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One should either be sad or joyful. Contentment is a warm sty for eaters and sleepers.

quote by Eugene O'Neill
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Why Must I Be Sad?

No more mister nice guy
I love the dead
Ive been thinking about it
Now I understand what he said
Ask me now
I understand the words that alice said
I kick the rocks beneath me
I squint at the sun
Sad, sad, sad, sad
Why must I be sad?
The rows of dandelions growing all around me
Why must I be sad? (sad, sad, sad)
(sad, sad, sad)
No one knows these things but me and him
So Im writing everything down in a spiral notebook
In the hopes that one day
Other people will feel as low as this
Ask me now
I understand the words that alice said
I kick the rocks beneath me
I squint at the sun
Sad, sad, sad, sad
Why must I be sad?
The rows of dandelions growing all around me
Why must I be sad? (sad, sad, sad)
No more mister nice guy
I love the dead
Ive been thinking about it
Now I understand what he said
Ask me now
I understand the words that alice said
I kick the rocks beneath me
I squint at the sun
Sad, sad, sad, sad
Why must I be sad?
The rows of dandelions growing all around me
Why must I be sad? (welcome to my nightmare / dead)
Why must I be sad? (babies / raped and freezin / you)
Why must I be sad? (drive me nervous / elected /)
Why must I be sad? (generation landslide / un)
Why must I be sad? (der my wheels / muscle of love /)
Why must I be sad? (schools out / only women bleed /)
Why must I be sad? (billion dollar babies)
Why must I be sad? (sad, sad, sad)
(sad, sad, sad)
(sad, sad, sad)
(sad, sad)

song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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Life Of Contentment

To suit and to pursue in seconds...
A life of contentment.
And one you can depend,
A life of contentment.
To put an end to affixed evils,
A life of contentment.
With satisfactions that begin,
A life of contentment.

To have it there and with decision,
Is...
A life of Contentment./
With a rule that is so crucial,
A life of contentment.
And desired as a need...
A life of contentment.
To always have and never leave.

To suit and to pursue in seconds...
A life of contentment.
And one you can depend,
A life of contentment.
To put an end to affixed evils,
A life of contentment.
With satisfactions that begin,
A life of contentment.

To have it there and with decision,
Is...
A life of Contentment./
With a rule that is so crucial,
A life of contentment.
And desired as a need...
A life of contentment.
To always have and never leave.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Come Join The Abolitionists

Come join the Abolitionists,
Ye young men bold and strong.
And with a warm and cheerful zeal,
Come help the cause along;
O that will be joyful, joyful, joyful,
O that will be joyful, when Slavery is no more,
When Slavery is no more.
'Tis then we'll sing, and offerings bring,
When Slavery is no more.

Come join the Abolitionists,
Ye men of riper years,
And save your wives and children dear,
From grief and bitter tears;
O that will be joyful, joyful, joyful,
O that will be joyful, when Slavery is no more,
When Slavery is no more,
'Tis then we'll sing, and offerings bring,
When Slavery is no more.

Come join the Abolitionists,
Ye dames and maidens fair,
And breathe around us in our path
Affection's hallowed air;
O that will be joyful, joyful, joyful,
O that will be joyful, when woman cheers us on,
When woman cheers us on, to conquests not yet won.
'Tis then we'll sing, and offerings bring,
When woman cheers us on.

Come join the Abolitionists,
Ye sons and daughters all
Of this our own America-
Come at the friendly call;
O that will be joyful, joyful, joyful,
O that will be joyful, when all shall proudly say,
This, this is Freedom's day-Oppression flee away!
'T is then we'll sing, and offerings bring,
When freedom wins the day.

poem by Anonymous Americas
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Respect For The Sleepers (demo)

