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The Iraqis have once again failed to meet a deadline for a final draft of the constitution.

quote by Matt Lauer
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Moments Of Writing Poetry

Draft poems sometimes like
loose ripped off pieces of paper
to be drafted out roughly upon.

Draft poems hang around
in the strangest places waiting
to be written out one day.

Draft poems wait for a poet
to wake at the beginning of day
to be written out, in any
seized moments, sacrificed.

This is now time, shower time, eating time,
reflective time, conversation time, work time;
t.v. time, driving time, riding motorcycle time,
going to sleep time, cooking time, or any time.

Draft poems can only be written
in spared moments of seized time.

Draft poems can only be written today,
they will not wait for fair weather like hay,
which lays around waiting to be harvested.

Draft poems will not wait for a clear sunny day to dawn,
and then mature slowly, over a perfect golden summer.

Draft poems are ever now or never
if they are ever to be swiftly written.

A draft may possibly be perfected
upon any future day of favoured writing;
but a draft never written is a poem
never written, never completed, never known.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Holy Constitution

Read ye here the song as sung
By a chief named, briefly, Ung.
In the days when arguments were manly axes:
'O my people, this my Law
Is without defect or flaw,
And it governs ways and means and rates and taxes.
To amend it were unwise;
And if any tribesman tries,
He will meet with swift unerring retribution.
'Tis omnipotent, infallible, as all may recognise;
In short, it is out Noble Constitution.'

When this Neolithic man
Gave the world his early plan
Of tribal laws to bind his nascent nation,
He opined, with fine conceit,
That his System was complete,
And the acme of all human legislation.
'For all time this Law shall stand!'
He decreed with manner grand
And a splendid disregard for evolution;
And the Tory crowd that followed, bore this tenet in its hand:
'You must never touch the Sacred Constitution.'

So the Party then in power,
To improve the shining hour,
Contracted quite a pleasing little habit:
Safely guarded in their 'right,'
If they fancied aught in sight,
Being 'constitutionally safe,' they'd grab it.
And they told the rank and file,
With a patronising smile,
When the People talked of 'wrongs' and 'persecution,'
'It is very, very sad, and, no doubt, your case is bad;
But we cannot tamper with the Constitution.'

But meat-winners of the day
(Rabid Socialists were they)
By slow degrees arrived at this conclusion:
That the hide-bound Tory joss
Totalled mainly bluff and dross,
And its 'sacredness' was wholly an illusion.
Then with yells and growlings vile,
In their quaint primeval style
They planned a prehistoric revolution;
And with bits of tertiary rock they wrecked the Torries' smile
And, incidentally, the Constitution.

All this happened, as you know,
Quite a long, long time ago;

[...] Read more

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Ladies Room

Every time its the same
What follows me is my fame
Youre what I need to play the game
You say you like to dance
Mmm, I think Ill take a chance
Ooh, baby, maybe its time for romance
Youre such a jewel in the rough
You wanna show me your stuff
For my money, you cant be too soon
Meet, meet you in the ladies room
Meet, meet you in the ladies room
For my money, you cant be too soon
You say you like to play
Well, its too late for you to get away
And youve gotta believe me, when I say
Baby, youre such a jewel in the rough
You wanna show me your stuff
For my money, you cant be too soon
Meet, meet you in the ladies room
Meet, meet you in the ladies room
For my money, you cant be too soon
You cant be too soon
Youre such a jewel in the rough
You wanna show me your stuff, come on baby
For my money, you cant be too soon
Meet, meet you in the ladies room
Ill meet you, greet you in the ladies room
For my money, you cant be too soon
Meet you, greet you in the ladies room
Ill meet you, greet you in the ladies room
For my money, you cant be too soon
Meet you, greet you in the ladies room
Mmm, meet, meet you in the ladies room
For my money, you cant be too soon
Meet, meet you in the ladies room
Ill meet you, greet you in the ladies room
For my money, you cant be too soon
Ill meet, meet you in the ladies room
Ill meet you, greet you in the ladies room
For my money, you cant be too soon
Meet, meet you in the ladies room

song performed by Kiss
Added by Lucian Velea
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Jeane

