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I'd get into a room and disappear into the woodwork. Now the rooms are so crowded with reporters getting behind-the-scenes stories that nobody can get behind-the-scenes stories.

quote by Theodore White
Added by Lucian Velea
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Getting Mighty Crowded

Im packing up my memories
And Im gonna move all out of your heart
Im turning in my keys
And Im gonna move all out of your heart
cause there aint room enough for two
In dreams that were made for me and you
Im telling you, its getting mighty crowded
Too crowded for me
Its getting mighty crowded
Im gonna take these things of mine
And Im gonna move all out of your life
Stop wasting my time
And Im gonna move all out of your life
cause there aint room enough for three
In dreams that were made for you and me
So you see, its getting mighty crowded
Too crowded for me
Its getting mighty crowded
Im saving you the trouble of putting me down
Starting on the double, yeah yeah
Im gonna shop around
Im gonna find another heart
Where I can live all by myself
Gonna find another heart
I dont have to share with anybody else
cause you dont treat me like you should
And hanging around this neighborhood is no good
Its getting mighty crowded
Too crowded for me, getting mighty crowded
Im packing up my memories, getting mighty crowded
Too crowded for me, getting mighty crowded
Too crowded for me, getting mighty crowded

song performed by Elvis Costello
Added by Lucian Velea
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The House Of Dust: Complete

I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.

II.

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Headroom

I need headroom,
Got to have headroom,
Some place to rest my head.
I'm gettin' taller,
Thinkin's gettin' smaller,
Time is winnin' out instead.
Well, I heard it on the news,
They're selling everything they can.
And the American flag
Is manufactured in Japan.
They're fightin' battles in the stars,
They're pourin' billions into Mars.
And layin' right there at my feet,
There're people sleepin' in the street.
Give me room, room, room, room, room, room.
Well, I'm livin' on the farm,
Where chemistry has lost its charm.
And every dusty wind that blows,
Is burnin' big holes in my clothes.
They're burnin' big holes in the sky,
Makin' people wonder why
With all our land and sea and space,
Progress is wreckin' every place.
Give me room, room, room, room, room, room.
Well, if you want an assen-ell,
The government will wish you well,
And if you steal a million bucks,
The government will wish you luck.
And they might even give you more,
If you're makin' things for war.
But if you're poor and stealin' cars,
You'll spend your life behind the bars.
Give me room, room, room, room, room, room.
They're talkin' ethics on the hill,
They're talkin' union at the mill,
They're talkin' justice at the farm,
They're talkin' safety in the car.
They're talkin' murder in the states,
They're talkin' cash to get a fix.
They're talkin' virus in the bed,
I'm talkin' room to rest my head.
Give me room, room, room, room, room, room.
I need headroom,
Got to have headroom,
Some place to rest my head.

song performed by Don McLean
Added by Lucian Velea
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Dark Blue By Jack Mannequinn

I have, I have you breathing down my neck, breathing down my neck
I don't, don't know what you could possibly expect under this condition so
I'll wait, I'll wait for the ambulance to come, ambulance to come
Pick us up off the floor what did you possibily expect under this condition so
Slow down, this nights a perfect shade of

Dark blue, dark blue
Have you ever been alone in a crowded room while I'm here with you
I said the world could be burning and burning down

Dark blue, dark blue
Have you ever been alone in a crowded room while I'm here with you
I said the world could be burning 'til there's nothing but dark blue
Just dark blue

And this flood, this flood is slowly rising up, swallowing the ground
Beneath, my feet. Tell me how anybody thinks under this condition so
I'll swim, I'll swim as the water rises up sun is sinking down and now
All I can see are the planets in a row suggesting it's best that I
Slow down this nights a perfect shade of

Dark blue, dark blue
Have you ever been alone in a crowded room while I'm here with you
I said the world could be burning and burning down

Dark blue, dark blue
Have you ever been alone in a crowded room while I'm here with you
I said the world could be burning dark blue

We were boxing, we were boxing the stars
We were boxing (we were boxing) you were swinging from Mars
And then the water reached the west coast
And took the power lines, the power lines
And it was me and you and the whole town underwater
There was nothing we could do
It was dark blue

Dark blue, dark blue
Have you ever been alone in a crowded room while I'm here with you
I said the world could be burning and burning down

Dark blue, dark blue
Have you ever been alone in a crowded room while I'm here with you
I said the world could be burning now there's nothing but dark blue