Well I don't really know my self
Cause I ain't I really tried
Rutting leaning on that crazy stuff
Too many friends have died
Got respect for the sleepers
But the sleepers...
I'll be buried in the same old way
But probably not for years
Yeah, I'll be buried in the same old way
From TV whiskey and beer
Got respect for the sleepers
But the sleepers are dead
Well I don't really know my self
Cause I ain't I really tried
But falling that crazy stuff
Too many friends have died
Got respect for the sleepers
All the sleepers are dead
Yeah, they're dead

song performed by Alice Cooper
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sad But The Truth Is On

There are too many bold,
Sad but the truth is on.
And too may all-knowing for their teachers.
Sad but the truth is on.
And they say their teachers can't teach,
Or read, or write to them...
On their lowered levels.
Sad but the truth is on.
Sad but the truth is on.

Many never knew about a hug to touch.
Sad but the truth is on.
There's just too many needing loving.
Sad but the truth is on.
And they don't believe a lesson taught to them,
Reveals and begins to grow to show.
Sad but the truth is on.
It's so sad but the truth is on.

It's so sad about the truth!
The truth for so many has gone.
It's so sad to see it...
Nonexisting.

Sad but the truth is on.
It's so sad but the truth is on.

It's sad about the truth,
Today!
For so many that truth is gone.
It's so sad today...
That,
People sit back to watch it too!
Sad but the truth is on.
It's so sad but the truth is on.

Everybody's talking about a fairness.
But nothing there is fair.
Sad but the truth is on.
Sad but the truth is on.
And,
Everything once fair there is gone.
'Cause nothing in the air is fair there!
Everybody's talking about a fairness.
But nothing there is fair.
And,
Everything once fair there is gone.
Because nothing in the air is fair,
There!
Sad but the truth is on.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sad In Blue (a lyric)

Sad sad sad in blue
For sad sad sad you
The moon is all bluish tonight
The night is all dark out side
Nowhere to run
Sad sad sad in blue

Into the night hold me tight
Love me babe I need some light
What's wrong and what's right
When shadows dwell and abide

Sad sad sad in blue
For sad sad sad you
The moon is all bluish tonight
Is there some star shoot in sight
To wish upon
For sad sad sad you

Into the night take a flight
Feelings, touch, everything out sight
Love me with feelings ok
Come come babe now closer stay

Sad sad sad in blue
For sad sad sad you
The moon is all bluish tonight
Is there some star shoot in sight
To wish upon
For sad sad sad you

poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Balloon Faces

The Balloons hang on wires in the Marigold Gardens.
They spot their yellow and gold, they juggle their blue and red, they float their faces on the face of the sky.
Balloon face eaters sit by hundreds reading the eat cards, asking, “What shall we eat?”—and the waiters, “Have you ordered?” they are sixty balloon faces sifting white over the tuxedoes.
Poets, lawyers, ad men, mason contractors, smartalecks discussing “educated jackasses,” here they put crabs into their balloon faces.
Here sit the heavy balloon face women lifting crimson lobsters into their crimson faces, lobsters out of Saragossa sea bottoms.
Here sits a man cross-examining a woman, “Where were you last night? What do you do with all your money? Who’s buying your shoes now, anyhow?”
So they sit eating whitefish, two balloon faces swept on God’s night wind.
And all the time the balloon spots on the wires, a little mile of festoons, they play their own silence play of film yellow and film gold, bubble blue and bubble red.
The wind crosses the town, the wind from the west side comes to the banks of marigolds boxed in the Marigold Gardens.
Night moths fly and fix their feet in the leaves and eat and are seen by the eaters.
The jazz outfit sweats and the drums and the saxophones reach for the ears of the eaters.
The chorus brought from Broadway works at the fun and the slouch of their shoulders, the kick of their ankles, reach for the eyes of the eaters.
These girls from Kokomo and Peoria, these hungry girls, since they are paid-for, let us look on and listen, let us get their number.

Why do I go again to the balloons on the wires, something for nothing, kin women of the half-moon, dream women?
And the half-moon swinging on the wind crossing the town—these two, the half-moon and the wind—this will be about all, this will be about all.

