makes More Sense

It makes more sense,
Stopping something not to start.
Yes it makes more sense,
Not to tear things all apart.
Or bring up filthy garbage,
Knowing it is just a farce.

It makes more sense,
To walk away than to be petty.
And it makes more sense,
To prevent a thumping headache.
And it makes more sense,
Not to argue with a fool.
Knowing this is something done,
Many fools love to do.

And it makes more sense,
Stopping something not to start.
Yes it makes more sense,
Not to tear things all apart.
Or bring up filthy garbage,
Knowing it is just a farce.
And it makes more sense,
Not to argue with a fool.
Knowing this is something done,
Fools love to do.

And it makes more sense,
To keep the peace with every neighbor.
And it makes more sense,
To chase all bitterness away.
And it makes more sense,
To say, 'You're right' than build a hate.
Knowing that tomorrow promises another day.

And it makes more sense,
To keep the peace with every neighbor.
And it makes more sense,
To chase all bitterness away.
And it makes more sense,
To say, 'You're right' than build a hate.
Knowing that tomorrow promises another day.

Yes it makes more sense,
To keep the peace with every neighbor.
And it makes more sense,
To say, 'You're right' than build a hate.
Knowing that tomorrow promises another day.
Yes it makes more sense,
To keep the peace with every neighbor.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Hudibras: Part 3 - Canto II

THE ARGUMENT

The Saints engage in fierce Contests
About their Carnal interests;
To share their sacrilegious Preys,
According to their Rates of Grace;
Their various Frenzies to reform,
When Cromwel left them in a Storm
Till, in th' Effigy of Rumps, the Rabble
Burns all their Grandees of the Cabal.

THE learned write, an insect breeze
Is but a mungrel prince of bees,
That falls before a storm on cows,
And stings the founders of his house;
From whose corrupted flesh that breed
Of vermin did at first proceed.
So e're the storm of war broke out,
Religion spawn'd a various rout
Of petulant Capricious sects,
The maggots of corrupted texts,
That first run all religion down,
And after ev'ry swarm its own.
For as the Persian Magi once
Upon their mothers got their sons,
That were incapable t' enjoy
That empire any other way;
So PRESBYTER begot the other
Upon the good old Cause, his mother,
Then bore then like the Devil's dam,
Whose son and husband are the same.
And yet no nat'ral tie of blood
Nor int'rest for the common good
Cou'd, when their profits interfer'd,
Get quarter for each other's beard.
For when they thriv'd, they never fadg'd,
But only by the ears engag'd:
Like dogs that snarl about a bone,
And play together when they've none,
As by their truest characters,
Their constant actions, plainly appears.
Rebellion now began, for lack
Of zeal and plunders to grow slack;
The Cause and covenant to lessen,
And Providence to b' out of season:
For now there was no more to purchase
O' th' King's Revenue, and the Churches,
But all divided, shar'd, and gone,
That us'd to urge the Brethren on;
Which forc'd the stubborn'st for the Cause,

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poem by Samuel Butler
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An Essay on Criticism

Part I

INTRODUCTION. That it is as great a fault to judge ill as to write ill, and a more dangerous one to the public. That a true Taste is as rare to be found as a true Genius. That most men are born with some Taste, but spoiled by false education. The multitude of Critics, and causes of them. That we are to study our own Taste, and know the limits of it. Nature the best guide of judgment. Improved by Art and rules, which are but methodized Nature. Rules derived from the practice of the ancient poets. That therefore the ancients are necessary to be studied by a Critic, particularly Homer and Virgil. Of licenses, and the use of them by the ancients. Reverence due to the ancients, and praise of them.

'Tis hard to say if greater want of skill
Appear in writing or in judging ill;
But of the two less dangerous is th'offence
To tire our patience than mislead our sense:
Some few in that, but numbers err in this;
Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss;
A fool might once himself alone expose;
Now one in verse makes many more in prose.

'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
In Poets as true Genius is but rare,
True Taste as seldom is the Critic's share;
Both must alike from Heav'n derive their light,
These born to judge, as well as those to write.
Let such teach others who themselves excel,
And censure freely who have written well;
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true,
But are not Critics to their judgment too?

