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We are all of us the worse for too much liberty.

quote by Terence
Added by Lucian Velea
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Liberty

(if you wanna stay with me, at your liberty
If you wanna be with me, at your liberty)
-
(ahh, ohh, do-doo)
Ill tell you something,
To let you understand the way I feel, just what you mean to me
Thank you for fine times, we nearly made it all -
The way we know, it wasnt meant to be.
You say we feel the same, there aint no blame.. to decide
But if a little time, could change your mind, Ill be here..
And you can call me (if you wanna stay with me) at your liberty.
You can hold me (if you wanna be with me) at your liberty.
(do you, do you)
Do you remember, how lovers right for summers - even nights,
Would never seem to end,
And as december, comes stirring with that finger of desire
To feel it once again
You worry bout youre friends, what if they find whats going on?
But if you want to try to make it come alive, Ill be here..
And you can call me (you wanna stay with me) at your liberty.
You can hold me (you wanna be with me) at your liberty.
And you can call me (you wanna stay with me) at your liberty.
And you can touch me girl (you wanna run to me) at your liberty.
Help me out!
I live in doubt
Sort me out, yeaaaahhhhhhh....
-
Dont make it every night, dont wanna be the love of your life
So if you are inclined to spend a little time, Ill be here..
And you can call me (if you wanna stay with me) at your liberty.
You can hold me (if you wanna be with me) at your liberty.
And you can call me (if you wanna stay with me) at your liberty.
And you can touch me girl (if you wanna run to me) at your liberty.
Touch me girl, (if you wanna stay with me) at your liberty.
Help me out, (if you wanna be with me) at your liberty.
Sort me out, (if you wanna run to me), at your liberty.
Or you can set me free (if you wanna run to me), at your liberty.
(if you wanna stay with me, at your liberty).
(if you wanna be with me, at your liberty).
(if you wanna stay with me, at your liberty).
(if you wanna run to me, at your liberty).
At your liberty...

song performed by Duran Duran
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Task: Book V. -- The Winter Morning Walk

‘Tis morning; and the sun, with ruddy orb
Ascending, fires the horizon; while the clouds,
That crowd away before the driving wind,
More ardent as the disk emerges more,
Resemble most some city in a blaze,
Seen through the leafless wood. His slanting ray
Slides ineffectual down the snowy vale,
And, tinging all with his own rosy hue,
From every herb and every spiry blade
Stretches a length of shadow o’er the field.
Mine, spindling into longitude immense,
In spite of gravity, and sage remark
That I myself am but a fleeting shade,
Provokes me to a smile. With eye askance
I view the muscular proportion’d limb
Transform’d to a lean shank. The shapeless pair
As they design’d to mock me, at my side
Take step for step; and as I near approach
The cottage, walk along the plaster’d wall,
Preposterous sight! the legs without the man.
The verdure of the plain lies buried deep
Beneath the dazzling deluge; and the bents
And coarser grass, upspearing o’er the rest,
Of late unsightly and unseen, now shine
Conspicuous, and in bright apparel clad,
And fledged with icy feathers, nod superb.
The cattle mourn in corners, where the fence
Screens them, and seem half petrified to sleep
In unrecumbent sadness. There they wait
Their wonted fodder; not like hungering man,
Fretful if unsupplied; but silent, meek,
And patient of the slow-paced swain’s delay.
He from the stack carves out the accustom’d load,
Deep plunging, and again deep plunging oft,
His broad keen knife into the solid mass:
Smooth as a wall the upright remnant stands,
With such undeviating and even force
He severs it away: no needless care,
Lest storms should overset the leaning pile
Deciduous, or its own unbalanced weight.
Forth goes the woodman, leaving unconcern’d
The cheerful haunts of man; to wield the axe
And drive the wedge in yonder forest drear,
From morn to eve his solitary task.
Shaggy, and lean, and shrewd, with pointed ears
And tail cropp’d short, half lurcher and half cur,
His dog attends him. Close behind his heel
Now creeps he slow; and now, with many a frisk
Wide scampering, snatches up the driften snow
With ivory teeth, or ploughs it with his snout;