If you've ever been alone you'll know dark blue
If you've ever been alone you'll know, you'll know

poem by Joshua Burckhard
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Head Room

Ive never been kissed before
Its been on my list before
A flick of the wrist before would do
But when you get down to it
Its got a good sound to it
Dont meddle around with it
cos its far too wet to woo
When mummy and daddy play
They tell me to go away
But by hanging around
I can learn all the rules
Now I got the technique
Im away
Develop a taste for it
A time and a place for it
Although on the face of it, its a crime
Ive nibbled the cheese of it
The birds and the bees of it
Are weak at the knees
>from making honey
Every time
Im throwing my toys away
Im leaving the boys to play
With the boys
Gimme girls
And its time I was breaking away
Just gimme some head room
Just a little bitta head room
I need some leg room
Just a little bitta leg room
I see myself oh lord
I see a mess
Im making a meal of it
Im breaking the seal of it
Im getting the feel of what to do
Its got a good ring to it
Im getting a thing for it
And if theres a sting in it
Ill have met my waterloo
My mummy and daddy said
Youre liable to wind up dead
Oo, theyve been shooting me a line
Maybe it doesnt exist at all
Oo, Ive been towing the line
Now Im hook line and sinkered
Ive never been kissed before
Its been on my list before
A flick of the wrist before would do
But when you get down to it
Its got a good sound to it

[...] Read more

song performed by 10 Cc
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The Restoration Of The Works Of Art In Italy

LAND of departed fame! whose classic plains
Have proudly echo'd to immortal strains;
Whose hallow'd soil hath given the great and brave
Daystars of life, a birth-place and a grave;
Home of the Arts! where glory's faded smile
Sheds lingering light o'er many a mouldering pile;
Proud wreck of vanish'd power, of splendour fled,
Majestic temple of the mighty dead!
Whose grandeur, yet contending with decay,
Gleams through the twilight of thy glorious day;
Though dimm'd thy brightness, riveted thy chain,
Yet, fallen Italy! rejoice again!
Lost, lovely realm! once more 'tis thine to gaze
On the rich relics of sublimer days.

Awake, ye Muses of Etrurian shades,
Or sacred Tivoli's romantic glades;
Wake, ye that slumber in the bowery gloom
Where the wild ivy shadows Virgil's tomb;
Or ye, whose voice, by Sorga's lonely wave,
Swell'd the deep echoes of the fountain's cave,
Or thrill'd the soul in Tasso's numbers high,
Those magic strains of love and chivalry:
If yet by classic streams ye fondly rove,
Haunting the myrtle vale, the laurel grove;
Oh ! rouse once more the daring soul of song,
Seize with bold hand the harp, forgot so long,
And hail, with wonted pride, those works revered
Hallow'd by time, by absence more endear'd.

And breathe to Those the strain, whose warrior-might
Each danger stemm'd, prevail'd in every fight;
Souls of unyielding power, to storms inured,
Sublimed by peril, and by toil matured.
Sing of that Leader, whose ascendant mind
Could rouse the slumbering spirit of mankind:
Whose banners track'd the vanquish'd Eagle's flight
O'er many a plain, and dark sierra's height;
Who bade once more the wild, heroic lay
Record the deeds of Roncesvalles' day;
Who, through each mountain-pass of rock and snow,
An Alpine huntsman chased the fear-struck foe;
Waved his proud standard to the balmy gales,
Rich Languedoc ! that fan thy glowing vales,
And 'midst those scenes renew'd the achievements high,
Bequeath'd to fame by England's ancestry.

Yet, when the storm seem'd hush'd, the conflict past,
One strife remain'd–the mightiest and the last!
Nerved for the struggle, in that fateful hour

[...] Read more

poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Tale V

THE PATRON.

A Borough-Bailiff, who to law was train'd,
A wife and sons in decent state maintain'd,
He had his way in life's rough ocean steer'd
And many a rock and coast of danger clear'd;
He saw where others fail'd, and care had he,
Others in him should not such feelings see:
His sons in various busy states were placed,
And all began the sweets of gain to taste,
Save John, the younger, who, of sprightly parts,
Felt not a love for money-making arts:
In childhood feeble, he, for country air,
Had long resided with a rustic pair;
All round whose room were doleful ballads, songs,
Of lovers' sufferings and of ladies' wrongs;
Of peevish ghosts who came at dark midnight,
For breach of promise, guilty men to fright;
Love, marriage, murder, were the themes, with