Yet if we look more closely, we shall find
Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind:
Nature affords at least a glimm'ring light;
The lines, tho' touch'd but faintly, are drawn right:
But as the slightest sketch, if justly traced,
Is by ill col'ring but the more disgraced,
So by false learning is good sense defaced:
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,
And some made coxcombs Nature meant but fools:
In search of wit these lose their common sense,
And then turn Critics in their own defence:
Each burns alike, who can or cannot write,
Or with a rival's or an eunuch's spite.
All fools have still an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing side.
If Mævius scribble in Apollo's spite,
There are who judge still worse than he can write.

Some have at first for Wits, then Poets pass'd;
Turn'd Critics next, and prov'd plain Fools at last.
Some neither can for Wits nor Critics pass,
As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.
Those half-learn'd witlings, numerous in our isle,
As half-form'd insects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call,

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poem by Alexander Pope
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The Ghost - Book IV

Coxcombs, who vainly make pretence
To something of exalted sense
'Bove other men, and, gravely wise,
Affect those pleasures to despise,
Which, merely to the eye confined,
Bring no improvement to the mind,
Rail at all pomp; they would not go
For millions to a puppet-show,
Nor can forgive the mighty crime
Of countenancing pantomime;
No, not at Covent Garden, where,
Without a head for play or player,
Or, could a head be found most fit,
Without one player to second it,
They must, obeying Folly's call,
Thrive by mere show, or not at all
With these grave fops, who, (bless their brains!)
Most cruel to themselves, take pains
For wretchedness, and would be thought
Much wiser than a wise man ought,
For his own happiness, to be;
Who what they hear, and what they see,
And what they smell, and taste, and feel,
Distrust, till Reason sets her seal,
And, by long trains of consequences
Insured, gives sanction to the senses;
Who would not (Heaven forbid it!) waste
One hour in what the world calls Taste,
Nor fondly deign to laugh or cry,
Unless they know some reason why;
With these grave fops, whose system seems
To give up certainty for dreams,
The eye of man is understood
As for no other purpose good
Than as a door, through which, of course,
Their passage crowding, objects force,
A downright usher, to admit
New-comers to the court of Wit:
(Good Gravity! forbear thy spleen;
When I say Wit, I Wisdom mean)
Where (such the practice of the court,
Which legal precedents support)
Not one idea is allow'd
To pass unquestion'd in the crowd,
But ere it can obtain the grace
Of holding in the brain a place,
Before the chief in congregation
Must stand a strict examination.
Not such as those, who physic twirl,
Full fraught with death, from every curl;

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poem by Charles Churchill
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The Rosciad

Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.

Roscius deceased, each high aspiring player
Push'd all his interest for the vacant chair.
The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage
No longer whine in love, and rant in rage;
The monarch quits his throne, and condescends
Humbly to court the favour of his friends;
For pity's sake tells undeserved mishaps,
And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps.
Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome,
To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume;
In pompous strain fight o'er the extinguish'd war,
And show where honour bled in every scar.
But though bare merit might in Rome appear
The strongest plea for favour, 'tis not here;
We form our judgment in another way;
And they will best succeed, who best can pay:
Those who would gain the votes of British tribes,
Must add to force of merit, force of bribes.
What can an actor give? In every age
Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage;
Monarchs themselves, to grief of every player,
Appear as often as their image there:
They can't, like candidate for other seat,
Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat.
Wine! they could bribe you with the world as soon,
And of 'Roast Beef,' they only know the tune:
But what they have they give; could Clive do more,
Though for each million he had brought home four?
Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair,
And hopes the friends of humour will be there;
In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat
For those who laughter love, instead of meat;
Foote, at Old House,--for even Foote will be,
In self-conceit, an actor,--bribes with tea;
Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives,
And at the New, pours water on the leaves.
The town divided, each runs several ways,
As passion, humour, interest, party sways.
Things of no moment, colour of the hair,
Shape of a leg, complexion brown or fair,
A dress well chosen, or a patch misplaced,
Conciliate favour, or create distaste.
From galleries loud peals of laughter roll,
And thunder Shuter's praises; he's so droll.
Embox'd, the ladies must have something smart,

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poem by Charles Churchill
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Towards a Corruption-free India

Cleanse the nation’s democracy;
Cleanse the nation’s bureaucracy;
Cleanse the nation’s polity;
Cleanse the nation’s authority.

Cleanse the nation’s systems’ machinery;
Cleanse the nation’s judiciary;
Cleanse the nation’s property;
Cleanse the nation’s ill-gotten money.

Let people’s power permeate the Parliament;
Let there be accountability of all citizens;
Let the poor and down-trodden be never ignored;
Let India become rejuvenated.