Jeane
The low-life has lost its appeal
And i'm tired of walking these streets
To a room with its cupboards bare
Jeane
I'm not sure what happiness means
But i look in your eyes
And i know
Oh ...
That it isn't there
Oh, we tried, and we failed
Oh, we tried, and we failed
We tried and we failed
We tried and we failed
We tried
Oh, jeane
There's ice on the sink where we bathe
So how can you call this a home
When you know it's a grave ?
Yet you still have that greedy grace
As you tidy the place
But it will never be clean
Jeane
We tried and we failed
We tried, and we failed
We tried and we failed
We tried and we failed
And we tried
Oh ...
Cash on the nail
It's just a fairytale
Oh ...
And i don't believe in magic anymore
Jeane
But i think you know
I really think you know
Oh ...
Oh yes, i think you know the truth
Jeane
Oh ...
No heavenly choirs
Not for me and not for you
Because i think you know
I really think you know
Oh ...
I think you know the truth
Oh, jeane
We tried, and we failed
We tried, and we failed
We tried and we failed

[...] Read more

song performed by Smiths
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Our Final Farewell

To say our final farewell it happend not that long ago.
Our final farewell, I remember it so clearly.
Our final farewell, I remember your smile.
Our final farewell, I remember how proud you were
that you got promoted.
Our final farewell, happened like any 'goodbye'.
Our final farewell, you seemed happy.
Our final farewell, you seemed to enjoy life.
Our final farewell, you seemed to enjoy everything,
Our final farewell, I remember the conversation.
Our final farewell, sometimes haunts me.
Our final farewell, happened so quick.
Our final farewell, I didn't know that it was going to
be our last.
Our final farewell, happened more then a year ago
Your final farewell, happened on the 15/11/05 as you
took your own life.

poem by Nikki Hamilton
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Eighth Book

ONE eve it happened when I sate alone,
Alone upon the terrace of my tower,
A book upon my knees, to counterfeit
The reading that I never read at all,
While Marian, in the garden down below,
Knelt by the fountain (I could just hear thrill
The drowsy silence of the exhausted day)
And peeled a new fig from that purple heap
In the grass beside her,–turning out the red
To feed her eager child, who sucked at it
With vehement lips across a gap of air
As he stood opposite, face and curls a-flame
With that last sun-ray, crying, 'give me, give,'
And stamping with imperious baby-feet,
(We're all born princes)–something startled me,–
The laugh of sad and innocent souls, that breaks
Abruptly, as if frightened at itself;
'Twas Marian laughed. I saw her glance above
In sudden shame that I should hear her laugh,
And straightway dropped my eyes upon my book,
And knew, the first time, 'twas Boccaccio's tales,
The Falcon's,–of the lover who for love
Destroyed the best that loved him. Some of us
Do it still, and then we sit and laugh no more.
Laugh you, sweet Marian! you've the right to laugh,
Since God himself is for you, and a child!
For me there's somewhat less,–and so, I sigh.

The heavens were making room to hold the night,
The sevenfold heavens unfolding all their gates
To let the stars out slowly (prophesied
In close-approaching advent, not discerned),
While still the cue-owls from the cypresses
Of the Poggio called and counted every pulse
Of the skyey palpitation. Gradually
The purple and transparent shadows slow
Had filled up the whole valley to the brim,
And flooded all the city, which you saw
As some drowned city in some enchanted sea,
Cut off from nature,–drawing you who gaze,
With passionate desire, to leap and plunge,
And find a sea-king with a voice of waves,
And treacherous soft eyes, and slippery locks
You cannot kiss but you shall bring away
Their salt upon your lips. The duomo-bell
Strikes ten, as if it struck ten fathoms down,
So deep; and fifty churches answer it
The same, with fifty various instances.
Some gaslights tremble along squares and streets
The Pitti's palace-front is drawn in fire:

