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'A collected poems' is either a gravestone or a testimonial to survival.

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The History Poems Have Not Been Written

The history poems have not been written
The poems after Milosz
The Wallace Stevens poems will never be written
I can’t come close
I have tried the Blake poems
But of course I am not near them either
I would like to the ironic intellectual poems
I might be able to do them
I could do a kind of surrealistic association mind poem a prose poem
But I don’t like that very much
The poems of Jerusalem have not been good enough
Poems of propaganda are awkward and unacceptable
The small poems that tell of my life
They are for me the chance at real poetry
And I will continue as best I can with them
The American poems I have not yet found the idiom for
I can be epigrammatic in Emerson Thoreau fashion
But not with the hard New England observing eye
Borges poems I love
And the stories of mind and literature
Making the drama of a life of a storyteller
Interest me
But I doubt I could truly do them well
Imitation can only take one so far
And through it one may lose one’s way entirely
I can really do only what I am
Not the Dickinson poems nor the Hopkins poems nor the Wordsworth poems nor the Keats poems nor the Amichai poems nor the poems of many others whose poetry I love
The Biblical poems have been tried
The poems of cosmic and scientific reflection
I could try to improve them
There are too many different kinds of poems to write
And I cannot write almost all of them
This is another poem about poems and poetry
I have written many for a long time now
Perhaps I need to go elsewhere and write in a new way
A way I have not dreamed or even remotely understood possible before.
The poems of the unknown poetry await me
I will go on but I am not sure now I know in which wa

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Poems About.

There are poems that you will never see
Marked in a folder titled 'privacy'
Poems of hate and anger and personal pain
Poems about greed and hunger and personal gain
Poems about people I would love to see dead
Poems about women I met
Poems about relationships that have gone bad
Poems about issues with mom and dad
Poems about me, the person no one knows
Poems about places where only my soul goes
Poems I wish I could place in the clouds for all to read
Poems about lust, selfishness and greed
Poems I know will hurt those I hate
Poems I write by complete mistake
Poems I have hidden in my heart and my head
Poems about things that are better left unsaid
Poems I want to share and poems I want to retract
Poems of shame and how others might act
They stay in my psyche, they are a part of me
These poems I write, but you will never see.

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The Holocaust Files & Other Theme Poems

Theme: Love Poems (various forms of love,10 poems only)
*any theme category may be extended upon reader interest and requests
A Family Blessing
Changing Scene
For Our Loved Ones
Look Across Time
Memory Of A Lover
My Love
Single Red Ribbon
Snowpowder
Song Of My Love
True Love

The Holocaust Files: (32 poems) are a work in process and this reference will be removed upon completion. This is a collection of holocaust related poems to give voice to the 12 million killed, tortured and enslaved by the SS during World War II. The Poles, Romani and Slavic victims who are sometimes overlooked in brief reviews or marginalized, will hopefully have a poem as their voice by the completion of this project. The poems will ease into and out of the full extent of this horror, to contrast kaleidoscopic images of the holocaust in tribute to the slaughtered, and may provide a differing overview of Nazi Ideology to address succinct examples of how and why in historical perspective. (Historical optional background notes, have been added below some poems to assist in this purpose.)
The cruelty of topic material in some of the main poems may shock or offend innocent readers. Looking up pictorial images of these events is not advised for children.
The poems should be read in the order listed below: -
A Vibrant Life 18.5.2010
Appeasement For Adolf Hitler 15&16.10.2010
Indomitable Will To Survive 12.7.2010
Holocaust Latvia Begins 30.5.2012
Nazi Death Squads Enter Eastern Europe 29.5.2012
SS Single Shot Executioners 28.5.2012
Legal Genocide Committed On Industrial Scale 16.10.2010
Stone Cross Prologue 85 87
Stone Cross 85 87
Hitler's Holocaust Product Of A Demonic Mind 1987
When Satanic Power Ruled A Third Reich 1987
Blind Neo-Nazi Nationalism Hitler's New World Order 1987
How Evil Regenerates Perpetuates 1987
Nazi Evolution Vile Carbon Monoxide Gas To Zyklon-B 1987
Indictment Against Entire Nations 1987
An Image Of The Beast Rules
Fallen Nation Transformation 1987
Cartoon Caricature Of The Master Race 17.5.2010
The SS Who Will You Kill 17.5.2010
Classic Dance Steps 17.2.1989
Peaked Cap; Skull-And-Crossbones Badge 17&18.3.2010
A Moral Civilized World 17.3.2010
The Death Of Adolf Hitler's Personal Physican 17.5.2010
Dagmar Topf A Defence Of Family Ovens 17&18.3.2010
Not To Be Written 7.5.2010
Struck Down With A Thunderbolt 20.4.2010
Love Has Rewards Worth Attaining 19.5.2010
SS Demons 15.12.2010
How Did You Kill Me?
They Did It All Before You 18.5.2010
'Angel Of Death' A Demonic Nazi Doctor 9.3.2011
Proclaiming Retrofit New World Order 9&10.3.2011