Eaters, go to it; your mazuma pays for it all; it’s a knockout, a classy knockout—and payday always comes.

poem by Carl Sandburg
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The Joy of Giving (Opinion)

THE JOY OF GIVING
Joy is a much sought after emotion welcomed and cherished by us all. We are joyful when incidents liked by us take place and incidents disliked by us do not take place. And that, persons near and dear to us, and their expression of love and affection, cause joy to us. We feel that joy causing things are outside us in this physical world. This is all a perception of joy.

Spirituality says joy is inherent in us and is our nature; rather we are the form and personification of joy. And joy and cheerfulness are our natural states of mind. Whenever pleasant things happen to us or unpleasant things do not happen, we are joyful, because then we are our Self, released of our ego.
But most of the times we expect others or things outside in the physical world to cause joy to us. Thus we are dependent on outside things and persons for joy to be experienced; and are joyless when such things do not happen. The real joy lies in our giving joy to our near and dear.

If we know that what all we are giving our near and dear is actually we are giving ourselves, we will just do that to be joyful.

In Narada Bhakti Sutras this aspect is very well expressed and highlighted.
The sutra is; “tat sukha sukhitvam”. “finding our happiness in giving happiness to our near and dear”.

This is a spiritual action full of significance. By doing so we are transcending our ego and are absorbing our ego in providing happiness to our near and dear.

Thus Gopikas (shepherd damsels) found their happiness in giving happiness to Sri Krishna. They have been very joyful when giving happiness to Sri Krishna and are thus blissful themselves. This secret of getting joy by giving joy to our near and dear must be noted by us all and make ourselves joyful by making our near and dear joyful.

We normally are intolerant of or indifferent to words, actions or thoughts expressed by our loved ones and are egoistic in our dealings with them. We love ourselves most. It is wise to love our loved ones more than we love ourselves. Actually if we love our near and dear, this happens automatically. Only when we do not love, and try making ourselves joyful all by ourselves, we run into problems and cause problems to our loved ones.

The best and shrewd way of being joyful is making our near and dear joyful by our words, thoughts, deeds and cheering and cheerful spirit and finding our joy in such gestures.

Many also say that contributing to charity, speaking lovingly and without hurting, being compassionate to all living and non-living beings gives happiness. Ordinary human beings may not have such wider horizon. If we find our joy in making our near and dear joyful the world will be much pleasant place to live. Let us practice giving joy and make it the art of living.

poem by Varanasi Ramabrahmam
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The Sty In Your Eye

Look into your eye, do you see that sty
As I have seen it many times before
Though you said it was not there,  
But in your mirror you still stare,
So once again that sty you ignore.
When you are walking, and of course talking
About every person in your life
Tell me do you ever see it,
And from the discomfort do you feel it
That sty that’s in your eye.

What do you see, and what do you believe
When someone has it worse that you
Do you point out their imperfection
And say that they need a correction
Tell me what do you think and do.
You always judge, and hold onto a grudge
And live it with unhappiness and a lie
As though your not happy with your life
So you ridicule others with strife
So you forget about the sty thats in your eye.

You falsely accuse, and you use and abuse
With a glimmer and a joke and a smile
You point out another persons fault
And that persecution from you will not halt
As you do it with anger and hate and vile.
You've seen the mistakes, that others makes
And you'll remember them till the day you die
But until the moment from life you leave
Other persons failings you will always see
Wished you could see the sty in your own eye.

poem by Randy McClave
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Mr. Me

Once a boy named mister me bemoaned a great regret
I've floundered in the misty sea, but can't abide its mystery
I wound up sad, you bet
So onward go and edward ho into the bounding main
Enjoy the show look out below but mind the misty sea
Or end up sad like mister me
He ended up sad
He ended up sad
He ended up really, really, really sad
He ended up sad
He ended up sad
He ended up really, really, really sad
So take the hand of mister me and mister, make him glad
To swim the mister misty sea and cease the mister mystery
That mister, made him sad
He ended up sad
He ended up sad
He ended up really, really, really sad
He ended up sad
He ended up sad
He ended up really, really, really sad
He ended up sad
He ended up sad
He ended up really, really, really sad
He ended up sad
He ended up sad
He ended up really, really, really sad

song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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Eloisa to Abelard