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Meet Me At The Station

(brother williams memphis sanctified singers)
Well if I get to heaven before you do
I will meet you at the station when your train comes along
Ill be watching and waiting, mother dear, for you
I will meet you at the station when your train comes along
Father, when the train
Father, when the train
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
When the train
Father, when the train comes along
I will meet you at the station when your train comes along
Well if my eyes see the glory, before yours do
I will meet you at the station when your train comes along
Ill be watching and waiting, father, for you
I will meet you at the station whe your train comes along
Father, when the train
Father, when the train
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
Father, when the train
Father, when the train comes along
I will meet you at the station when your train comes along
Now if my feet touch the homeline before yours do
I will meet you at the station when the train comes along
Ill be watching and waiting, my brother, for you
I will meet you at the station when the train comes along
When the train
When the train
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
When the train
When the train comes along
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
When the train
When the train
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
When the train
When the train comes along
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
Now if you see gods country before I do
Will you meet me at the station when my train comes along
Will you be there watching, sister, for me
Will you meet me at the station when my train comes along
When my train
When my train
Meet me at the station when my train comes along
When my train
Sister, when my train comes along
Will you meet me at the station when my train comes along
When the train
When the train
Meet me at the station when my train comes along

[...] Read more

song performed by Waterboys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Wont Get Fooled Again

Well be fighting in the streets
Well be fighting in the streets
With our children at our feet
With our children at our feet
And the morals that they worship will be gone
And the morals that they worship will be gone
And the men who spurred us on
And the men who spurred us on
Sit in judgement of all wrong
Sit in judgement of all wrong
They decide and the shotgun sings the song
They decide and the shotgun sings the song
Ill tip my hat to the new constitution
Ill tip my hat to the new constitution
Take a bow for the new revolution
Take a bow for the new revolution
Smile and grin at the change all around
Smile and grin at the change all around
Pick up my guitar and play
Pick up my guitar and play
Just like yesterday
Just like yesterday
Then Ill get on my knees and pray
Then Ill get on my knees and pray
We dont get fooled again
We dont get fooled again
The change, it had to come
The change, it had to come
We knew it all along
We knew it all along
We were liberated from the fold, thats all
We were liberated from the fold, thats all
And the world looks just the same
And the world looks just the same
And history aint changed
And history aint changed
cause the banners, they are flown in the next war
cause the banners, they are flown in the next war
Ill tip my hat to the new constitution
Ill tip my hat to the new constitution
Take a bow for the new revolution
Take a bow for the new revolution
Smile and grin at the change all around
Smile and grin at the change all around
Pick up my guitar and play
Pick up my guitar and play
Just like yesterday
Just like yesterday
Then Ill get on my knees and pray
Then Ill get on my knees and pray

[...] Read more

song performed by Who
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Joyous Sound

How sweet that joyous sound
Whenever we meet, whenever we meet
How sweet that joyous sound
Whenever we meet again
Oh! - i think you know it well
Whenever we meet, whenever we meet
Hey! - i think you know it well
Whenever we meet again
Just let it in and let it out, ba da da da da de da de da
Then you begin to know without a doubt
That grace will follow us
Wherever we go, wherever we go
That grace will follow us
Whenever we meet again
Just let it in and let it out, ba da da da da de da de da
Then you begin to know without a doubt
That grace will follow us
Wherever we go, wherever we go
That grace will follow us
Whenever we meet again
How sweet that joyous sound
Whenever we meet, whenever we meet
How sweet that joyous sound
Whenever we meet again
Whenever we meet, whenever we meet
Whenever we meet again
Whenever we meet, whenever we meet
Whenever we meet again
Whenever we meet, whenever we meet
Whenever we meet again

song performed by Van Morrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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Objectified

All beautiful things meet their demise
Flowers in bloom surely will die
Frozen are the wings of the dead butterfly
Because all beautiful things meet their demise

All beautiful things meet their demise
Clouds of gray spoil the light of the skies
The ocean must fall in order to rise
Because all beautiful things meet their demise