[...] Read more

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Collected In My Kingdom

No harm is going to come,
To anyone...
If they are connected.
If they are connected.
If they are connected.

No harm will be done,
To anyone...
If they are connected.
No harm,
If connected!
To anyone.

And,
If they are connected.
My Father,
Said to me...
If they are connected,
I will love them...
Collected,
In My Heart.
Collected,
In My Soul.
Collected...
In My Kingdom!
If they are connected.
I will love them...
Collected,
In My Heart.
Collected,
In My Soul.
Collected...
In My Kingdom!

If they are connected.
If they are connected.
If they are connected.
If they are connected.
If they are connected.
No harm will be done,
To anyone...
If they are connected.

And,
If they are connected.
My Father,
Said to me...
If they are connected,
I will love them...
Collected,

[...] Read more

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Nothing Gets Collected But Dust On Rust

If you wait too long,
Something will go wrong in your lifetime.
Hesitate,
Believing this eliminates it...
But nothing gets collected but dust,
On rust.

If you wait,
Too long...
Something will go wrong,
In your lifetime.
Hesitate,
Since you wanna and you're gonna.
But nothing gets collected but dust,
On rust.

You put up all your screens on your dreams.
Distrusting they would go or be taken away.

You put up all your reasons to demean!
Believing this would keep your dreams from being seen.

If you wait too long,
Something will go wrong in your lifetime.
Hesitate,
Believing this eliminates it...
But nothing gets collected but dust,
On rust.

If you wait,
Too long...
Something will go wrong,
In your lifetime.
Hesitate,
Since you wanna and you're gonna.
But nothing gets collected but dust,
On rust.

You put up all your screens on your dreams.
Distrusting they would go or be taken away.

You put up all your reasons to demean!
Believing this would keep your dreams from being seen.

If you wait,
Too long...
Something will go wrong,
In your lifetime.
Hesitate,
Since you wanna and you're gonna.

[...] Read more

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We Need New Poems

WE NEED NEW POEMS

We need new Poems-

So many great Poems
Have already been written.
Perhaps the Greatest poems
Have already been written.

But we need new poems.

We need our Poems
We need the poems only we can write
We need the poems we must write.

We need new poems
My poems
Your poems
Our poems.

We need new poems.
Let us write them.

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Not Every Poem Knows How To Say Its Own Name Properly

NOT EVERY POEM KNOWS HOW TO SAY ITS OWN NAME PROPERLY

Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly-
There are poems that have no name
And poems that are named by others who have not written them-
There are poems whose names make them what they are
And poems whose names contradict and belie them-
Many poems have their first lines as their names
And these poems often are as memorable as one line only-
Great poems and good poems can be nameless
Or can have unforgettable names.

Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly -
Poems are poems are poems
And names are names are names
And sometimes they meet and are one
And live happily ever after-
But there are times when perhaps
They never should have met each other at all.

Poems have their names
And names have their poems
But sometimes they love each other
And truly are one.