In these deep solitudes and awful cells,
Where heav'nly-pensive contemplation dwells,
And ever-musing melancholy reigns;
What means this tumult in a vestal's veins?
Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat?
Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat?
Yet, yet I love!--From Abelard it came,
And Eloisa yet must kiss the name.

Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd,
Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'd.
Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise,
Where mix'd with God's, his lov'd idea lies:
O write it not, my hand--the name appears
Already written--wash it out, my tears!
In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays,
Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys.

Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains
Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains:
Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn;
Ye grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid thorn!
Shrines! where their vigils pale-ey'd virgins keep,
And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep!
Though cold like you, unmov'd, and silent grown,
I have not yet forgot myself to stone.
All is not Heav'n's while Abelard has part,
Still rebel nature holds out half my heart;
Nor pray'rs nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain,
Nor tears, for ages, taught to flow in vain.

Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose,
That well-known name awakens all my woes.
Oh name for ever sad! for ever dear!
Still breath'd in sighs, still usher'd with a tear.
I tremble too, where'er my own I find,
Some dire misfortune follows close behind.
Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow,
Led through a sad variety of woe:
Now warm in love, now with'ring in thy bloom,
Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!
There stern religion quench'd th' unwilling flame,
There died the best of passions, love and fame.

Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join
Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine.
Nor foes nor fortune take this pow'r away;
And is my Abelard less kind than they?
Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare,
Love but demands what else were shed in pray'r;

[...] Read more

poem by Alexander Pope
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David

My thought, on views of admiration hung,
Intently ravish'd and depriv'd of tongue,
Now darts a while on earth, a while in air,
Here mov'd with praise and mov'd with glory there;
The joys entrancing and the mute surprize
Half fix the blood, and dim the moist'ning eyes;
Pleasure and praise on one another break,
And Exclamation longs at heart to speak;
When thus my Genius, on the work design'd
Awaiting closely, guides the wand'ring mind.

If while thy thanks wou'd in thy lays be wrought,
A bright astonishment involve the thought,
If yet thy temper wou'd attempt to sing,
Another's quill shall imp thy feebler wing;
Behold the name of royal David near,
Behold his musick and his measures here,
Whose harp Devotion in a rapture strung,
And left no state of pious souls unsung.

Him to the wond'ring world but newly shewn,
Celestial poetry pronounc'd her own;
A thousand hopes, on clouds adorn'd with rays,
Bent down their little beauteous forms to gaze;
Fair-blooming Innocence with tender years,
And native Sweetness for the ravish'd ears,
Prepar'd to smile within his early song,
And brought their rivers, groves, and plains along;
Majestick Honour at the palace bred,
Enrob'd in white, embroider'd o'er with red,
Reach'd forth the scepter of her royal state,
His forehead touch'd, and bid his lays be great;
Undaunted Courage deck'd with manly charms,
With waving-azure plumes, and gilded arms,
Displaid the glories, and the toils of fight,
Demanded fame, and call'd him forth to write.
To perfect these the sacred spirit came,
By mild infusion of celestial flame,
And mov'd with dove-like candour in his breast,
And breath'd his graces over all the rest.
Ah! where the daring flights of men aspire
To match his numbers with an equal fire;
In vain they strive to make proud Babel rise,
And with an earth-born labour touch the skies.
While I the glitt'ring page resolve to view,
That will the subject of my lines renew;
The Laurel wreath, my fames imagin'd shade,
Around my beating temples fears to fade;
My fainting fancy trembles on the brink,
And David's God must help or else I sink.

