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Michael Medved

We spend too much time fretting over the way the industry produces programming, and too little worrying about the way the public consumes it.

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Rock Me, Roll Me

Have you ever been in love before
With a beautiful woman?
Does she have insecurities?
And have you ever been in love before
With a needy woman?
Is she too controlling?
She only wants you to
Rock me (she only wants you to)
Roll me (she only needs you to)
Spend a little more time
Spend a little more time
Rock me (she only wants you to)
Roll me (she only needs you to)
Spend a little more time
Spend a little more time with me
I need ya babe
I need ya babe
Have you ever been in love before with a cheatin woman?
Is she always lying?
Now, you ever been in love before with a crazy woman?
Does she make you crazy?
She only wants you to
Rock me (she only wants you to)
Roll me (she only needs you to)
Spend a little more time
Spend a little more time
Rock me (she only wants you to)
Roll me (she only needs you to)
Spend a little more time
Spend a little more time with me
Thats all I wanrt you to do with me, baby
Love me
Spend a little more time
Spend a little more time
Oh yeah, yeah
Spend a little more time
Spend a little more time
And I only wanna know
I only want to know your loves for real
Be your only girl in this whole wide world, yeah
All of these things are just a part of me
So that you can see what women really need
And I need to be loved
Rock me (she only wants you to)
Roll me (she only needs you to)
Spend a little more time
Spend a little more time
Rock me (she only wants you to)
Roll me (she only needs you to)
Spend a little more time

[...] Read more

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The Castle Of Indolence

The castle hight of Indolence,
And its false luxury;
Where for a little time, alas!
We lived right jollily.

O mortal man, who livest here by toil,
Do not complain of this thy hard estate;
That like an emmet thou must ever moil,
Is a sad sentence of an ancient date:
And, certes, there is for it reason great;
For, though sometimes it makes thee weep and wail,
And curse thy star, and early drudge and late;
Withouten that would come a heavier bale,
Loose life, unruly passions, and diseases pale.
In lowly dale, fast by a river's side,
With woody hill o'er hill encompass'd round,
A most enchanting wizard did abide,
Than whom a fiend more fell is no where found.
It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground;
And there a season atween June and May,
Half prankt with spring, with summer half imbrown'd,
A listless climate made, where, sooth to say,
No living wight could work, ne cared even for play.
Was nought around but images of rest:
Sleep-soothing groves, and quiet lawns between;
And flowery beds that slumbrous influence kest,
From poppies breathed; and beds of pleasant green,
Where never yet was creeping creature seen.
Meantime, unnumber'd glittering streamlets play'd,
And hurled every where their waters sheen;
That, as they bicker'd through the sunny glade,
Though restless still themselves, a lulling murmur made.
Join'd to the prattle of the purling rills
Were heard the lowing herds along the vale,
And flocks loud bleating from the distant hills,
And vacant shepherds piping in the dale:
And, now and then, sweet Philomel would wail,
Or stock-doves plain amid the forest deep,
That drowsy rustled to the sighing gale;
And still a coil the grasshopper did keep;
Yet all these sounds yblent inclined all to sleep.
Full in the passage of the vale, above,
A sable, silent, solemn forest stood;
Where nought but shadowy forms was seen to move,
As Idless fancied in her dreaming mood:
And up the hills, on either side, a wood
Of blackening pines, aye waving to and fro,
Sent forth a sleepy horror through the blood;
And where this valley winded out, below,
The murmuring main was heard, and scarcely heard, to flow.

[...] Read more

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Victim to persecution

Then you talk a little more about your dreams,
How it involves your thought of rings,
a little more about your needs,
for i bit my tounge,
just for a feed,
for you drag me in the street,
ask me to forgive your mistakes,
put me in misery from your plea,
as i buckle from my knees,

It's slowly you drain my life,
It's slowly your evil consumes,
but what was it like?
It's slowly you drain my life,
It's slowly your evil consumes,

It's perjury on your arm,
that was put there by your soul,
your feeling sorry, for not achieving your goals,
tacking in your argument,
as you stated with your thought,
you bring me down,
and destroy my heart,

It's slowly you drain my life,
It's slowly your evil consumes,
but what was it like?
It's slowly you drain my life,
It's slowly your evil consumes,

Asking which way is out,
Asking which was not as hard,
Misdirected in your final mount,
as you shout,
cry your lungs out to stay afloat,
yet push me under,
strain to be felt,
pushing me down, holding my throat,
I started to feel the black,
and evil you call your safety boat,

It's slowly you drain my life,
It's slowly your evil consumes,
but what was it like?
It's slowly you drain my life,
It's slowly your evil consumes,

toss in the rope, pull it tight,
you might be something,
but what was it like?