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Walt Whitman

Starting From Paumanok

STARTING from fish-shape Paumanok, where I was born,
Well-begotten, and rais'd by a perfect mother;
After roaming many lands--lover of populous pavements;
Dweller in Mannahatta, my city--or on
southern savannas;
Or a soldier camp'd, or carrying my knapsack and gun--or a miner in
California;
Or rude in my home in Dakota's woods, my diet meat, my drink from the
spring;
Or withdrawn to muse and meditate in some deep recess,
Far from the clank of crowds, intervals passing, rapt and happy;
Aware of the fresh free giver, the flowing Missouri--aware of mighty
Niagara;
Aware of the buffalo herds, grazing the plains--the hirsute and
strong-breasted bull; 10
Of earth, rocks, Fifth-month flowers, experienced--stars, rain, snow,
my amaze;
Having studied the mocking-bird's tones, and the mountainhawk's,
And heard at dusk the unrival'd one, the hermit thrush from the
swamp-cedars,
Solitary, singing in the West, I strike up for a New World.


Victory, union, faith, identity, time,
The indissoluble compacts, riches, mystery,
Eternal progress, the kosmos, and the modern reports.

This, then, is life;
Here is what has come to the surface after so many throes and
convulsions.

How curious! how real! 20
Underfoot the divine soil--overhead the sun.

See, revolving, the globe;
The ancestor-continents, away, group'd together;
The present and future continents, north and south, with the isthmus
between.

See, vast, trackless spaces;
As in a dream, they change, they swiftly fill;
Countless masses debouch upon them;
They are now cover'd with the foremost people, arts, institutions,
known.

See, projected, through time,
For me, an audience interminable. 30

With firm and regular step they wend--they never stop,
Successions of men, Americanos, a hundred millions;

[...] Read more

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Survival

Sunshine is creeping in
And somewhere in a field a life begins
An egg too proud to rape
The beginning of a shape of things to come
That starts the run
Life has begu
Fly fast the gun
The mother flew too late
And life within the egg was left to fate
Not really knowing how
The world outside would take it when it came
And lifes the same
For things we aim
Are we to blame?
Dont doubt the fact theres life within you
Yesterdays endings will tomorrow life give you
All that dies
Dies for a reason
To put its strength into the seasons
Survival,
Survival
They take away and they give
The livings right to live (its all that we need to give)
The livings right to know
The egg breaks all is out
The crawling bird begins to scream and shout
Where is the parent bird?
A loneliness arose and heard its name ring in
For lives, begin
Survival win
Survival sin
So soon the evening comes
And with it runs the aching fear of hate
Could someone still remain
Who thinks he still could gain by escaping fate?
Its much too late
Dont underrate
Appreciate
Dont doubt the fact theres life within you
Yesterdays endings will tomorrow life give you
All that dies
Dies for a reason
To put its strength into the seasons
Survival,
Survival
They take away and they give
The livings right to live (its all that we need to give)
The livings right to know
Survival,
Survival

[...] Read more

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Survival

Sunshine is creeping in
And somewhere in a field a life begins
An egg too proud to rape
The beginning of a shape of things to come
That starts the run
Life has begu
Fly fast the gun
The mother flew too late
And life within the egg was left to fate
Not really knowing how
The world outside would take it when it came
And lifes the same
For things we aim
Are we to blame?
Dont doubt the fact theres life within you
Yesterdays endings will tomorrow life give you
All that dies
Dies for a reason
To put its strength into the seasons
Survival,
Survival
They take away and they give
The livings right to live (its all that we need to give)
The livings right to know
The egg breaks all is out
The crawling bird begins to scream and shout
Where is the parent bird?
A loneliness arose and heard its name ring in
For lives, begin
Survival win
Survival sin
So soon the evening comes
And with it runs the aching fear of hate
Could someone still remain
Who thinks he still could gain by escaping fate?
Its much too late
Dont underrate
Appreciate
Dont doubt the fact theres life within you
Yesterdays endings will tomorrow life give you
All that dies
Dies for a reason
To put its strength into the seasons
Survival,
Survival
They take away and they give
The livings right to live (its all that we need to give)
The livings right to know
Survival,
Survival

[...] Read more

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Poems About Poems About Poems

Poems about poems about poems-
More poems and more poems and more poems-
Poems poems poems poems poems-
How many poems?
How much poetry
Until there is no poetry at all?