[...] Read more

poem by William Cowper
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Elegiac Feelings American

1
How inseparable you and the America you saw yet was never
there to see; you and America, like the tree and the
ground, are one the same; yet how like a palm tree
in the state of Oregon. . . dead ere it blossomed,
like a snow polar loping the
Miami—
How so that which you were or hoped to be, and the
America not, the America you saw yet could
not see
So like yet unlike the ground from which you stemmed;
you stood upon America like a rootless
Hat-bottomed tree; to the squirrel there was no
divorcement in its hop of ground to its climb of
tree. . . until it saw no acorn fall, then it knew
there was no marriage between the two; how
fruitless, how useless, the sad unnaturalness
of nature; no wonder the dawn ceased being
a joy. . . for what good the earth and sun when
the tree in between is good for nothing. . . the
inseparable trinity, once dissevered, becomes a
cold fruitless meaningless thrice-marked
deathlie in its awful amputation. . . O butcher
the pork-chop is not the pig—The American
alien in America is a bitter truncation; and even
this elegy, dear Jack, shall have a butchered
tree, a tree beaten to a pulp, upon which it'll be
contained—no wonder no good news can be
written on such bad news—
How alien the natural home, aye, aye, how dies the tree when
the ground is foreign, cold, unfree—The winds
know not to blow the seed of the Redwood where
none before stood; no palm is blown to Oregon,
how wise the wind—Wise
too the senders of the prophet. . . knowing the
fertility of the designated spot where suchmeant
prophecy be announced and answerable—the
sower of wheat does not sow in the fields of cane;
for the sender of the voice did also send the ear.
And were little Liechtenstein, and not America, the
designation. . . surely then we'd the tongues of
Liechtenstein—
Was not so much our finding America as it was America finding
its voice in us; many spoke to America as though
America by land-right was theirs by law-right
legislatively acquired by materialistic coups of
wealth and inheritance; like the citizen of society
believes himself the owner of society, and what he
makes of himself he makes of America and thus when
he speaks of America he speaks of himself, and quite

[...] Read more

poem by Gregory Corso
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Lucky Man

Happiness
Happiness
More or less
More or less
Its just a change in me
Its just a change in me
Something in my liberty
Something in my liberty
Oh, my, my
Oh, my, my
Happiness
Happiness
Coming and going
Coming and going
I watch you look at me
I watch you look at me
Watch my fever growing
Watch my fever growing
I know just where I am
I know just where I am
But how many corners do I have to turn?
How many times do I have to learn
But how many corners do I have to turn?
All the love I have is in my mind?
How many times do I have to learn
All the love I have is in my mind?
Well, Im a lucky man
With fire in my hands
Well, Im a lucky man
Happiness
With fire in my hands
Something in my own place
Im standing naked
Smiling, I feel no disgrace
Happiness
With who I am
Something in my own place
Im standing naked
Happiness
Smiling, I feel no disgrace
Coming and going
With who I am
I watch you look at me
Watch my fever growing
I know just who I am
Happiness
Coming and going
But how many corners do I have to turn?
I watch you look at me
How many times do I have to learn

[...] Read more

song performed by Verve
Added by Lucian Velea
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Lucky Man

Happiness
Happiness
More or less
More or less
Its just a change in me
Its just a change in me
Something in my liberty
Something in my liberty
Oh, my, my
Oh, my, my
Happiness
Happiness
Coming and going
Coming and going
I watch you look at me
I watch you look at me
Watch my fever growing
Watch my fever growing
I know just where I am
I know just where I am
But how many corners do I have to turn?
How many times do I have to learn
But how many corners do I have to turn?
All the love I have is in my mind?
How many times do I have to learn
All the love I have is in my mind?
Well, Im a lucky man
With fire in my hands
Well, Im a lucky man
Happiness
With fire in my hands
Something in my own place
Im standing naked
Smiling, I feel no disgrace
Happiness
With who I am
Something in my own place
Im standing naked
Happiness
Smiling, I feel no disgrace
Coming and going
With who I am
I watch you look at me
Watch my fever growing
I know just who I am
Happiness
Coming and going
But how many corners do I have to turn?
I watch you look at me
How many times do I have to learn