All beautiful things meet their demise
I knew I was doomed when you first said, “Hi.”
Two ships in the night, we were bound to collide
Because all beautiful things meet their demise

All beautiful things meet their demise
Four months can pass in the blink of an eye
We lose ourselves without having to try
Because all beautiful things meet their demise

All beautiful things meet their demise
The simplest words become hard to define
You can’t see the truth when you cover your eyes
Because all beautiful things meet their demise

All beautiful things meet their demise
Your pay the price to take this ride
Slowly, you find that you’re living a lie
Because all beautiful things meet their demise

All beautiful things meet their demise
Pictures of us will fade over time
We become strangers in a world so wide
Because all beautiful things meet their demise

All beautiful things meet their demise
You’ll keep on searching for what you won’t find
You’ll lose your faith while I lose my mind
Because all beautiful things meet their demise

All beautiful things meet their demise
Sometimes your morals get left behind
It will be too late when you realize
Because all beautiful things meet their demise

poem by Vaida Marea
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Bend And Break

When you, when you forget your name
When old faces all look the same
Meet me in the morning when you wake up
Meet me in the morning then you'll wake up
If only I don't bend and break
I'll meet you on the other side
I'll meet you in the light
If only I don't suffocate
I'll meet you in the morning when you wake
Lovesick bitter and hardened heart
Aching waiting for night waiting for life to start
Meet me in the morning when you wake up
Meet me in the morning then you'll wake up
If only I don't bend and break
I'll meet you on the other side
I'll meet you in the light
If only I don't suffocate
I'll meet you in the morning when you wake
Ooo
If only I don't bend and break
I'll meet you on the other side
I'll meet you in the light
If only I don't suffocate
I'll meet you in the morning when you wake
I'll meet you on the other side
I'll meet you in the light
If only I don't suffocate
I'll meet you in the morning when you wake

song performed by Keane
Added by Lucian Velea
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Constitution Visits

Things would be made much more explicit,
If those of leadership made constitution visits.
And saw and read and comprehend
What that doctrine says
To a nation of men and women!
No one needs to be Christian, Black or Jew
To uphold those rights for me or you!
No one needs to be Catholic, Baptist or 'Witness'
To live a life on this land that was not created for this!
Somehow somewhere someone thought of greed.
And represented the constitution for this purpose to feed!
Someone made it Christian and began to use a Bible.
Someone began making laws that from our constitution...
Was not viable!
We are fighting for the right to change thoughts of others,
When the understanding of what exists...
Has been twisted to make liable to stir up others' troubles!
Nothing that is done today,
Is from a constitution much abused that is reliable to use,
In the hands of those who choose it to confuse!
And where do the Puritans and Quakers fit in?
Believers and founders who arrived without documentation!
Things would be made much more explicit...
If those in roles of position,
Made a few more constitution visits!
Instead of surpressing realities in distress!
Creating not unity...
But a world in a conflicting mess!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Summertime In England

Can you meet me in the country
In the summertime in england
Will you meet me?
Will you meet me in the country
In the summertime in england
Will you meet me?
Well go riding up to kendal in the country
In the summertime in england.
Did you ever hear about
Did you ever hear about
Did you ever hear about
Wordsworth and coleridge, baby?
Did you ever hear about wordsworth and coleridge?
They were smokin up in kendal
By the lakeside
Can you meet me in the country in the long grass
In the summertime in england
Will you meet me
With your red robe dangling all around your body
With your red robe dangling all around your body
Will you meet me
Did you ever hear about . . .
William blake
T. s. eliot
In the summer
In the countryside
They were smokin
Summertime in england
Wont you meet me down bristol
Meet me along by bristol
Well go ridin down
Down by avalon
Down by avalon
Down by avalon
In the countryside in england
With your red robe danglin all around your body free
Let your red robe go.
Goin ridin down by avalon
Would you meet me in the country
In the summertime in england
Would you meet me?
In the church of st. john . . .
Down by avalon . . . .
Holy magnet
Give you attraction
Yea, I was attracted to you.
Your coat was old, ragged and worn
And you wore it down through the ages
Ah, the sufferin did show in your eyes as we spoke
And the gospel music