But only 'words' and 'words' and 'words'
Until one goes far away
Where there was never a poem before-
And suddenly hears
“Let there be Light”.

And Poetry perhaps
Is born again.

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We Need Poems To Make Us Love Life More

WE NEED POEMS TO MAKE US LOVE LIFE MORE

We need poems to make us love life more
Poems that will make us happier
Poems that will make us kinder, better people.
We need poems that will inspire us
That will add to our sense of the world’s Beauty
We need Poems that will make us love others as we love ourselves as we love God.
We need holy poems
And joyful poems
And blessed poems
And kind poems
We need poems which will make us love life more
Which will help us love others and ourselves more
God more
We need poems.

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Walt Whitman

The Indications

THE indications, and tally of time;
Perfect sanity shows the master among philosophs;
Time, always without flaw, indicates itself in parts;
What always indicates the poet, is the crowd of the pleasant company
of singers, and their words;
The words of the singers are the hours or minutes of the light or
dark--but the words of the maker of poems are the general light
and dark;
The maker of poems settles justice, reality, immortality,
His insight and power encircle things and the human race,
He is the glory and extract thus far, of things, and of the human
race.

The singers do not beget--only the POET begets;
The singers are welcom'd, understood, appear often enough--but rare
has the day been, likewise the spot, of the birth of the maker
of poems, the Answerer, 10
(Not every century, or every five centuries, has contain'd such a
day, for all its names.)

The singers of successive hours of centuries may have ostensible
names, but the name of each of them is one of the singers,
The name of each is, eye-singer, ear-singer, head-singer, sweet-
singer, echo-singer, parlor-singer, love-singer, or something
else.

All this time, and at all times, wait the words of true poems;
The words of true poems do not merely please,
The true poets are not followers of beauty, but the august masters of
beauty;
The greatness of sons is the exuding of the greatness of mothers and
fathers,
The words of poems are the tuft and final applause of science.

Divine instinct, breadth of vision, the law of reason, health,
rudeness of body, withdrawnness,
Gayety, sun-tan, air-sweetness--such are some of the words of
poems. 20

The sailor and traveler underlie the maker of poems, the answerer;
The builder, geometer, chemist, anatomist, phrenologist, artist--all
these underlie the maker of poems, the answerer.

The words of the true poems give you more than poems,
They give you to form for yourself, poems, religions, politics, war,
peace, behavior, histories, essays, romances, and everything
else,
They balance ranks, colors, races, creeds, and the sexes,
They do not seek beauty--they are sought,
Forever touching them, or close upon them, follows beauty, longing,

[...] Read more

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0005 Totally Boring Poem

I’m totally bored by:


poems that sound like other poems

poems that try to sound unlike any other poems

poets who never take risks

poets who think that taking risks
makes them good poets

poems with 'meaning'

poems with no meaning

poets who slag off other poets
as if that achieves something

poets that tell you that rhyme
is not for an age but for all time

poets that tell you that rhyme is outmoded and boring

poets who think that the poetry of 'the past'
is greater than that of 'the present'

poets who think that the poetry of 'the present'
is greater than that of 'the past'

poems that tell you the poet's the first to discover sex

poets that tell you they’re the best sex you’ll ever have
although you’ll never meet them to find out