[...] Read more

song performed by Verve
Added by Lucian Velea
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Table Talk

A. You told me, I remember, glory, built
On selfish principles, is shame and guilt;
The deeds that men admire as half divine,
Stark naught, because corrupt in their design.
Strange doctrine this! that without scruple tears
The laurel that the very lightning spares;
Brings down the warrior’s trophy to the dust,
And eats into his bloody sword like rust.
B. I grant that, men continuing what they are,
Fierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war,
And never meant the rule should be applied
To him that fights with justice on his side.
Let laurels drench’d in pure Parnassian dews
Reward his memory, dear to every muse,
Who, with a courage of unshaken root,
In honour’s field advancing his firm foot,
Plants it upon the line that Justice draws,
And will prevail or perish in her cause.
‘Tis to the virtues of such men man owes
His portion in the good that Heaven bestows.
And, when recording History displays
Feats of renown, though wrought in ancient days,
Tells of a few stout hearts, that fought and died,
Where duty placed them, at their country’s side;
The man that is not moved with what he reads,
That takes not fire at their heroic deeds,
Unworthy of the blessings of the brave,
Is base in kind, and born to be a slave.
But let eternal infamy pursue
The wretch to nought but his ambition true,
Who, for the sake of filling with one blast
The post-horns of all Europe, lays her waste.
Think yourself station’d on a towering rock,
To see a people scatter’d like a flock,
Some royal mastiff panting at their heels,
With all the savage thirst a tiger feels;
Then view him self-proclaim’d in a gazette
Chief monster that has plagued the nations yet.
The globe and sceptre in such hands misplaced,
Those ensigns of dominion how disgraced!
The glass, that bids man mark the fleeting hour,
And Death’s own scythe, would better speak his power;
Then grace the bony phantom in their stead
With the king’s shoulder-knot and gay cockade;
Clothe the twin brethren in each other’s dress,
The same their occupation and success.
A. ‘Tis your belief the world was made for man;
Kings do but reason on the self-same plan:
Maintaining yours, you cannot theirs condemn,
Who think, or seem to think, man made for them.

[...] Read more

poem by William Cowper
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Hudibras: Part 3 - Canto I

THE ARGUMENT

The Knight and Squire resolve, at once,
The one the other to renounce.
They both approach the Lady's Bower;
The Squire t'inform, the Knight to woo her.
She treats them with a Masquerade,
By Furies and Hobgoblins made;
From which the Squire conveys the Knight,
And steals him from himself, by Night.

'Tis true, no lover has that pow'r
T' enforce a desperate amour,
As he that has two strings t' his bow,
And burns for love and money too;
For then he's brave and resolute,
Disdains to render in his suit,
Has all his flames and raptures double,
And hangs or drowns with half the trouble,
While those who sillily pursue,
The simple, downright way, and true,
Make as unlucky applications,
And steer against the stream their passions.
Some forge their mistresses of stars,
And when the ladies prove averse,
And more untoward to be won
Than by CALIGULA the Moon,
Cry out upon the stars, for doing
Ill offices to cross their wooing;
When only by themselves they're hindred,
For trusting those they made her kindred;
And still, the harsher and hide-bounder
The damsels prove, become the fonder.
For what mad lover ever dy'd
To gain a soft and gentle bride?
Or for a lady tender-hearted,
In purling streams or hemp departed?
Leap'd headlong int' Elysium,
Through th' windows of a dazzling room?
But for some cross, ill-natur'd dame,
The am'rous fly burnt in his flame.
This to the Knight could be no news,
With all mankind so much in use;
Who therefore took the wiser course,
To make the most of his amours,
Resolv'd to try all sorts of ways,
As follows in due time and place