these,
All that on idle, ardent spirits seize;
Robbers at land and pirates on the main,
Enchanters foil'd, spells broken, giants slain;
Legends of love, with tales of halls and bowers,
Choice of rare songs, and garlands of choice

flowers,
And all the hungry mind without a choice devours.
From village-children kept apart by pride,
With such enjoyments, and without a guide,
Inspired by feelings all such works infused,
John snatch'd a pen, and wrote as he perused:
With the like fancy he could make his knight
Slay half a host, and put the rest to flight;
With the like knowledge he could make him ride
From isle to isle at Parthenissa's side;
And with a heart yet free, no busy brain
Form'd wilder notions of delight and pain,
The raptures smiles create, the anguish of disdain.
Such were the fruits of John's poetic toil -
Weeds, but still proofs of vigour in the soil:
He nothing purposed but with vast delight,
Let Fancy loose, and wonder'd at her flight:
His notions of poetic worth were high,
And of his own still-hoarded poetry; -
These to his father's house he bore with pride,
A miser's treasure, in his room to hide;
Till spurr'd by glory, to a reading friend,
He kindly show'd the sonnets he had penn'd:

[...] Read more

poem by George Crabbe
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The Task: Book IV. -- The Winter Evening

Hark! ‘tis the twanging horn o’er yonder bridge,
That with its wearisome but needful length
Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon
Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright;—
He comes, the herald of a noisy world,
With spatter’d boots, strapp’d waist, and frozen locks;
News from all nations lumbering at his back.
True to his charge, the close-pack’d load behind,
Yet, careless what he brings, his one concern
Is to conduct it to the destined inn,
And, having dropp’d the expected bag, pass on.
He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch,
Cold and yet cheerful: messenger of grief
Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some;
To him indifferent whether grief or joy.
Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks,
Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet
With tears, that trickled down the writer’s cheeks
Fast as the periods from his fluent quill,
Or charged with amorous sighs of absent swains,
Or nymphs responsive, equally affect
His horse and him, unconscious of them all.
But O the important budget! usher’d in
With such heart-shaking music, who can say
What are its tidings? have our troops awaked?
Or do they still, as if with opium drugg’d,
Snore to the murmurs of the Atlantic wave?
Is India free? and does she wear her plumed
And jewell’d turban with a smile of peace,
Or do we grind her still? The grand debate,
The popular harangue, the tart reply,
The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit,
And the loud laugh—I long to know them all;
I burn to set the imprison’d wranglers free,
And give them voice and utterance once again.

Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast,
Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round,
And, while the bubbling and loud hissing urn
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups,
That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each,
So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
Not such his evening, who with shining face
Sweats in the crowded theatre, and, squeezed
And bored with elbow points through both his sides,
Outscolds the ranting actor on the stage:
Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb,
And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath
Of patriots, bursting with heroic rage,
Or placemen, all tranquillity and smiles.

[...] Read more

poem by William Cowper
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Disappear

(j farriss & michael hutchence)
Say Im crying
Im looking at whats on tv
Pain and suffering
And the struggle
To be free
It cant ever be denied and i
Never will ignore
But when I see you coming
I can take it all
Chorus
Youre so fine
Lose my mind
And the world seems to disappear
All the problems
All the fears
And the world seems to disappear
Say youre mine
And give yourself to the
Feelings that you know
Im needing
All that you can give me
All the things
That you do so well
Words are healing
Sweet anticipation
Making spells
As the shadows close in
Fall across all our yesterdays
Chorus
Disappear
Disappear
Disappear
Disappear
Disappear
Disappear
Disappear
Say if I could
Look into myself and reason
But I could never never see or
Make snese of the dealings
Turn around
Am I looking at salvation
Make me realise all that I am
You put the light inside this man
Chorus

song performed by INXS
Added by Lucian Velea
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Room Service