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Parnell
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Warm Ride

Come to me baby, I got something to say
I been changin your direction evry step of the way
Now I bring emotion and I bring desire
And I bring the potion to set you on fire
I know you need me, there can be no doubt
You got me held inside your love and I cant get out
We must surrender to the powers that be
The angel in you and the devil in me
Warm ride , warm ride , baby just the way you are
Warm ride , warm ride , we can reach the highest star
Now I warn you women, we are two of a kind
And we both know whats coming
We got one thing in mind
I bring the pleasure , satisfaction you learn
And I got the strength to make you burn, baby, burn
Warm ride , warm ride , baby just the way you are
Warm ride , warm ride , we can reach the highest star
Why are we waiting for this love on the rise
And why am I searching for the magic thats in your eyes
We must surrender to the powers that be
The angel in you and the devil in me
Warm ride, warm ride , baby just the way you are
Warm ride, warm ride , we can reach the highest star
(break)
Warm ride , warm ride , baby just the way you are
Warm ride , warm ride , we can reach the highest star
Warm ride ( fade out)

song performed by Bee Gees
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Parish Register - Part III: Burials

THERE was, 'tis said, and I believe, a time
When humble Christians died with views sublime;
When all were ready for their faith to bleed,
But few to write or wrangle for their creed;
When lively Faith upheld the sinking heart,
And friends, assured to meet, prepared to part;
When Love felt hope, when Sorrow grew serene,
And all was comfort in the death-bed scene.
Alas! when now the gloomy king they wait,
'Tis weakness yielding to resistless fate;
Like wretched men upon the ocean cast,
They labour hard and struggle to the last;
'Hope against hope,' and wildly gaze around
In search of help that never shall be found:
Nor, till the last strong billow stops the breath,
Will they believe them in the jaws of Death!
When these my Records I reflecting read,
And find what ills these numerous births succeed;
What powerful griefs these nuptial ties attend;
With what regret these painful journeys end;
When from the cradle to the grave I look,
Mine I conceive a melancholy book.
Where now is perfect resignation seen?
Alas! it is not on the village-green: -
I've seldom known, though I have often read,
Of happy peasants on their dying-bed;
Whose looks proclaimed that sunshine of the breast,
That more than hope, that Heaven itself express'd.
What I behold are feverish fits of strife,
'Twixt fears of dying and desire of life:
Those earthly hopes, that to the last endure;
Those fears, that hopes superior fail to cure;
At best a sad submission to the doom,
Which, turning from the danger, lets it come.
Sick lies the man, bewilder'd, lost, afraid,
His spirits vanquish'd, and his strength decay'd;
No hope the friend, the nurse, the doctor lend -
'Call then a priest, and fit him for his end.'
A priest is call'd; 'tis now, alas! too late,
Death enters with him at the cottage-gate;
Or time allow'd--he goes, assured to find
The self-commending, all-confiding mind;
And sighs to hear, what we may justly call
Death's common-place, the train of thought in all.
'True I'm a sinner,' feebly he begins,
'But trust in Mercy to forgive my sins:'
(Such cool confession no past crimes excite!
Such claim on Mercy seems the sinner's right!)
'I know mankind are frail, that God is just,
And pardons those who in his Mercy trust;

[...] Read more

poem by George Crabbe
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Dream

Nothing comes during a sleep above a dream,
You better wake up and face reality,
You never get ahead just laying around in bed,
What you can see you really can achieve.
Dream means a sleepless fulfillment though I wonder why,
You wake up out of the darkness and let life begin,
Oh dream means a sleepless fulfillment oh I wonder when,
Wake up out of the darkness and let life begin.
Some people are living only on hopes and dreams,
But youve got to wake up to the plans and scenes,
The journey of life is only one step ahead,
But you never get there tossing and turning in bed,
Youre facing the world with no plans for tomorrow,
And now youre wondering whats waiting around the bend.
Dream means a sleepless fulfillment unless you try,
Sleepers, they hold on t dreams while the world passes by,
Dream means a sleepless fulfillment (though) unless you try,
Sleepers, they hold on to dreams while the world passes by.
Dream means a sleepless fulfillment though I wonder why,
Sleepers hold on to dreams while the world passes by, one more time,
Dreams a sleepless fulfillment though unless you try,
Sleepers hold on to dreams.....