No sooner was the bloody fight,
Between the Wizard, and the Knight,

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poem by Samuel Butler
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Paradise Lost: Book 02

High on a throne of royal state, which far
Outshone the wealth or Ormus and of Ind,
Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand
Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold,
Satan exalted sat, by merit raised
To that bad eminence; and, from despair
Thus high uplifted beyond hope, aspires
Beyond thus high, insatiate to pursue
Vain war with Heaven; and, by success untaught,
His proud imaginations thus displayed:--
"Powers and Dominions, Deities of Heaven!--
For, since no deep within her gulf can hold
Immortal vigour, though oppressed and fallen,
I give not Heaven for lost: from this descent
Celestial Virtues rising will appear
More glorious and more dread than from no fall,
And trust themselves to fear no second fate!--
Me though just right, and the fixed laws of Heaven,
Did first create your leader--next, free choice
With what besides in council or in fight
Hath been achieved of merit--yet this loss,
Thus far at least recovered, hath much more
Established in a safe, unenvied throne,
Yielded with full consent. The happier state
In Heaven, which follows dignity, might draw
Envy from each inferior; but who here
Will envy whom the highest place exposes
Foremost to stand against the Thunderer's aim
Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest share
Of endless pain? Where there is, then, no good
For which to strive, no strife can grow up there
From faction: for none sure will claim in Hell
Precedence; none whose portion is so small
Of present pain that with ambitious mind
Will covet more! With this advantage, then,
To union, and firm faith, and firm accord,
More than can be in Heaven, we now return
To claim our just inheritance of old,
Surer to prosper than prosperity
Could have assured us; and by what best way,
Whether of open war or covert guile,
We now debate. Who can advise may speak."
He ceased; and next him Moloch, sceptred king,
Stood up--the strongest and the fiercest Spirit
That fought in Heaven, now fiercer by despair.
His trust was with th' Eternal to be deemed
Equal in strength, and rather than be less
Cared not to be at all; with that care lost
Went all his fear: of God, or Hell, or worse,
He recked not, and these words thereafter spake:--

[...] Read more

poem by John Milton
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The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance

When liberty valance came to town
The women folk would hide
Theyd hide
When liberty valance walked around
The men would step aside
Because the point of a gun
Was the only law that liberty understood
When it came to shooting
Straight and fast
He was mighty good
From out of the east a stranger came
A law book in his hand
A man the kind of man
The west would need to ease a troubled land
Because the point of a gun
Was the only law that liberty understood
When it came to shooting
Straight and fast
He was mighty good
Many a man would face his gun
And many a man would fall
The man who shot liberty valance
He shot liberty valance
He was the bravest of them all
Now the love of a woman can make a man
Stay on when he should go
Stay on
Just trying to build a peaceful life
Where love is free to go
But the point of a gun
Was the only law that liberty understood
When it came to shooting
Straight and fast
He was mighty good
Alone and afraid she prayed that hed
Return that fateful night
That night
When nothing she said could keep her man
From going out to fight
But the point of a gun
Was the only law that liberty understood
When the final showdown came to pass
A law book was no good
Out in the sun two shots rang out
The shots made liberty fall
The man who shot liberty valance
He shot liberty valance
He was the bravest of them all

song performed by James Taylor
Added by Lucian Velea
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Hudibras: Part 3 - Canto II

THE ARGUMENT

The Saints engage in fierce Contests
About their Carnal interests;
To share their sacrilegious Preys,
According to their Rates of Grace;
Their various Frenzies to reform,
When Cromwel left them in a Storm
Till, in th' Effigy of Rumps, the Rabble
Burns all their Grandees of the Cabal.