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Of Public Spirit In Regard To Public Works: An Epistle, To His Royal Highness Frederick Prince of Wa

Great Hope of Britain!-Here the Muse essays
A theme, which, to attempt alone, is praise.
Be Her's a zeal of Public Spirit known!
A princely zeal!-a spirit all your own!


Where never science beam'd a friendly ray,
Where one vast blank neglected Nature lay;
From Public Spirit there, by arts employ'd,
Creation, varying, glads the cheerless void.
Hail arts, where safety, treasure and delight,
On land, on wave, in wond'rous works unite!
Those wond'rous works, O Muse, successive raise,
And point their worth, their dignity and praise!


What tho' no streams, magnificently play'd,
Rise a proud column, fall a grand cascade;
Thro' nether pipes, which nobler use renowns,
Lo! ductile riv'lets visit distant towns!
Now vanish fens, whence vapours rise no more,
Whose agueish influence tainted heav'n before.
The solid isthmus sinks a wat'ry space,
And wonders, in new state, at naval grace.
Where the flood, deep'ning, rolls, or wide extends,
From road to road, yon arch, connective, bends.
Where ports were choak'd where mounds, in vain, arose;
There harbours open, and there breaches close;
To keels, obedient, spreads each liquid plain,
And bulwark moles repel the bost'rous main.
When the sunk sun no homeward sail befriends,
On the rock's brow the light-house kind ascends,
And from the shoaly, o'er the gulfy way,
Points to the pilot's eye the warning ray.


Count still, my Muse (to count what Muse can cease?)
The works of Public Spirit, freedom, peace!
By the mshall plants, in forests, reach the skies;
Then lose their leafy pride, and navies rise:
(Navies, which to invasive foes explain,
Heav'n throws not round us rocks and seas in vain,)
The sail of commerce in each sky aspires,
And property assures what toil acquires.


Who digs the mine or quarry, digs with glee;
No slave!-His option and his gain are free:
Him the same laws the same protection yield,
Who plows the furrow, as who owns the field.

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A Time To Feel Forlorn and Reconstruct What's Torn

There's a designated time in the universe for everything:

A time to limit, a time to expand.
A time to rise, time to lower and lend a hand.

A time to maintain, a time to abandon.
A time to develop, a time to rest at random.

A time to communicate, a time for silence.
A time to kiss your enemy, a time to concede wins.

A time to spite, a time to please.
A time for respite, a time to tease.

A time to process, a time to confess.
A time to do more. A time to do less.

A time to dominate. A time to captivate.
A time to plunge. A time to resurface straight.

A time to maximise. A time to minimise.
A time to diminish. A time to optimise.

A time to sacrifice. time to insist on rights.
A time to be selfish. A time to be concerned about plights.

A time to be big. A time to be small.
A time to care for a special one. A time to love all.

A time to add dimension. A time to simplify.
A time to advocate egalitarianism.
A time to exult.
A time to default.
A time to be accepting of imperfect humanism.

A time to enhance. A time to simplify.
A time to criticise. A time to dignify.

A time to produce. A time to use.
A time to relent. A time to refuse.

A time to demand. A time to give.
A time to die. a time to live.

A time to survive. A time to admit defeat.
A time to lie. A time to walk on your feet.

A time to compete. A time to not.
A time to remember. A time to concede you forgot.