poets that tell you they’ve been dumped

poets who've never known love and being dumped

poets who are ambitious

poets who are unambitious

poets who tell you all about higher things

poets who reject higher things

poets who think life’s just a joke

poets who think life’s no joke

[...] Read more

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Fresh Air

I

At the Poem Society a black-haired man stands up to say
“You make me sick with all your talk about restraint and mature talent!
Haven’t you ever looked out the window at a painting by Matisse,
Or did you always stay in hotels where there were too many spiders crawling on your visages?
Did you ever glance inside a bottle of sparkling pop,
Or see a citizen split in two by the lightning?
I am afraid you have never smiled at the hibernation
Of bear cubs except that you saw in it some deep relation
To human suffering and wishes, oh what a bunch of crackpots!”
The black-haired man sits down, and the others shoot arrows at him.
A blond man stands up and says,
“He is right! Why should we be organized to defend the kingdom
Of dullness? There are so many slimy people connected with poetry,
Too, and people who know nothing about it!
I am not recommending that poets like each other and organize to fight them,
But simply that lightning should strike them.”
Then the assembled mediocrities shot arrows at the blond-haired man.
The chairman stood up on the platform, oh he was physically ugly!
He was small-limbed and –boned and thought he was quite seductive,
But he was bald with certain hideous black hairs,
And his voice had the sound of water leaving a vaseline bathtub,
And he said, “The subject for this evening’s discussion is poetry
On the subject of love between swans.” And everyone threw candy hearts
At the disgusting man, and they stuck to his bib and tucker,
And he danced up and down on the platform in terrific glee
And recited the poetry of his little friends—but the blond man stuck his head
Out of a cloud and recited poems about the east and thunder,
And the black-haired man moved through the stratosphere chanting
Poems of the relationships between terrific prehistoric charcoal whales,
And the slimy man with candy hearts sticking all over him
Wilted away like a cigarette paper on which the bumblebees have urinated,
And all the professors left the room to go back to their duty,
And all that were left in the room were five or six poets
And together they sang the new poem of the twentieth century
Which, though influenced by Mallarmé, Shelley, Byron, and Whitman,
Plus a million other poets, is still entirely original
And is so exciting that it cannot be here repeated.
You must go to the Poem Society and wait for it to happen.
Once you have heard this poem you will not love any other,
Once you have dreamed this dream you will be inconsolable,
Once you have loved this dream you will be as one dead,
Once you have visited the passages of this time’s great art!


2

“Oh to be seventeen years old
Once again,” sang the red-haired man, “and not know that poetry

[...] Read more

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Homeless Brother

I was walking by the graveyard, late last Friday night,
I heard somebody yelling, it sounded like a fight.
It was just a drunken hobo dancing circles in the night,
Pouring whiskey on the headstones in the blue moonlight.
So often have I wondered where these homeless brothers go,
Down in some hidden valley were their sorrows cannot show,
Where the police cannot find them, where the wanted men can go.
There's freedom when your walking, even though you're walking slow.
Smash your bottle on a gravestone and live while you can,
that homeless brother is my friend.
It's hard to be a pack rat, it's hard to be a 'bo,
but living's so much harder where the heartless people go.
Somewhere the dogs are barking and the children seem to know
That Jesus on the highway was a lost hobo.
And they hear the holy silence of the temples in the hill,
And they see the ragged tatters as another kind of thrill.
And they envy him the sunshine and they pity him the chill,
And they're sad to do their living for some other kind of thrill.
Smash your bottle on a gravestone and live while you can,
that homeless brother is my friend.
Somewhere there was a woman, somewhere there was a child,
Somewhere there was a cottage where the marigolds grew wild.
But some where's just like nowhere when you leave it for a while,
You'll find the broken-hearted when you're travelling jungle-style.
Down the bowels of a broken land where numbers live like men,
Where those who keep their senses have them taken back again,
Where the night stick cracks with crazy rage, where madmen don't
pretend,
Where wealth has no beginning and poverty no end.
Smash your bottle on a gravestone and live while you can,
that homeless brothe

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The Love We Once Shared

An unmarked gravestone.
When is the last time you visited?
The forgotten, the forgotten, the forgotten.
How many days have went bye?
How many times have you smiled since then?
How many time have you woke in the middle of the night screaming and clenching you fist?
How many, oh how many tear drops fall and wash away in the stream of lost souls just trying to find their way back home?