THE learned write, an insect breeze
Is but a mungrel prince of bees,
That falls before a storm on cows,
And stings the founders of his house;
From whose corrupted flesh that breed
Of vermin did at first proceed.
So e're the storm of war broke out,
Religion spawn'd a various rout
Of petulant Capricious sects,
The maggots of corrupted texts,
That first run all religion down,
And after ev'ry swarm its own.
For as the Persian Magi once
Upon their mothers got their sons,
That were incapable t' enjoy
That empire any other way;
So PRESBYTER begot the other
Upon the good old Cause, his mother,
Then bore then like the Devil's dam,
Whose son and husband are the same.
And yet no nat'ral tie of blood
Nor int'rest for the common good
Cou'd, when their profits interfer'd,
Get quarter for each other's beard.
For when they thriv'd, they never fadg'd,
But only by the ears engag'd:
Like dogs that snarl about a bone,
And play together when they've none,
As by their truest characters,
Their constant actions, plainly appears.
Rebellion now began, for lack
Of zeal and plunders to grow slack;
The Cause and covenant to lessen,
And Providence to b' out of season:
For now there was no more to purchase
O' th' King's Revenue, and the Churches,
But all divided, shar'd, and gone,
That us'd to urge the Brethren on;
Which forc'd the stubborn'st for the Cause,

[...] Read more

poem by Samuel Butler
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II. Half-Rome

What, you, Sir, come too? (Just the man I'd meet.)
Be ruled by me and have a care o' the crowd:
This way, while fresh folk go and get their gaze:
I'll tell you like a book and save your shins.
Fie, what a roaring day we've had! Whose fault?
Lorenzo in Lucina,—here's a church
To hold a crowd at need, accommodate
All comers from the Corso! If this crush
Make not its priests ashamed of what they show
For temple-room, don't prick them to draw purse
And down with bricks and mortar, eke us out
The beggarly transept with its bit of apse
Into a decent space for Christian ease,
Why, to-day's lucky pearl is cast to swine.
Listen and estimate the luck they've had!
(The right man, and I hold him.)

Sir, do you see,
They laid both bodies in the church, this morn
The first thing, on the chancel two steps up,
Behind the little marble balustrade;
Disposed them, Pietro the old murdered fool
To the right of the altar, and his wretched wife
On the other side. In trying to count stabs,
People supposed Violante showed the most,
Till somebody explained us that mistake;
His wounds had been dealt out indifferent where,
But she took all her stabbings in the face,
Since punished thus solely for honour's sake,
Honoris causâ, that's the proper term.
A delicacy there is, our gallants hold,
When you avenge your honour and only then,
That you disfigure the subject, fray the face,
Not just take life and end, in clownish guise.
It was Violante gave the first offence,
Got therefore the conspicuous punishment:
While Pietro, who helped merely, his mere death
Answered the purpose, so his face went free.
We fancied even, free as you please, that face
Showed itself still intolerably wronged;
Was wrinkled over with resentment yet,
Nor calm at all, as murdered faces use,
Once the worst ended: an indignant air
O' the head there was—'t is said the body turned
Round and away, rolled from Violante's side
Where they had laid it loving-husband-like.
If so, if corpses can be sensitive,
Why did not he roll right down altar-step,
Roll on through nave, roll fairly out of church,
Deprive Lorenzo of the spectacle,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Diverse Is Life Here, Is Only to Die worse?

Diverse this world looks,
Look at the green forests,
Look at the animals,
Diverse is living, world,
Only comes into life,
to Die worse!

Are men too, their diverse races,
Diverse thoughts,
Diverse nationality,
Diverse mentality,
Are this only to Die worse?

Some are selfish and ignorants,
Some are fantastic and fanatics,
Some are psychiatrists and some are their patients,
Some are physicians,
Some are with diseases,
Diverse is this world,
Only here all have to Die worse!

Some are good husbands
Some are good housewives,
Some quarrel and make worse,
And divorce,
Only to Die worse some day!
Some are sages,
Some work for wages,
Some dance and sing well on stages,
Some are teachers, some are pupils,
Diverse is this world,
All have to Die worse!