[...] Read more

song performed by Van Morrison
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You Know What Theyre Writing About

You know what theyre writing about
Baby you know what theyre writing about
Its a thing called love down through the ages
Makes you wanna cry sometimes
Makes you feel like you wanna lay down and die sometimes
Makes you high sometimes
But when you really get in it lifts you right up
Aint it a wonderful game
Aint it a marvellous game
And when theres no more words to say about love I go
Meet me down, meet me down,
Meet me down by the river
Meet me down by the water
Meet me down by the water
Meet me down by the pylons
Meet me down by the pylons
Meet me down by the pylons
Meet me down by the pylons
Meet me, meet me, I want you to meet me - are you there
And know, know, know, know
I want you to meet me - are you there
I want you to meet me - are you there
And know, know, know, know, know
I want you to meet me

song performed by Van Morrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Course Of Time. Book X.

God of my fathers! holy, just, and good!
My God! my Father! my unfailing Hope!
Jehovah! let the incense of my praise,
Accepted, burn before thy mercy seat,
And in thy presence burn both day and night.
Maker! Preserver! my Redeemer! God!
Whom have I in the heavens but Thee alone?
On earth, but Thee, whom should I praise, whom love?
For Thou hast brought me hitherto, upheld
By thy omnipotence; and from thy grace,
Unbought, unmerited, though not unsought—
The wells of thy salvation, hast refreshed
My spirit, watering it, at morn and even!
And by thy Spirit, which thou freely givest
To whom thou wilt, hast led my venturous song,
Over the vale, and mountain tract, the light
And shade of man; into the burning deep
Descending now, and now circling the mount,
Where highest sits Divinity enthroned;
Rolling along the tide of fluent thought,
The tide of moral, natural, divine;
Gazing on past, and present, and again,
On rapid pinion borne, outstripping Time,
In long excursion, wandering through the groves
Unfading, and the endless avenues,
That shade the landscape of eternity;
And talking there with holy angels met,
And future men, in glorious vision seen!
Nor unrewarded have I watched at night,
And heard the drowsy sound of neighbouring sleep;
New thought, new imagery, new scenes of bliss
And glory, unrehearsed by mortal tongue,
Which, unrevealed, I trembling, turned and left,
Bursting at once upon my ravished eye,
With joy unspeakable, have filled my soul,
And made my cup run over with delight;
Though in my face, the blasts of adverse winds,
While boldly circumnavigating man,
Winds seeming adverse, though perhaps not so,
Have beat severely; disregarded beat,
When I behind me heard the voice of God,
And his propitious Spirit say,—Fear not.
God of my fathers! ever present God!
This offering more inspire, sustain, accept;
Highest, if numbers answer to the theme;
Best answering if thy Spirit dictate most.
Jehovah! breathe upon my soul; my heart
Enlarge; my faith increase; increase my hope;
My thoughts exalt; my fancy sanctify,
And all my passions, that I near thy throne

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Pollok
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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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VII. Pompilia

I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.

All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.

Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Pharsalia - Book VI: The Fight Near Dyrhachium. Scaeva's Exploits. The Witch Of Thessalia.

Now that the chiefs with minds intent on fight
Had drawn their armies near upon the hills
And all the gods beheld their chosen pair,
Caesar, the Grecian towns despising, scorned
To reap the glory of successful war
Save at his kinsman's cost. In all his prayers
He seeks that moment, fatal to the world,
When shall be cast the die, to win or lose,
And all his fortune hang upon the throw.
Thrice he drew out his troops, his eagles thrice,
Demanding battle; thus to increase the woe
Of Latium, prompt as ever: but his foes,
Proof against every art, refused to leave
The rampart of their camp. Then marching swift
By hidden path between the wooded fields
He seeks, and hopes to seize, Dyrrhachium's fort;
But Magnus, speeding by the ocean marge,
First camped on Petra's slopes, a rocky hill
Thus by the natives named. From thence he keeps
Watch o'er the fortress of Corinthian birth
Which by its towers alone without a guard
Was safe against a siege. No hand of man
In ancient days built up her lofty wall,
No hammer rang upon her massive stones:
Not all the works of war, nor Time himself
Shall undermine her. Nature's hand has raised
Her adamantine rocks and hedged her in
With bulwarks girded by the foamy main:
And but for one short bridge of narrow earth
Dyrrhachium were an island. Steep and fierce,
Dreaded of sailors, are the cliffs that bear
Her walls; and tempests, howling from the west,
Toss up the raging main upon the roofs;
And homes and temples tremble at the shock.