Bring back the wealth kept outside the land;
Enact laws for the welfare of the Motherland;
Act with responsibility and amity with all;
Console the aggrieved, comfort the dying.

Put the mighty nation on the road to progress;
This is no place for vices and evils of all kind;
Install a sense of security for all;
Infuse morality and patriotism.

Those voted to power must be clean;
Those in authority should not be mean;
Those in high office should not demean;
The future should belong to the youth and the teen.

Enough is enough, rethink on everything;
Corruption is the main issue to be curbed;
The law-makers should not be the worst law-breakers;
The law should serve the purpose it is meant for.

Let’s create a new India where peace prevails;
Let’s make our country prosperous;
Let’s work with zeal and honesty;
Let hearts be filled with sensibility and sensitivity.

The nation with a billion must forge ahead;
The nation should be truly independent;
The nation must regain its former glory;
The nation must be freed from corruption.

Thanks to Anna Hazare’s yeoman service and mighty efforts!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 20-08-11

poem by John Celes
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Poets Are Liars

Poets are liars. They cannot be tamed.
They live on borrowed dreams, and have the gift
Of casting out a graceful, witty line,
And catching your heart or mind in their snare;
Reeling you in, helpless, with a deft couplet.

Poets are liars. Never believe them.
Don’t even listen to them if you can help.
They have spells in their tongues, and fire in their eyes.
They will give you suns and stars wrapped in words,
And you will follow them, rapt like a child.

Poets are liars. It’s how they survive.
They give you their lies in exchange for your truths,
And fashion a life of their own from the scraps.
They must have an audience; without it,
They fade and pale, and soon cease to exist.

Poets are liars, even in the womb;
They kick at their mothers, curious, restless,
And dream of wonders to fill the world outside:
Soft, formless lies, growing with each cell,
Chronicled in wordless sagas nine months long.

Poets are liars; and of all liars,
They are the most dangerous. They will tell you
Of love that lasts forever, of lives that changed,
Of happy endings and greater meanings.
They make you wish, and hope, and dream, and feel.

poem by Amy Sutton
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Moses

To grace those lines wch next appear to sight,
The Pencil shone with more abated light,
Yet still ye pencil shone, ye lines were fair,
& awfull Moses stands recorded there.
Lett his repleat with flames & praise divine
Lett his the first-rememberd Song be mine.
Then rise my thought, & in thy Prophet find
What Joy shoud warm thee for ye work designd.
To that great act which raisd his heart repair,
& find a portion of his Spirit there.

A Nation helpless & unarmd I view,
Whom strong revengefull troops of warr pursue,
Seas Stop their flight, their camp must prove their grave.
Ah what can Save them? God alone can save.
Gods wondrous voice proclaims his high command,
He bids their Leader wave the sacred wand,
& where the billows flowd they flow no more,
A road lyes naked & they march it o're.
Safe may the Sons of Jacob travell through,
But why will Hardend Ægypt venture too?
Vain in thy rage to think the waters flee,
& rise like walls on either hand for thee.
The night comes on the Season for surprize,
Yet fear not Israel God directs thine eyes,
A fiery cloud I see thine Angel ride,
His Chariot is thy light & he thy guide.
The day comes on & half thy succours fail,
Yet fear not Israel God will still prevail,
I see thine Angel from before thee go,
To make the wheeles of ventrous Ægypt slow,
His rolling cloud inwraps its beams of light,
& what supplyd thy day prolongs their night.
At length the dangers of the deep are run,
The Further brink is past, the bank is won,
The Leader turns to view the foes behind,
Then waves his solemn wand within the wind.
O Nation freed by wonders cease thy fear,
& stand & see the Lords salvation here.

Ye tempests now from ev'ry corner fly,
& wildly rage in all my fancyd Sky.
Roll on ye waters as ye rolld before,
Ye billows of my fancyd ocean roar,
Dash high, ride foaming, mingle all ye main.
Tis don—& Pharaoh cant afflict again.
The work the wondrous work of Freedomes don,
The winds abate, the clouds restore ye Sun,
The wreck appears, the threatning army drownd
Floats ore ye waves to strow the Sandy ground.