song performed by Grace Jones
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The Sleepers

I WANDER all night in my vision,
Stepping with light feet, swiftly and noiselessly stepping and
stopping,
Bending with open eyes over the shut eyes of sleepers,
Wandering and confused, lost to myself, ill-assorted, contradictory,
Pausing, gazing, bending, and stopping.

How solemn they look there, stretch'd and still!
How quiet they breathe, the little children in their cradles!

The wretched features of ennuyés, the white features of
corpses, the livid faces of drunkards, the sick-gray faces of
onanists,
The gash'd bodies on battle-fields, the insane in their strong-door'd
rooms, the sacred idiots, the new-born emerging from gates, and
the dying emerging from gates,
The night pervades them and infolds them. 10

The married couple sleep calmly in their bed--he with his palm on the
hip of the wife, and she with her palm on the hip of the
husband,
The sisters sleep lovingly side by side in their bed,
The men sleep lovingly side by side in theirs,
And the mother sleeps, with her little child carefully wrapt.

The blind sleep, and the deaf and dumb sleep,
The prisoner sleeps well in the prison--the run-away son sleeps;
The murderer that is to be hung next day--how does he sleep?
And the murder'd person--how does he sleep?

The female that loves unrequited sleeps,
And the male that loves unrequited sleeps, 20
The head of the money-maker that plotted all day sleeps,
And the enraged and treacherous dispositions--all, all sleep.

I stand in the dark with drooping eyes by the worst-suffering and the
most restless,
I pass my hands soothingly to and fro a few inches from them,
The restless sink in their beds--they fitfully sleep.

Now I pierce the darkness--new beings appear,
The earth recedes from me into the night,
I saw that it was beautiful, and I see that what is not the earth is
beautiful.

I go from bedside to bedside--I sleep close with the other sleepers,
each in turn,
I dream in my dream all the dreams of the other dreamers, 30
And I become the other dreamers.

[...] Read more

poem by Walt Whitman
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Pooring Rain

“Pooring” Rain

As I travel down the lane I saw shadows in the “pooring” rain
The meekers, the weakers, the creepers, the weepers, the seeker and so many sleepers
As I travel down the lane I saw shadows in this “pooring” rain
I hear voices saying I was insane… I ponder why… Maybe I am… some cry
What is this game the twisted fame the glory and the blame
As I travel down the lane I met shadows in “pooring” rain
The meekers, the weakers, the creepers, the weepers, the seeker… so many sleepers

From point A to point B from life to death and death to life I see so many strives
The poor wealthy ones… and the poor, poor homeless ones do wonder why I am mad
Then we have the so called enlighten ones hmm I think those are the one saying I am mad
The sheepeople key post is a noose a tight without a loose like a drill drilling for loots
So I question the objective of their strong the fundamentals and the evil of the God
In the whispers of men again they said I was mad a darkness of mood some say I’m rude
Some think I am cute a crazy youth now with greys now just an old coot wanting a salute

In the “pooring” rain as I travel down the lane I saw shadows riding a train
Their thoughts were the same in their haze they thought I was from outer space
Because I did not play their grace so many times I see the changing of their face
On the religious disguise some smile, some continue telling their side of the lie
Sometimes I wonder should I hide or pretend like I am blind just to save my time
In the “pooring” rain as I travel down the lane I met shadows on the train
The meekers, the weakers, the creepers, the weepers, the seeker… and so many sleepers