Im feelin low, no place to go
And Im a-thinking that Im gonna scream
Because a hotel all alone is not a
Rock and roll stars dream
But just when Im about to shut the light and go to bed
A lady calls and asks if Im too tired or if Im just to dead for
Room service, baby I could use a meal
Room service, you do what you feel
Room service, I take the pleasure with the pain
I cant say no
My planes delayed and Im afraid
Theyre gonna keep me waiting here till nine
Then a stewardess in a tight blue dress says
I got the time
But just as Im about to take my coat and get my fly
She says oh please, shes on her knees
And one more time before I leave I get some
Room service, baby I could use a meal
Room service, you do what you feel
Room service, I take the pleasure with the pain
I cant say no, no
In my home town, Im hangin round
With all the ladies treatin me real good
A sweet sixteen lookin hot and mean says
I wish you would
But just as Im about to tell her yes, I think I can
I see her dad, hes getting mad
All the time he knows that Im in need of
Room service, baby I could use a meal
Room service, you do what you feel
Room service, I take the pleasure with the pain
I cant say no
Room service, baby I could use a meal
Room service, you do what you feel
Room service, I take the pleasure with the pain
I cant say no, I cant say no
Room service, baby I could use a meal
Room service, you do what you feel
Room service, you take the pleasure with the pain
I cant say no
Room service, well maybe baby, room service

song performed by Kiss
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Task: Book III. -- The Garden

As one who, long in thickets and in brakes
Entangled, winds now this way and now that
His devious course uncertain, seeking home;
Or, having long in miry ways been foil’d,
And sore discomfited, from slough to slough
Plunging, and half despairing of escape;
If chance at length he finds a greensward smooth
And faithful to the foot, his spirits rise,
He chirrups brisk his ear-erecting steed,
And winds his way with pleasure and with ease:
So I, designing other themes, and call’d
To adorn the Sofa with eulogium due,
To tell its slumbers, and to paint its dreams,
Have rambled wide. In country, city, seat
Of academic fame (howe’er deserved),
Long held, and scarcely disengaged at last.
But now with pleasant pace a cleanlier road
I mean to tread. I feel myself at large,
Courageous, and refresh’d for future toil,
If toil awaits me, or if dangers new.

Since pulpits fail, and sounding boards reflect
Most part an empty ineffectual sound,
What chance that I, to fame so little known,
Nor conversant with men or manners much,
Should speak to purpose, or with better hope
Crack the satiric thong? ‘Twere wiser far
For me, enamour’d of sequester’d scenes,
And charm’d with rural beauty, to repose,
Where chance may throw me, beneath elm or vine,
My languid limbs, when summer sears the plains;
Or, when rough winter rages, on the soft
And shelter’d Sofa, while the nitrous air
Feeds a blue flame, and makes a cheerful hearth;
There, undisturb’d by Folly, and apprised
How great the danger of disturbing her,
To muse in silence, or at least confine
Remarks that gall so many to the few,
My partners in retreat. Disgust conceal’d
Is ofttimes proof of wisdom, when the fault
Is obstinate, and cure beyond our reach.

Domestic Happiness, thou only bliss
Of Paradise that has survived the fall!
Though few now taste thee unimpair’d and pure,
Or tasting long enjoy thee! too infirm,
Or too incautious, to preserve thy sweets
Unmix’d with drops of bitter, which neglect
Or temper sheds into thy crystal cup;
Thou art the nurse of Virtue, in thine arms

[...] Read more

poem by William Cowper
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On A Landscape Bt Rubens

Nay, let us gaze, ev'n till the sense is full,
Upon the rich creation, shadowed so
That not great Nature, in her loftiest pomp
Of living beauty, ever on the sight
Rose more magnificent; nor aught so fair
Hath Fancy, in her wildest, brightest mood,
Imaged of things most lovely, when the sounds
Of this cold cloudy world at distance sink,
And all alone the warm idea lives
Of what is great, or beautiful, or good,
In Nature's general plan.
So the vast scope,
O Rubens! of thy mighty mind, and such
The fervour of thy pencil, pouring wide
The still illumination, that the mind
Pauses, absorbed, and scarcely thinks what powers
Of mortal art the sweet enchantment wrought.
She sees the painter, with no human touch,
Create, embellish, animate at will,
The mimic scenes, from Nature's ampler range
Caught as by inspiration; while the clouds,
High wandering, and the fairest form of things,
Seem at his bidding to emerge, and burn
With radiance and with life!
Let us, subdued,
Now to the magic of the moment lose
The thoughts of life, and mingle every sense
Ev'n in the scenes before us!
The fresh morn
Of summer shines; the white clouds of the east
Are crisped; beneath, the bright blue champaign steams;
The banks, the meadows, and the flowers, send up
An incensed exhalation, like the meek
And holy praise of Him whose soul's deep joy
The lone woods witness. Thou, whose heart is sick
Of vanities; who, in the throng of men,
Dost feel no lenient fellowship; whose eye
Turns, with a languid carelessness, around
Upon the toiling crowd, still murmuring on,
Restless;--oh, think, in summer scenes like these,
How sweet the sense of quiet gladness is,
That, like the silent breath of morning, steals
From lowly nooks, and feels itself expand
Amid the works of Nature, to the Power
That made them: to the awful thought of HIM
Who, when the morning stars shouted for joy,
Bade the great sun from tenfold darkness burst,
The green earth roll in light, and solitude
First hear the voice of man, whilst hills and woods
Stood eminent, in orient hues arrayed,