His name, empty an hollow, his date of both life and death doesn't exist.
All that remains is some old bones below the dirt of an unmarked grave.
I remember when he was first conceived, things were so different back then.
Not the fear that is present ever so much now.
No one wants to help each other, too afraid to get pulled down.
But once your down here, where is it you think you are going go?
I just don't know ow ow, but I do remember the love we once shared.
I remember as you were taken away in handcuffs crying but I didn't mean too.

Hard to forget such traumatic moments.
Emotion becomes the string to the cloth we are yet to weave.
For love we will all deceive.

An unmarked gravestone.
When is the last time you visited?
The forgotten, the forgotten, the forgotten.
How many days have went bye?
How many times have you smiled since then?
How many times have you woke in the middle of the night screaming and clenching your fist?
How many, oh how many tear drops fall and wash away in the stream of lost souls just trying to find their way back home?

He had such pretty baby blue eyes, just like you.
A reflection of what we hate.
A reflection of what we contemplate.
I still don't understand why you did it.
And I probably never will.
Was he crying too loud?
Did you have to feed him one too many time.
And does the why make it any easier?

Taking a step back.
Taking it all in.
A unrealistic clouded moment with anger and hate in my eyes.
What right did you have.
Their were so many different choices back then.
How am I suppose to grieve with her ghosts image still sitting right in front of me.

An unmarked gravestone.
When is the last time you visited?
The forgotten, the forgotten, the forgotten.
How many days have went bye?
How many times have you smiled since then?

[...] Read more

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A spiral scratched into an ancient Irish gravestone

A centre and an expansion
a life centred expanding
the force of the centre whirls
a life without limit but it says
a centred life what gods the centre
does not tell but a centre
and from there a spiral
which has a beginning but no end
the life shaping the death the death
shaping the life it seems this life
that life could not be told
need not be told
every life drawn here
drawn because it could not be spoken
even in a lilting Irish voice
speaking a spiral sentence for
Irish sentences are like spirals
the centre expands without limit

the life was lived in the circle of the year
that comes round again sowing harvest
yet never back to the same place
as the mind the vision the experience expands whirls out
like a wild dance celebrating birth marriage death
yet passes the familiar place each season
and love love for the world
expands into a holy love
spiralling without limit yet never forgetting the centre
like a child on a gate swinging
knowing it’s safe because of the hinge
it knows but does not know
for others made the hinge

and now we read the spiral on a gravestone
tracing back from infinity to the source
everything that has an outward
everything that has an inward
and so there is no need for words
the spiral like a poem about life
read it forwards read it backwards
read it with thanks see it as grace
the thick green grass curls over it
the lichen yellow orange green
placed like a lizard
blesses this the most eloquent
gravestone in all the world
in a green field the clouds white
the sky blue this is the centre
of the spiral here now and
there is no ending to the spiral

[...] Read more

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The Darkest Black Rose

THE DARKEST BLACK ROSE

The darkest black rose lying by a gravestone.
Another love lost, another love dead.
The darkest black rose lying by a gravestone, I wonder how many tears you have witnessed spilt on holy soil.
The darkest black rose lying by a gravestone. Cold on the ground.the eerie quietness of the grave yard make this the most peaceful place on earth for the living and the spirits of the dead

“copyright 2009 Kerry Green all rights reserved”
http: //thepaganshop.co.uk/KerryGreen.aspx

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Survival

Shadows of night falling over my head
People walking
Passing me by
Shadows of dreams falling out of the blue
People talking
What can I do
Where do I go from here
Where do I go from here
I could give you any dream and watch it grow
I could take you for a ride but you would know
I could tell you every answer that I know
It wouldnt be much tho
It wouldnt be anything you didnt know
But
Survival
Nothing more than survival
Shadows of days hanging endless in time
Slowly fading
Passing us by
Shadows of worlds disappearing from view
People asking
What could we do?
Where do I go from here
Where do I go from here
If I gave you every dream they would grow
If I took you for a ride would you know
If I told you every answer that I know
It wouldnt be much tho
It wouldnt be anything you didnt know
But survival
In you love, I have all that
I need for
Survival
With your love I have all that
I need for
Survival
With our love we have all that
We need for
Survival

song performed by Moody BluesReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
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