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poem by Thomas Parnell
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Rhythm Nation

with music by our side
to break the color lines
let's work together
to improve our way of life
join voices in protest
to social injustice
ageneration full of courage
come forth with me

people of the world today
are we lookink for a better way of life(sing)
we are a part of the rhythm nation
people of the world unite
strength in numbers we can get it right(sing it)
we are a part of the rhythm nation

this is the test
no struggle no progress
lend a hand to help
your brother do his best
thinds are getting worse
we have to make them better
it's time to give a damn
let's work together...come on...

people of the world today
are we lookink for a better way of life(sing)
we are a part of the rhythm nation(people)
people of the world unite
strength in numbers we can get it right(sing it)
we are a part of the rhythm nation

people of the world today
are we lookink for a better way of life(sing it)
we are a part of the rhythm nation
people of the world unite
strength in numbers we can get it right
we are a part of the rhythm nation

say it people
say it to me
say it to me if you want a better way of life
say it people
say it to me
say it to me if you want a better way of life

people of the world today
are we lookink for a better way of life(sing)
we are a part of the rhythm nation
people of the world unite

[...] Read more

song performed by Janet Jackson from Rhythm Nation 1814
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State Of The Nation

You can walk, or you can run
You dont have to be someone
I went on a summer cruise
Upon an ocean born to lose
My brother said that he was dead
I saw his face and shook my head
Can you see where we cant be
Were losing our blood in the sea
cause its the state of the nation
Thats holding our salvation
Yes, its the state of the nation
Thats holding our salvation
Oh, the state of the nation
Is causing deprivation
Oh, the state of the nation
Is causing deprivation
From my home I traveled far
I drove in my stolen car
When it broke down, I kissed the ground
cause I dont kiss when youre around
I dont find that I have been
The portrait of an only son
If thats the case, then who could tell
Where my story had begun?
Cause its the state of the nation
Thats holding our salvation
Yes, its the state of the nation
Thats holding our salvation
Yes, the state of the nation
Thats causing deprivation
Oh, the state of the nation
Thats causing deprivation
Even now, Im all alone
Behind a wall thats made of stone
I think about where we have been
And all the sights that could be seen
I know it all could be worthwhile
If only I could force a smile
Now we turn our backs to the sea
The shame of a nation well never be
Cause its the state of the nation
Thats holding our salvation
Yes, its the state of the nation
Thats holding our salvation
Oh, the state of the nation
Is causing deprivation
Yes, the state of the nation
Is causing deprivation

song performed by New Order
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Gotham - Book II

How much mistaken are the men who think
That all who will, without restraint may drink,
May largely drink, e'en till their bowels burst,
Pleading no right but merely that of thirst,
At the pure waters of the living well,
Beside whose streams the Muses love to dwell!
Verse is with them a knack, an idle toy,
A rattle gilded o'er, on which a boy
May play untaught, whilst, without art or force,
Make it but jingle, music comes of course.
Little do such men know the toil, the pains,
The daily, nightly racking of the brains,
To range the thoughts, the matter to digest,
To cull fit phrases, and reject the rest;
To know the times when Humour on the cheek
Of Mirth may hold her sports; when Wit should speak,
And when be silent; when to use the powers
Of ornament, and how to place the flowers,
So that they neither give a tawdry glare,
'Nor waste their sweetness in the desert air;'
To form, (which few can do, and scarcely one,
One critic in an age, can find when done)
To form a plan, to strike a grand outline,
To fill it up, and make the picture shine
A full and perfect piece; to make coy Rhyme
Renounce her follies, and with Sense keep time;
To make proud Sense against her nature bend,
And wear the chains of Rhyme, yet call her friend.
Some fops there are, amongst the scribbling tribe,
Who make it all their business to describe,
No matter whether in or out of place;
Studious of finery, and fond of lace,
Alike they trim, as coxcomb Fancy brings,
The rags of beggars, and the robes of kings.
Let dull Propriety in state preside
O'er her dull children, Nature is their guide;
Wild Nature, who at random breaks the fence
Of those tame drudges, Judgment, Taste, and Sense,
Nor would forgive herself the mighty crime
Of keeping terms with Person, Place, and Time.
Let liquid gold emblaze the sun at noon,
With borrow'd beams let silver pale the moon;
Let surges hoarse lash the resounding shore,
Let streams meander, and let torrents roar;
Let them breed up the melancholy breeze,
To sigh with sighing, sob with sobbing trees;
Let vales embroidery wear; let flowers be tinged
With various tints; let clouds be laced or fringed,
They have their wish; like idle monarch boys,
Neglecting things of weight, they sigh for toys;

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poem by Charles Churchill
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Civilization may.........