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Public Animal #9

Me and G.B.
We ain't never gonna confess
We cheated at the math test
We carved some dirty words in our desk
Well now it's time for recess
Old man waitin by the monkey bars
Tradin all his ball cards
And they promised him a gold star
And they told him he could go far
Hey Mr. Bluelegs
Where are you takin me?
I'm like a lifer
In the state penitentiary
If I keep my nose clean
I won't get my eyes shined
But I'm proud to be
Public Animal Number Nine
License plates are runnin
Out of my ears
I'd give a month of cigarettes
For just a couple of lousy beers
Or even a bottle of
Real cheap wi-hine
But that's the price you pay to be
Public Animal Number Nine, Number Nine
Hey Mrs. Cranston
Where are you takin me?
I feel like a lifer
In the state penitentiary
She wanted an Einstein
But she got a Frankenstein
Yeah, I'm proud to be
Public Animal Number Niiiirrrrrgh
Public Animal Number Nine
Public Animal Number Nine
Public Animal Number Nine Nine
Public Animal Number Nine Number Nine
Number Nine Number Nine
Number, Number Nine Animal Number Nine
Public Animal Number Nine Nine
Public Animal Numbergh Niiiirrrrrgh
Public Animal Nurrrgh Nirrrgh
Errrrrrrrrrrrgh
Public Animal Number Ni-yine
Public Animal Number Ni-yine
Public Animal Number Number Nine Nine
Public Animal Naaaaaaaagh

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The Four Seasons : Autumn

Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf,
While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain,
Comes jovial on; the Doric reed once more,
Well pleased, I tune. Whate'er the wintry frost
Nitrous prepared; the various blossom'd Spring
Put in white promise forth; and Summer-suns
Concocted strong, rush boundless now to view,
Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme.
Onslow! the Muse, ambitious of thy name,
To grace, inspire, and dignify her song,
Would from the public voice thy gentle ear
A while engage. Thy noble cares she knows,
The patriot virtues that distend thy thought,
Spread on thy front, and in thy bosom glow;
While listening senates hang upon thy tongue,
Devolving through the maze of eloquence
A roll of periods, sweeter than her song.
But she too pants for public virtue, she,
Though weak of power, yet strong in ardent will,
Whene'er her country rushes on her heart,
Assumes a bolder note, and fondly tries
To mix the patriot's with the poet's flame.
When the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days,
And Libra weighs in equal scales the year;
From Heaven's high cope the fierce effulgence shook
Of parting Summer, a serener blue,
With golden light enliven'd, wide invests
The happy world. Attemper'd suns arise,
Sweet-beam'd, and shedding oft through lucid clouds
A pleasing calm; while broad, and brown, below
Extensive harvests hang the heavy head.
Rich, silent, deep, they stand; for not a gale
Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain:
A calm of plenty! till the ruffled air
Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow.
Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky;
The clouds fly different; and the sudden sun
By fits effulgent gilds the illumined field,
And black by fits the shadows sweep along.
A gaily chequer'd heart-expanding view,
Far as the circling eye can shoot around,
Unbounded tossing in a flood of corn.
These are thy blessings, Industry! rough power!
Whom labour still attends, and sweat, and pain;
Yet the kind source of every gentle art,
And all the soft civility of life:
Raiser of human kind! by Nature cast,
Naked, and helpless, out amid the woods
And wilds, to rude inclement elements;
With various seeds of art deep in the mind

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V. Count Guido Franceschini

Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!

[...] Read more

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The Destroying Angel

I dreamt a dream the other night
That an Angel appeared to me, clothed in white.
Oh! it was a beautiful sight,
Such as filled my heart with delight.

And in her hand she held a flaming brand,
Which she waved above her head most grand;
And on me she glared with love-beaming eyes,
Then she commanded me from my bed to arise.

And in a sweet voice she said, "You must follow me,
And in a short time you shall see
The destruction of all the public-houses in the city,
Which is, my friend, the God of Heaven's decree."

Then from my bed in fear I arose,
And quickly donned on my clothes;
And when that was done she said, " Follow me
Direct to the High Street, fearlessly."

So with the beautiful Angel away I did go,
And when we arrived at the High Street, Oh! what a show,
I suppose there were about five thousand men there,
All vowing vengeance against the publicans, I do declare.

Then the Angel cried with a solemn voice aloud
To that vast end Godly assembled crowd,
"Gentlemen belonging the fair City of Dundee,
Remember I have been sent here by God to warn ye.