This earth is green and blue planet,
Not has any celestial danger yet,
Still men born here were half scientists,
The worked for some,
Yet nature reacted to all,
Diverse is science, only made,
Life better temporary
But truth is one has to live and die worse here,

Some are sages and buddhas,
Some are Lao Tzu and Taoist,
Some are communists, Marxist or Maoists,
Some or artists or some Are critics
Some are atheists,
Some are monoethists
Or polyethists,
Diverse is nature of men,

[...] Read more

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Liberty In Christ

In God Believers have liberty, going beyond what the eye can see,
We get this liberty in Jesus Christ, liberty gained through New Life.
Freedom from sin and The Law, bestowed upon the believing soul,
This freedom we have in God’s Son, is available today to everyone.

The liberty that we have from sin, gives Believers His peace within,
As sin’s desire died on the cross, God now purges remaining dross,
And God replaces old sinfulness, with Jesus Christ’s righteousness.
Even though we’re tempted by sin, in Christ we have victory in Him.

As Believers we use our liberty, to point the entire world to Calvary,
Where New Life for all the lost, begins for all at The Savior’s Cross.
As God judged sin and shame, on the cross bearing Christ’s name,
Where we left the bondage of sin, and freedom we received in Him.

This liberty we receive in this life, is used for honoring Jesus Christ,
Not for pursuing our own desires, but His will which is much higher.
We’ve been freed from religion friend, to point souls to a better end,
With God’s Truth that sets men free, with God’s Promise of Eternity.

My friend, The God of all Eternity, desires to give all men this liberty,
A liberty found only in His Son, who upon the cross said “It is done”,
Finished is the work of God’s salvation, by His Son, for every nation.
So all men can receive this liberty, with God’s assurance of Eternity.

(Copyright ©11/2006)

poem by Bob Gotti
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The Flower of Liberty

WHAT flower is this that greets the morn,
Its hues from Heaven so freshly born?
With burning star and flaming band
It kindles all the sunset land:
Oh tell us what its name may be,--
Is this the Flower of Liberty?

It is the banner of the free,
The starry Flower of Liberty!

In savage Nature's far abode
Its tender seed our fathers sowed;
The storm-winds rocked its swelling bud,
Its opening leaves were streaked with blood,
Till lo! earth's tyrants shook to see
The full-blown Flower of Liberty!

Then hail the banner of the free,
The starry Flower of Liberty!

Behold its streaming rays unite,
One mingling flood of braided light,--
The red that fires the Southern rose,
With spotless white from Northern snows,
And, spangled o'er its azure, see
The sister Stars of Liberty!

Then hail the banner of the free,
The starry Flower of Liberty!

The blades of heroes fence it round,
Where'er it springs is holy ground;
From tower and dome its glories spread;
It waves where lonely sentries tread;
It makes the land as ocean free,
And plants an empire on the sea!

Then hail the banner of the free,
The starry Flower of Liberty!

Thy sacred leaves, fair Freedom's flower,
Shall ever float on dome and tower,
To all their heavenly colors true,
In blackening frost or crimson dew,--
And God love us as we love thee,
Thrice holy Flower of Liberty!

Then hail the banner of the free,
The starry FLOWER OF LIBERTY!

poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
Added by Poetry Lover
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Passing Friend

Well theres nothing worse than a passing friend
Who will die on you till the bitter end
Theres nothing worse than a burning heart
Or a past that tears the world apart
Ive been thinking about my situation
Nothing ventured nothing left to lose
When its easier to just say nothing
I had thought about what I might lose
But through the childs eyes
There were feelings
Touching my violet skin
When the love games start appealing
You better get out and move on in
cause theres nothing worse than a passing friend
Or a pioneer of a dying trend
Nothing worse than a silent ghost
Or to lose your head at the starting post
Aint it always just a short vacation
When its love it always has an end
Under the sheets of life its just frustation
While the body goes in search again
But in the childs eyes
There were feelings
Touching my violet skin
When the love games start appealing
You better get out and move on in
cause theres nothing worse than a passing friend
Who will die on you till the bitter end
Theres nothing worse than a burning heart
Or a past that tears the world apart
Why do you love someone
Who wants to break your heart
Why do you need someone
Who wants to tear your world apart
No no not again
I was packing up my life in cases
For a hundred years or maybe more
Ive been talking to a million people
Dont you think I should have known the score
But in the childs eyes
There were feelings
Touching my violet skin
When the love games start appealing
You better get out and move on in
cause theres nothing worse than a passing friend
Who will die on you till the bitter end
Theres nothing worse than a burning heart
Or a past that tears the world apart
Nothing worse than a passing friend
Or a pioneer of a dying trend