I hear voices saying I was insane, seek no glory and give no blame for life is all the same
Truly I laugh maybe I am insane… some cry, I ponder why the corruptions & the crimes
The bombings then sheepeoples die in the name of the most holy guy no matter the lies
The word Negro is not a crime… Great Negro was the name of the Ancient Divine Kinds
Kings & Queens those first Sovereign Beings all had black skin like we take a look to see
In this the patterns to be free lay not in governmental slavery or the churches briberies
The hidden fact blackness is the key the sun rays shows the marks of our genetic ancestry

As I travel down the lane I met shadows in this “pooring” rain
The meekers, the weakers, the creepers, the weepers, the seeker… so many sleepers

Ashia: - Hotep
By [: Divine-Sovereign Great-Negro Ank Justice SteadySpear EI: ]©®™
http: //www.dankunlimited.com contact@dankunlimited.com

poem by Artist at Large AnkSteady
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Narrative And Dramatic The Wanderings Of Oisin

BOOK I

S. Patrick. You who are bent, and bald, and blind,
With a heavy heart and a wandering mind,
Have known three centuries, poets sing,
Of dalliance with a demon thing.

Oisin. Sad to remember, sick with years,
The swift innumerable spears,
The horsemen with their floating hair,
And bowls of barley, honey, and wine,
Those merry couples dancing in tune,
And the white body that lay by mine;
But the tale, though words be lighter than air.
Must live to be old like the wandering moon.

Caoilte, and Conan, and Finn were there,
When we followed a deer with our baying hounds.
With Bran, Sceolan, and Lomair,
And passing the Firbolgs' burial-motmds,
Came to the cairn-heaped grassy hill
Where passionate Maeve is stony-still;
And found On the dove-grey edge of the sea
A pearl-pale, high-born lady, who rode
On a horse with bridle of findrinny;
And like a sunset were her lips,
A stormy sunset on doomed ships;
A citron colour gloomed in her hair,

But down to her feet white vesture flowed,
And with the glimmering crimson glowed
Of many a figured embroidery;
And it was bound with a pearl-pale shell
That wavered like the summer streams,
As her soft bosom rose and fell.

S. Patrick. You are still wrecked among heathen dreams.

Oisin. 'Why do you wind no horn?' she said
'And every hero droop his head?
The hornless deer is not more sad
That many a peaceful moment had,
More sleek than any granary mouse,
In his own leafy forest house
Among the waving fields of fern:
The hunting of heroes should be glad.'

'O pleasant woman,' answered Finn,
'We think on Oscar's pencilled urn,
And on the heroes lying slain

[...] Read more

poem by William Butler Yeats
Added by Poetry Lover
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Sad Sad Sad

Fling you out into orbit
No one's going to hear you shout
And fools aren't going to follow
You don't send the sleaze about

Now you're sad sad sad
Sad sad sad
Sad sad sad
But you're gonna be fine

The elephant's in the bedroom
Throwing all his weight about
And I'm locked in the bathroom
Your screaams are gonna drown me out

Now you're sad sad sad
Sad sad sad
Sad sad sad
But you're gonna be fine

I got a cold chill
I get a cool thrill
Are you ready for the gilded cage
Are you ready for the tears of rage
Come on baby

song performed by Rolling Stones from Steel Wheels
Added by Lucian Velea
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So Sad - The Riverboat Song B-side

So sad, so sad
So sad, so sad
I didnt want to love you
And you do want nothing at all
So sad, so sad
So sad, so sad
Theres a cold break in my dream
Keeps turning round everything youve said
Its so naked in my brain
Makes it hard to be by myself
Repeat opening verse
And I didnt want to love you
And Im feeling the pain
Stop watching the best things we loved in our life
Was the wind and the sails
And I needed to try for you
Thats lost on the night
And its found in the beautiful store in your eyes
And its making you cry
So sad, its so sad
So sad, so sad
So sad, so sad
I didnt want to love you
And you do nothing at all
Its so sad, so sad
So sad, so sad (x2)

song performed by Ocean Colour Scene
Added by Lucian Velea
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