[...] Read more

poem by William Lisle Bowles
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Crowded Room

Across a crowded room
I first set eyes on you
My vision was impaired
Obstructed out of view
By those - faces in a crowded room
Them - bodies in a crowded room
Their - breathing in a crowded room
And their - pushing me out
Down the fire escape
In the crowded room I wont touch too much
I felt the punch of a punch
The language was enough
To send me running etc.

song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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Crowded

Crowded

Spirits walking on the roofs
no fear to fall or slide
no spirit of the dead
that did ever die
it's really crowded in the sky
and crowded in the streets
spouses and sprouts in all houses
crowded in my head am I
crowded in the underground
crowded in my ears
look what i have found;
my face crowded in tears.

Madrason 21 08-2009

poem by Madrason writer
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The White Room

Spanna noo na noo na ne na naho
Spanna noo na ne ne naho
Spa noo na naho
Noo na naho
Noo na naho
Spa noo na naho
Spanna noo na noo na noo na naho
Spanna noo na noo na nehhey
Spa noo na nehhey
Noo na naho
Noo na naho
Spanna noo na noo na ne na naho
Spanna noo na ne ne naho
[more spa na noo ne na noo things]
Talk to me, talk to me
If you want to know the things we see
Then step inside our skins
The white room, the white room
We spin, we turn, watch and wait
As the world just creeps on bye
The white room, the white room
Ooohhaaa
Talk to me, talk to me
Far below, a small boat sails,
Catching fish from the sea.
The white room, the white room
We climb the mountain,
Feel the wind,
We climbed to touch the stars.
The white room, the white room
Ooohhaaa
The white room, the white room
[more spetta na noo ne na noo things]
The white room, the white room
The white room, the white room
[more spetta na noo ne na noo things]
The white room, the white room

song performed by KLF
Added by Lucian Velea
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Vanishing

Disappear
Disappear
Higher
Higher
Into the air
Slowly disappear
No, no longer here
Disappear
Disappear
Thinner
Thinner
Into the air
Never really here
What that never
Like a thought brushing up against a sigh
Floating away
Floating away (repeated)
Vanishing like a sigh and slowly
Disappear
Disappear
Vanish
Vanish
Into the air
Slowly disappear
Never really here
Floating away
Floating away (repeated)

song performed by A Perfect Circle
Added by Lucian Velea
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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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The Back Room

In the back room (in the back room)
In the back room (in the back room)
I waited for you (waited for you)
Ya waited for me (waited for me)
Rain came down, pitter-pat
Say, what you think, its raining outside
You said, so what
You turned the record player on, had a smoke
Stood up, walked across to the joint in a cloud of mist
Couldnt resist
A kitty stepped in the hall and she rapped the door
Found the key in the letter box, she turned the door
Walked into the room and said, whats goin on?
I just got back from down the road
Gotta couple a bottles of wine, somethin to turn you on
What-a you think of that? (think of that, girl)
(think of that girl)
I said, sit down cat, pull up a seat, youre soakin wet
Take off your coat and hat, wipe your feet on the mat
In the back room (in the back room)
In the back room (in the back room)
I waited for you (waited for you)
Ya waited for me (waited for me)
I said, what time is it charlie, where did we go all day?
Seem to get nowhere and do nothin but sit lookin at each other
He said, I know, I been doin the same thing for weeks
I look at the clock and all of a sudden Im hypnotized
It speaks to me, it goes tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, ah-huh the kid he said, I dont know what you guys do but I been workin
So hard, lately that I can just only fall asleep in bed
So he played some more sounds and grooved a while
Somebody brought out some cherry wine, cherry wine
And we talked about what was goin on in the music world
And other things
Ha-ha-ha, ha-ha
The rain outside came down like it came never before
Down, came down, it came, rain rain rain
And I said, baby what time is it, what time is it, tell me what time is it?
Ah, four-thirty
So I peeked round the corner, the blind
An there ya go, theres another girl thats comin home from school
Lookin so cool, just learned her as to zs
And said,
Hey man dont look funny, all the little girls comin home from school
And theyre sittin, talkin and drinkin and all them other funny things
A-ha-ha-ha
And charlie said to me, ya know what? I said, what?
He said, man you gotta go out there and do somethin for yourself
Feel like you wanna make it or else you gonna be sittin round here like,
Nothin
I said, youre right, I said youre so right