Civilizations may emerge fresh and vanish
Remains may be found later on but not finish
Excavations may shed some light on glorious past
There may be some reasons for its extinctions very fast

How does nation emerge with historical traditions?
Deep rooted love for holy land without condition
Every citizen ready to shed blood for its pride and honor
All to defend irrespective of old or young major or minor

Nation may remain within secured boundaries
It may have all the prosperity with big industries
Peace and stability may still elude the nation
Other neighbors may not like to have good relations

How can sentiments and attachments remain intact without identity?
Stable nation with strong defense is all call of the day and necessity
Nation can only prosper and rise with strong and resolute action
We the people of nation has every right to defend without any reaction

Can any nation prosper without popular support?
Is it not essential to live as one nation with good rapport?
Does then any nation may you look towards you for any weak spot?
I think they will refrain from any mad misadventure and dare not

It will be great shame if we have to live under constant fear
It will be living death if constantly agony and pain we have to bear
Nation will pass through identity crisis and suffer with humiliation
To live under shame may add insult and find no reconciliation

It is right said “don’t ask what country is doing for you”
But ask “what you are doing for the country”
It has deep meaning in it and quiet sensible thought behind
Any nation can’t afford to go without it and reasonably find

No nation can advance and have identity of its own
If it has no clear policy and stand clearly known
At least people of other nations may look toward with a respect
They will think twice before and enter into pact

Ancient civilizations were knows for its tolerance
“Live and let others live” was slogan free from any interfearence
This always formed corner stone of policy
Liberty and freedom were not the words from mighty

Liberal thoughts must prevail and message should go across
Let there be the free world with liberty thoughts and no threats to pose
No intimidation of any sort with mutual territorial integrity in tact
Let there be free flow of people to uphold the humanity in fact

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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The Victories Of Love. Book II

I
From Jane To Her Mother

Thank Heaven, the burthens on the heart
Are not half known till they depart!
Although I long'd, for many a year,
To love with love that casts out fear,
My Frederick's kindness frighten'd me,
And heaven seem'd less far off than he;
And in my fancy I would trace
A lady with an angel's face,
That made devotion simply debt,
Till sick with envy and regret,
And wicked grief that God should e'er
Make women, and not make them fair.
That he might love me more because
Another in his memory was,
And that my indigence might be
To him what Baby's was to me,
The chief of charms, who could have thought?
But God's wise way is to give nought
Till we with asking it are tired;
And when, indeed, the change desired
Comes, lest we give ourselves the praise,
It comes by Providence, not Grace;
And mostly our thanks for granted pray'rs
Are groans at unexpected cares.
First Baby went to heaven, you know,
And, five weeks after, Grace went, too.
Then he became more talkative,
And, stooping to my heart, would give
Signs of his love, which pleased me more
Than all the proofs he gave before;
And, in that time of our great grief,
We talk'd religion for relief;
For, though we very seldom name
Religion, we now think the same!
Oh, what a bar is thus removed
To loving and to being loved!
For no agreement really is
In anything when none's in this.
Why, Mother, once, if Frederick press'd
His wife against his hearty breast,
The interior difference seem'd to tear
My own, until I could not bear
The trouble. 'Twas a dreadful strife,
And show'd, indeed, that faith is life.
He never felt this. If he did,
I'm sure it could not have been hid;
For wives, I need not say to you,

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poem by Coventry Patmore
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Book Of Liars

Bye and bye now
Well get over
The things weve done and the things we said
But not just now when
I can t remember
Exactly what it was I thought we had
cause I waited so long girl and I came so far
To find out youre not always who you say you are
And theres a star in the book of liars by your name
Santa claus came in late last night
Drunk on christmas wine
Fell down hard in the driveway
Hung his bag out on the laundry line
Theres a cobra gunship for his golden boy
And theres a hello kitty for his pride and joy
And a silver star in the book of liars by your name
They hung a star in the book of liars by your name
Stars imploding
The long night passing
Electrons dancing in the frozen crystal dawn
Heres one left stranded at the zero crossing
With a hole in its half-life left to carry on
But now the worlds much larger than it looks today
And if my bad luck ever blows me back this way
Then Ill just look in my book of liars for your name
Ill just look in the book of liars for your name

song performed by Steely Dan
Added by Lucian Velea
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What Do Liars Then Do?