"That by God's decree ye must take up arms and follow me
And wreck all the public-houses in this fair City,
Because God cannot countenance such dens of iniquity.
Therefore, friends of God, come, follow me.

"Because God has said there's no use preaching against strong drink,
Therefore, by taking up arms against it, God does think,
That is the only and the effectual cure
To banish it from the land, He is quite sure.

"Besides, it has been denounced in Dundee for fifty years
By the friends of Temperance, while oft they have shed tears.
Therefore, God thinks there's no use denouncing it any longer,
Because the more that's said against it seemingly it grows stronger."

And while the Angel was thus addressing the people,
The Devil seemed to be standing on the Townhouse Steeple,
Foaming at the mouth with rage, and seemingly much annoyed,
And kicking the Steeple because the public-houses wore going to be destroyed.

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Mrs Vandebilt

Down in the jungle living in a tent
You dont use money you dont pay rent
You dont ever know the time
But you dont mind
Ho hey ho...
When your light is on the blink
You never think of worrying
Whats the use of worrying?
When your bus has left the stop
Youd better drop your hurrying
Whats the use of hurrying?
Leave me alone mrs vandebilt
Ive got plenty of time of my own
Whats the use of worrying?
Whats the use of hurrying?
Whats the use of anything?
Ho hey ho...
Whats the use of worrying?
Whats the use of hurrying?
Whats the use of anything?
Ho hey ho...
When your pile is one the wane
You dont complain of robbery
Run away dont bother me
Whats the use of worrying?
Whats the use of anything?
Leave me alone mrs washington
Ive done plenty of time on my own
Whats the use of worrying?
Whats the use of hurrying? (no use!)
Whats the use of anything?
Ho hey ho...

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The Race Industry

The coconuts have got the jobs.
The race industry is a growth industry.
We despairing, they careering.
We want more peace they want more police.
The Uncle Toms are getting paid.
The race industry is a growth industry.
We say sisters and brothers don't fear.
They will do anything for the Mayor.
The coconuts have got the jobs.
The race industry is a growth industry.
They're looking for victims and poets to rent.
They represent me without my consent.
The Uncle Toms are getting paid.
The race industry is a growth industry.
In suits they dither in fear of anarchy.
They take our sufferings and earn a salary.
Steal our souls and make their documentaries.
Inform daily on our community.
Without Black suffering they'd have no jobs.
Without our dead they'd have no office.
Without our tears they'd have no drink.
If they stopped sucking we could get justice.
The coconuts are getting paid.
Men, women and Brixton are being betrayed.

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We have come through a strange cycle in programming, starting with the creation of programming itself as a human activity. Executives with the tiniest smattering of knowledge assume that anyone can write a program, and only now are programmers beginning to win their battle for recognition as true professionals. Not just anyone, with any background, or any training, can do a fine job of programming. Programmers know this, but then why is it that they think that anyone picked off the street can do documentation? One has only to spend an hour looking at papers written by graduate students to realize the extent to which the ability to communicate is not universally held. And so, when we speak about computer program documentation, we are not speaking about the psychology of computer programming at all - except insofar as programmers have the illusion that anyone can do a good job of documentation, provided he is not smart enough to be a programmer.

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Lets Spend The Night Together

Well, dont you worry bout whats been on my mind
Im in no hurry I can take my time
Im going red and my tongues getting tired
Out of my head and my mouths getting dry
Im hi-hi-hi-high
Lets spend the night together
Now I need you more than ever
Lets spend the night together now
I feel so strong that I cant disguise, oh my
Well, I just cant apologise, no
Dont hang me up but dont let me down
We could have fun just by fooling around, and around and around and a
Lets spend the night together
Now I need you more than ever
Lets spend the night together now
Oh
You know Im smiling baby
You need some guide baby
Im just deciding baby
Lets spend the night together
Now I need you more than ever
Lets spend the night together now
This doesnt happen to me every day
No excuses Ive got anyway, heh
Ill satisfy your every need
And Ill know youll satisfy me, oh my-my-my my-my
Lets spend the night together
Now I need you more than ever
Lets spend the night together
Now I need you more than ever
Lets spend the night together
Now I need you more than ever
Lets spend the night together
They said we were too young
Our kind of love was no fun
But our love comes from above
Do it!
Lets make love
Hoo
Lets spend the night together
Now I need you more than ever
Lets spend the night together, now

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Words From A Husband To A Wife (Envelope Couplet Sestets)

Spend your time with me until the night end
as we attend a party at the house of a friend
smile and talk to me as if I am someone else
laugh merrily at the jokes our host tells,
while you dance with me where the stairs bend,
spend your time with me until the night end.