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song performed by Van Morrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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English Bards and Scotch Reviewers: A Satire

'I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew!
Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers'~Shakespeare

'Such shameless bards we have; and yet 'tis true,
There are as mad, abandon'd critics too,'~Pope.

Still must I hear? -- shall hoarse Fitzgerald bawl
His creaking couplets in a tavern hall,
And I not sing, lest, haply, Scotch reviews
Should dub me scribbler, and denounce my muse?
Prepare for rhyme -- I'll publish, right or wrong:
Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

O nature's noblest gift -- my grey goose-quill!
Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will,
Torn from thy parent bird to form a pen,
That mighty instrument of little men!
The pen! foredoom'd to aid the mental throes
Of brains that labour, big with verse or prose,
Though nymphs forsake, and critics may deride,
The lover's solace, and the author's pride.
What wits, what poets dost thou daily raise!
How frequent is thy use, how small thy praise!
Condemn'd at length to be forgotten quite,
With all the pages which 'twas thine to write.
But thou, at least, mine own especial pen!
Once laid aside, but now assumed again,
Our task complete, like Hamet's shall be free;
Though spurn'd by others, yet beloved by me:
Then let us soar today, no common theme,
No eastern vision, no distemper'd dream
Inspires -- our path, though full of thorns, is plain;
Smooth be the verse, and easy be the strain.

When Vice triumphant holds her sov'reign sway,
Obey'd by all who nought beside obey;
When Folly, frequent harbinger of crime,
Bedecks her cap with bells of every clime;
When knaves and fools combined o'er all prevail,
And weigh their justice in a golden scale;
E'en then the boldest start from public sneers,
Afraid of shame, unknown to other fears,
More darkly sin, by satire kept in awe,
And shrink from ridicule, though not from law.

Such is the force of wit! but not belong
To me the arrows of satiric song;
The royal vices of our age demand
A keener weapon, and a mightier hand.

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poem by Byron
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Task: Book I. -- The Sofa

I sing the Sofa. I who lately sang
Truth, Hope, and Charity, and touched with awe
The solemn chords, and with a trembling hand,
Escaped with pain from that adventurous flight,
Now seek repose upon an humbler theme;
The theme though humble, yet august and proud
The occasion, - for the fair commands the song.

Time was when clothing, sumptuous or for use,
Save their own painted skins, our sires had none.
As yet black breeches were not, satin smooth,
Or velvet soft, or plush with shaggy pile.
The hardy chief upon the rugged rock
Washed by the sea, or on the gravelly bank
Thrown up by wintry torrents roaring loud,
Fearless of wrong, reposed his weary strength.
Those barbarous ages past, succeeded next
The birthday of invention, weak at first,
Dull in design, and clumsy to perform.
Joint-stools were then created; on three legs
Upborne they stood, - three legs upholding firm
A massy slab, in fashion square or round.
On such a stool immortal Alfred sat,
And swayed the sceptre of his infant realms;
And such in ancient halls and mansions drear
May still be seen, but perforated sore
And drilled in holes the solid oak is found,
By worms voracious eating through and through.

At length a generation more refined
Improved the simple plan, made three legs four,
Gave them a twisted form vermicular,
And o'er the seat with plenteous wadding stuffed
Induced a splendid cover green and blue,
Yellow and red, of tapestry richly wrought
And woven close, or needle-work sublime.
There might ye see the peony spread wide,
The full-blown rose, the shepherd and his lass,
Lap-dog and lambkin with black staring eyes,
And parrots with twin cherries in their beak.

Now came the cane from India, smooth and bright
With Nature's varnish; severed into stripes
That interlaced each other, these supplied
Of texture firm a lattice-work, that braced
The new machine, and it became a chair.
But restless was the chair; the back erect
Distressed the weary loins that felt no ease;
The slippery seat betrayed the sliding part
That pressed it, and the feet hung dangling down,

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poem by William Cowper
Added by Poetry Lover
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