Liars know who they are.
And what they have done,
To pursue temporary satisfactions.
With a demoralizing of whom they choose.
As if what they've done will stick like glue.

Those who have been scrutinized,
By the telling of false lies...
To have been victimized with tears cried.
Are aware of them too!
Yet to retaliate is something they refuse.

But those who have been undermined,
Do what liars instigating have chosen not to do.
And that is to wait patiently,
To let time intervene...
With a demeaning liars with an applying of truth.

What do liars then do?
Plead to be released from mental guilty beatings.
And even if forgiven,
Liars once exposed for who they are...
Can never find places to keep themselves hidden.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Justice & Independence 85

He was born on the fourth day of july
So his parents called him independence day
He married a girl named justice who gave birth
To a son called nation
Then she walked away
Independence he would daydream and hed pretend
That someday him and justice and nation would get together again
But justice held up in a shotgun shack
And she wouldnt let nobody in
So a nation cried
Chorus:
Oh oh
When a nation cries
His tears fall down like missiles from the skies
Justice look into independences eyes
Can you make everyrhing alright
Can you keep your nation warm tonight
Well nation grew up and got himself a reputation
Couldnt keep the boy at home no no
He just kept running round and round and round and round
Independence and justice well they felt so ashamed
When the nation fell down they argued who was to blame
Nation if youll just come home well have this family again
Oh nation dont cry
Chorus:
Oh oh
When a nation cries
His tears fall down like missiles from the skies
Justice look into independences eyes
Can you make everyrhing alright
Can you keep your nation warm tonight
Roll a rock across the country
Everbody come along
When youre feelin down yeah yeah
Just sing this song yeah yeah

song performed by John Mellencamp
Added by Lucian Velea
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Educate Woman

To educate a woman is to educate a nation
Do not deprive the woman of education
Do let her know what she is to mention
Wherever she goes throughout the nation

Let her use skill in estimation
Let her learn what is real; not hallucination
Give her a chance to get that that salutation
Which men do get because of education

A woman that has much education
Will teach her children motivation
She’ll train them to support the nation
They’ll always have the best of intention

Knowledge is essential in every institution
The family too needs education
The woman’s own is more to mention
Educated women save the nation

When a woman excels in education
That woman can then build a mansion
A real estate not imagination
All because of worthy education

Fellow women I need your attention
Let seeking for knowledge be your aspiration
Stick to it with all devotion
Absence of knowledge causes indignation

A woman too observes the nation
She knows what goes in and out in motion
For her to be accurate in observation
A woman needs some sort of intuition

Think of knowledge with deep emotion
Illiterates know nothing but mere illusion
A strong nation is built by education
Illiteracy burns and destroys a nation

A nation in a fatal situation
Needs educated men and women in combination
Support them in their various occupations
They’ll unite and be strong and build the nation

Illiterate women are easy preys for seduction
They live in houses of corruption
Making money quickly is their desperation
A rich man’s camp is their destination

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poem by Saudatu Kabir
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Roots Of Creation

One two three four!
Pull up here honey, if ya got a pussy and
Shake your ass like your ready to sing
Well, something muy high
Something muy low
When me ready limo then they follow me home like a
Roots of creation
I am living in a boring nation
I pull up my hands and I look at my feet
The reggae music make me sound so sweet
Cause we play it morning evening and all of the day
It's the sweet kinda music makes me feel O.K.
The roots of creation
Said I am living in a plastic nation
I pull up my hat
My coat is so wide
Sometimes, sometimes I feel so high
But all the time I feel airie
I feel airie when I'm down with the scene called
Roots of creation
I am living in a plastic nation
One more time!
Well, pull up here honey like you got limbo
Well pull up your fingers like you're ready to go
Give me
Give me something high
Give me something slow
Give me something I can use
Give me something I can know
Your the body and the mind one
Part of soul or two
I feel a different person to be a different place
I'm living in a different place
Sometime I feel although its fin
Pull up your style make it sound so fine
With ah
Pull up hands with me
Roots of creation
I am living in a boring nation
A pull up sound with Mike Happoldt at my left
I got Eric at my right
We rock the reggae music every day and night
We rock the reggae music say it's right on time
Cause you're down with the music that they call Sublime
I'm living in a different nation
Reggae style again!
Gonna win me back gonna feel so fine
Bring me down to the place so right
We rock the music so late at night
With a guitar pick in my hand

[...] Read more

song performed by Sublime
Added by Lucian Velea
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