[...] Read more

song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Drugs Dont Work

All this talk of getting old
All this talk of getting old
Its getting me down my love
Its getting me down my love
Like a cat in a bag, waiting to drown
Like a cat in a bag, waiting to drown
This time Im comin down
This time Im comin down
And I hope youre thinking of me
As you lay down on your side
And I hope youre thinking of me
Now the drugs dont work
As you lay down on your side
They just make you worse
Now the drugs dont work
But I know Ill see your face again
They just make you worse
But I know Ill see your face again
Now the drugs dont work
They just make you worse
But I know Ill see your face again
Now the drugs dont work
They just make you worse
But I know Im on a losing streak
But I know Ill see your face again
cause I passed down my old street
And if you wanna show, then just let me know
And Ill sing in your ear again
But I know Im on a losing streak
cause I passed down my old street
Now the drugs dont work
And if you wanna show, then just let me know
They just make you worse
And Ill sing in your ear again
But I know Ill see your face again
cause baby, ooh, if heaven calls, Im coming, too
Now the drugs dont work
Just like you said, you leave my life, Im better off dead
They just make you worse
But I know Ill see your face again
All this talk of getting old
Its getting me down my love
Like a cat in a bag, waiting to drown
cause baby, ooh, if heaven calls, Im coming, too
This time Im comin down
Just like you said, you leave my life, Im better off dead
Now the drugs dont work
They just make you worse
All this talk of getting old
But I know Ill see your face again

[...] Read more

song performed by Verve
Added by Lucian Velea
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Liberty

Theres a gentleness within
Theres a kindness that shell bring
Through her eyes of sadness lies
All her love for him
Imprisoned every day
A handsome price to pay
Even when shes done her time
Shell insist that lifes just fine
Someday soon shell make her move
Seize her chance to shine
Its all that she can do
To free herself from you
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Where has all her life blood gone
Will you ever see
Even if she understood
Is it written that she should
Come and see him when shes gone
Hes surprised but knows hes wrong
A simple case of do or die
And now shes cut and run
Your vision let you down
You almost let her drown
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Where has all her life blood gone
Will you ever see
Even if she understood
Is it written that she should
Where has all her life blood gone
Wil you ever see
Even if she understood
Is it written that she should
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Where has all her life blood gone
Will you ever see
Even if she understood
Is it written that she should
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Where has all her life blood gone
Will you ever see
Even if she understood
Is it written that she should

song performed by Olive
Added by Lucian Velea
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Wat Tyler - Act I

ACT I.

SCENE, A BLACKSMITH'S-SHOP

Wat Tyler at work within. A May-pole
before the Door.

ALICE, PIERS, &c.

SONG.

CHEERFUL on this holiday,
Welcome we the merry May.

On ev'ry sunny hillock spread,
The pale primrose rears her head;
Rich with sweets the western gale
Sweeps along the cowslip'd dale.
Every bank with violets gay,
Smiles to welcome in the May.

The linnet from the budding grove,
Chirps her vernal song of love.
The copse resounds the throstle's notes,
On each wild gale sweet music floats;
And melody from every spray,
Welcomes in the merry May.

Cheerful on this holiday,
Welcome we the merry May.

[Dance.

During the Dance, Tyler lays down his
Hammer, and sits mournfully down before
his Door.

[To him.

HOB CARTER.

Why so sad, neighbour?—do not these gay sports,
This revelry of youth, recall the days
When we too mingled in the revelry;
And lightly tripping in the morris dance
Welcomed the merry month?

TYLER.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Southey
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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