Thirsting for battle and with hopes inflamed
Here Caesar hastes, with distant rampart lines
Seeking unseen to coop his foe within,
Though spread in spacious camp upon the hills.
With eagle eye he measures out the land
Meet to be compassed, nor content with turf
Fit for a hasty mound, he bids his troops
Tear from the quarries many a giant rock:
And spoils the dwellings of the Greeks, and drags
Their walls asunder for his own. Thus rose
A mighty barrier which no ram could burst
Nor any ponderous machine of war.
Mountains are cleft, and level through the hills
The work of Caesar strides: wide yawns the moat,
Forts show their towers rising on the heights,

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poem by Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
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Working For The Man

Roy orbison
Re-recorded version of 1987
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Hey now
You better listen to me every one of you
We got a lot of lot of lot of lot of work to do
Forget about your women
No, no water can
Today you're working for the man
Well pick up your feet
We got a deadline to meet
I'm gonna see you make it on time
Now, don't relax
I want elbows and backs
I wanna see everybody from behind
'cause you're working for the man
Working for the man
Gotta make him a hand
When you're working for the man
Well i'm pickin' em' up
And i'm layin' 'em down
I believe he's gonna work me into the ground
I pulled to the left, and i heaved to the right
I wanna kill him but it wouldn't be right
'cause i'm working for the man
Working for the man
Gotta make him a hand
When you're working for the man
Well the bossman's daughter sneaks me water
Everytime her daddy's down the line
She says "meet me tonight,
Love me right
And everyting's gonna be fine."
So i slave all day, without much pay
I'm just abiding my time
'cause the company and the daughter, you see
They both gonna be all mine
Yeah i'm gonna be the man
Gonna be the man
Gotta make him a hand
If you gonna be the man
Working for the man
Working for the man
Gotta make him a hand
When you're working for the man
Working for the man
Working for the man
Original version
------------------------
Hey now

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song performed by Roy Orbison
Added by Lucian Velea
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Annus Mirabilis, The Year Of Wonders, 1666

1
In thriving arts long time had Holland grown,
Crouching at home and cruel when abroad:
Scarce leaving us the means to claim our own;
Our King they courted, and our merchants awed.

2
Trade, which, like blood, should circularly flow,
Stopp'd in their channels, found its freedom lost:
Thither the wealth of all the world did go,
And seem'd but shipwreck'd on so base a coast.

3
For them alone the heavens had kindly heat;
In eastern quarries ripening precious dew:
For them the Idumaean balm did sweat,
And in hot Ceylon spicy forests grew.

4
The sun but seem'd the labourer of the year;
Each waxing moon supplied her watery store,
To swell those tides, which from the line did bear
Their brimful vessels to the Belgian shore.

5
Thus mighty in her ships, stood Carthage long,
And swept the riches of the world from far;
Yet stoop'd to Rome, less wealthy, but more strong:
And this may prove our second Punic war.

6
What peace can be, where both to one pretend?
(But they more diligent, and we more strong)
Or if a peace, it soon must have an end;
For they would grow too powerful, were it long.

7
Behold two nations, then, engaged so far
That each seven years the fit must shake each land:
Where France will side to weaken us by war,
Who only can his vast designs withstand.

8
See how he feeds the Iberian with delays,
To render us his timely friendship vain:
And while his secret soul on Flanders preys,
He rocks the cradle of the babe of Spain.

9
Such deep designs of empire does he lay

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poem by John Dryden
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