Spend your time with me until the night end
smile coyly while a drink I recommend,
treat me like a stranger you have just met
while our eyes are just on each other set,
let your glance shy before mind descend,
spend your time with me until the night end.

Spend your time with me until the night end
even if our friends do not really comprehend
why we are different from our old stances
why we are romancing in all our glances
while like some strangers we together blend,
spend your time with me until the night end.

Spend your time with me until the night end
as if life on a moment do depend
while you act just like a brand new lover,
as if our feelings we did rediscover,
as if we met only on a godsend,
spend your time with me until the night end.

Spend your time with me until the night end,
friendly greet the old smiling reverend
while we proudly walk past to our dinner
as if we are just two love-struck sinners,
while our unfamiliarity we do pretend,
spend your time with me until the night end.

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Book Ninth [Residence in France]

EVEN as a river,--partly (it might seem)
Yielding to old remembrances, and swayed
In part by fear to shape a way direct,
That would engulph him soon in the ravenous sea--
Turns, and will measure back his course, far back,
Seeking the very regions which he crossed
In his first outset; so have we, my Friend!
Turned and returned with intricate delay.
Or as a traveller, who has gained the brow
Of some aerial Down, while there he halts
For breathing-time, is tempted to review
The region left behind him; and, if aught
Deserving notice have escaped regard,
Or been regarded with too careless eye,
Strives, from that height, with one and yet one more
Last look, to make the best amends he may:
So have we lingered. Now we start afresh
With courage, and new hope risen on our toil.
Fair greetings to this shapeless eagerness,
Whene'er it comes! needful in work so long,
Thrice needful to the argument which now
Awaits us! Oh, how much unlike the past!

Free as a colt at pasture on the hill,
I ranged at large, through London's wide domain,
Month after month. Obscurely did I live,
Not seeking frequent intercourse with men,
By literature, or elegance, or rank,
Distinguished. Scarcely was a year thus spent
Ere I forsook the crowded solitude,
With less regret for its luxurious pomp,
And all the nicely-guarded shows of art,
Than for the humble book-stalls in the streets,
Exposed to eye and hand where'er I turned.

France lured me forth; the realm that I had crossed
So lately, journeying toward the snow-clad Alps.
But now, relinquishing the scrip and staff,
And all enjoyment which the summer sun
Sheds round the steps of those who meet the day
With motion constant as his own, I went
Prepared to sojourn in a pleasant town,
Washed by the current of the stately Loire.

Through Paris lay my readiest course, and there
Sojourning a few days, I visited
In haste, each spot of old or recent fame,
The latter chiefly, from the field of Mars
Down to the suburbs of St. Antony,
And from Mont Martre southward to the Dome

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“LIVES” are Priceless

Believe it, humans cost money, they’re profits, and lives aren’t

important:

It costs to be born, ”
It costs to live, ”
It costs to die.”

In the agriculture industry, money comes before being fed.

In the fashion industry, money comes before being clothed.

In the real estate industry, money comes before being sheltered.

In the business industry, money comes before doing without needs.

In the health industry, money comes before saving lives.

In the funeral industry, money comes before burying a life.


Money is the main human sacrifice and those celebrities are the public example; the dramas and appraisers surrounding their lives are preyed upon by tabloids that make earnings about their publicity:

Their charity work, it’s worth bronze.
Their childhood, it’s worth silver.
Adultery exposure, nude images, drugs, DUI, etc. it’s worth gold.
Death or prison sentence, a pandemonium, that’s worth platinum!

Coming into this world you’re paying a price, but what will happen if people can’t afford to buy anymore? Nah, that wouldn’t happen—it’s always will or a way, and even with the different birth control life can’t be eliminated.

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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,—

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William Cowper

Tirocinium; or, a Review of Schools

It is not from his form, in which we trace
Strength join'd with beauty, dignity with grace,
That man, the master of this globe, derives
His right of empire over all that lives.
That form, indeed, the associate of a mind
Vast in its powers, ethereal in its kind,
That form, the labour of Almighty skill,
Framed for the service of a freeborn will,
Asserts precedence, and bespeaks control,
But borrows all its grandeur from the soul.
Hers is the state, the splendour, and the throne,
An intellectual kingdom, all her own.
For her the memory fills her ample page
With truths pour’d down from every distant age;
For her amasses an unbounded store,
The wisdom of great nations, now no more;
Though laden, not encumber’d with her spoil;
Laborious, yet unconscious of her toil;
When copiously supplied, then most enlarged;
Still to be fed, and not to be surcharged.
For her the Fancy, roving unconfined,
The present muse of every pensive mind,
Works magic wonders, adds a brighter hue
To Nature’s scenes than Nature ever knew.
At her command winds rise and waters roar,
Again she lays them slumbering on the shore;
With flower and fruit the wilderness supplies,
Or bids the rocks in ruder pomp arise.
For her the Judgment, umpire in the strife
That Grace and Nature have to wage through life,
Quick-sighted arbiter of good and ill,
Appointed sage preceptor to the Will,
Condemns, approves, and, with a faithful voice,
Guides the decision of a doubtful choice.
Why did the fiat of a God give birth
To yon fair Sun and his attendant Earth?
And, when descending he resigns the skies,
Why takes the gentler Moon her turn to rise,
Whom Ocean feels through all his countless waves,
And owns her power on every shore he laves?
Why do the seasons still enrich the year,
Fruitful and young as in their first career?
Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees,
Rock’d in the cradle of the western breeze:
Summer in haste the thriving charge receives
Beneath the shade of her expanded leaves,
Till Autumn’s fiercer heats and plenteous dews
Dye them at last in all their glowing hues.—
‘Twere wild profusion all, and bootless waste,
Power misemploy’d, munificence misplaced,

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Back Home

Yeah yeah yeah
Well Im going back this summer to ohio
Im gonna seek out all my friends Ive always known
Im goin back to that farm that I remember
Well Im goin to spend this summer back home
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Back home (back home)
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Back home (back home)
Im gonna get up every morning before the roosters
Ill run downstairs fix my breakfast all alone
Ill milk those cows feed the chickens and the horses
Well Im gonna spend this summer back home
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Back home (back home)
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Back home (back home)
Ill eat everything that ma puts on the table
When I get back you wont believe how Ive grown
Ill hit the sack early everynight thinkin bout tomorrow whoa oh
Well Im gonna spend this summer back home
Back home, back home, back home
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Thats what Im gonna do thats where Im gonna be, thats this summer
Back home (back home)
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Gonna get up, gonna get up, gonna get up every morning
Back home (back home)
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Hey woo feels okay back home
Back home (back home)
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Back home

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It's About Time

Time
(time, time, time, time)
Last Time
Wrong time
Outside
Out of line
But this time's our time
Right On
We'll let it shine
(Get Up)
Turn your clock back
Paint it red on black
Bring it all right back
Oh hell yeah
Come on
Alright
Hey hey hey
You can spend my money
Don't you waste my time
(my time, prime time)
Well right now makin up for lost time yeah
Alright! Alright!
I think it's high time we laid it out there on the line
Now it's about time
It's about time
It's about time
Yeah
Bright lights
Old Fights
This time we got it right
(yeah)
It's been a long time, overtime
Second flash, you're out of sight
(yeah so get up)
Turn your, your clock back
Paint it red on black
Get it all right back
Oh Hell yeah yeah
Come on
It's alright
Hey hey hey
You can spend my money
Don't you waste my time
(my time, prime time)
Well I'm about to make it up to you big time
Big, big, big, big time
Well it's about time we laid it out there on the line
It's about time
It's about time
It's a just about time

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