What is uttered is finished and done with.
quote by Thomas Mann
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Teachers Are Afraid Of The Pupils
Theres too many people
Planning your downfall
When your spirits on trial
These nights can be frightening
Sleep transports sadness
To some other mid-brain
And somebody here
Will not be here next year
So you stand by the board
Full of fear and intention
And, if you think that theyre listening
Well, youve got to be joking
Oh, you understand change
And you think its essential
But when your profession
Is humiliation
Say the wrong word to our children ...
Well have you, oh yes, well have you
Lay a hand on our children
And its never too late to have you
Mucus on your collar
A nail up through the staff chair
A blade in your soap
And you cry into your pillow
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
Say the wrong word to our children ...
Well have you, oh yes, well have you
Lay a hand on our children
And its never too late to have you
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
Im very glad the spring has come
The sun shines out so bright
All the birds that are on the trees
Are singing for delight
song performed by Morrissey
Added by Lucian Velea
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Finished I'm Not
I may now and then,
Step away for a minute.
To replenish my energy.
And to keep it from being diminished.
To consider myself finished,
Would be foolish to admit.
When so much I have not tapped,
To think to declare I have nothing there,
To give right back!
There's more!
And finished I'm not.
I am far from depleted...
Or diminished to stop.
I may now and then,
Step away for a minute,
To replenish my energy.
But to say its been diminished?
Diminished it's not!
There's more!
And finished I'm not.
I will not be depleted or diminished to stop!
I know,
There is more I've got!
I will not be depleted or diminished to stop!
To consider myself finished,
Would be foolish to admit.
When so much I have not tapped,
To think to declare I have nothing there,
To give right back!
There's more!
And finished I'm not.
I will not be depleted or diminished to stop!
I know,
There is more I've got!
I will not be depleted or diminished to stop!
There's more!
And finished I'm not.
I know,
There is more I've got!
There's more!
And finished I'm not.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Man Or Machine
Auto, bus, walking and sweating dermis,
somehow on time I reach my office.
work needs to be finished on time so I sit infront of computer.
breakfast time, toast, butter and tea glass,
hurriedly I eat, unaware it may appear boorish and crass.
work needs to be finished on time so I sit infront of computer.
lunch time, dosa containing rice, dal and yeast,
the way I eat can put to shame any wild beast.
work needs to be finished on time so I sit infront of computer.
till evening, I am tired, drowsy and dozy
but I skip the plan to go outside to have some tea.
work needs to be finished on time so I sit infront of computer.
My head aches, my eye burns
but I continue work amidst yawns.
work needs to be finished on time so I sit infront of computer.
Just before logout, I work with great pace,
with time I contest, compete and race.
work needs to be finished on time so a computer sits infront of computer.
Copyright reserved by the author
poem by Md. Asadullah
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Are My Poems Finished/ And I Finished With Them?
ARE MY POEMS FINISHED/ AND I FINISHED WITH THEM?
Are my poems finished
And I finished with them?
Each day has a beauty of its own
Light, wind, trees, colors, flowers.
All I see
The cracks in the grey pavement before me.
The cool cool wind at my back
The prayer ahead.
Even this poem is not properly finished
And I a fool racing and rushing
Through another
Again and again and again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Courtship of Miles Standish, The
I
MILES STANDISH
In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.
Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Courtship of Miles Standish
I
MILES STANDISH
In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.
Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Course of Time. Book I.
Eternal Spirit! God of truth! to whom
All things seem as they are; thou who of old
The prophet's eye unscaled, that nightly saw,
While heavy sleep fell down on other men,
In holy vision tranced, the future pass
Before him, and to Judah's harp attuned
Burdens that made the pagan mountains shake,
And Zion's cedars bow—inspire my song;
My eye unscale; me what is substance teach,
And shadow what, while I of things to come,
As past rehearsing, sing the Course of Time,
The second Birth, and final Doom of man.
The muse, that soft and sickly wooes the ear
Of love, or chanting loud in windy rhyme
Of fabled hero, raves through gaudy tale
Not overfraught with sense, I ask not; such
A strain befits not argument so high.
Me thought, and phrase, severely sifting out
The whole idea, grant—uttering as 'tis
The essential truth—Time gone, the Righteous saved,
The Wicked damned, and Providence approved.
Hold my right hand, Almighty! and me teach
To strike the lyre, but seldom struck, to notes
Harmonious with the morning stars, and pure
As those of sainted bards, and angels sung,
Which wake the echoes of eternity—
That fools may hear and tremble, and the wise
Instructed listen, of ages yet to come.
Long was the day, so long expected, past
Of the eternal doom, that gave to each
Of all the human race his due reward.
The sun—earth's sun, and moon, and stars, had ceased
To number seasons, days, and months, and years
To mortal man: hope was forgotten, and fear;
And Time, with all its chance and change, and smiles,
And frequent tears, and deeds of villany,
Or righteousness—once talked of much, as things
Of great renown, was now but ill remembered;
In dim and shadowy vision of the past,
Seen far remote, as country, which has left
The traveller's speedy step, retiring back
From morn till even: and long, eternity
Had rolled his mighty years, and with his years
Men had grown old: the saints, all home returned
From pilgrimage, and war, and weeping, long
Had rested in the bowers of peace, that skirt
The stream of life; and long, alas, how long!
To them it seemed, the wicked who refused
To be redeemed, had wandered in the dark
Of hell's despair, and drunk the burning cup
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Pollok
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Lancelot And Elaine
Elaine the fair, Elaine the loveable,
Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat,
High in her chamber up a tower to the east
Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot;
Which first she placed where the morning's earliest ray
Might strike it, and awake her with the gleam;
Then fearing rust or soilure fashioned for it
A case of silk, and braided thereupon
All the devices blazoned on the shield
In their own tinct, and added, of her wit,
A border fantasy of branch and flower,
And yellow-throated nestling in the nest.
Nor rested thus content, but day by day,
Leaving her household and good father, climbed
That eastern tower, and entering barred her door,
Stript off the case, and read the naked shield,
Now guessed a hidden meaning in his arms,
Now made a pretty history to herself
Of every dint a sword had beaten in it,
And every scratch a lance had made upon it,
Conjecturing when and where: this cut is fresh;
That ten years back; this dealt him at Caerlyle;
That at Caerleon; this at Camelot:
And ah God's mercy, what a stroke was there!
And here a thrust that might have killed, but God
Broke the strong lance, and rolled his enemy down,
And saved him: so she lived in fantasy.
How came the lily maid by that good shield
Of Lancelot, she that knew not even his name?
He left it with her, when he rode to tilt
For the great diamond in the diamond jousts,
Which Arthur had ordained, and by that name
Had named them, since a diamond was the prize.
For Arthur, long before they crowned him King,
Roving the trackless realms of Lyonnesse,
Had found a glen, gray boulder and black tarn.
A horror lived about the tarn, and clave
Like its own mists to all the mountain side:
For here two brothers, one a king, had met
And fought together; but their names were lost;
And each had slain his brother at a blow;
And down they fell and made the glen abhorred:
And there they lay till all their bones were bleached,
And lichened into colour with the crags:
And he, that once was king, had on a crown
Of diamonds, one in front, and four aside.
And Arthur came, and labouring up the pass,
All in a misty moonshine, unawares
[...] Read more
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Outside The Village Church
``The old Church doors stand open wide,
Though neither bells nor anthems peal.
Gazing so fondly from outside,
Why do you enter not and kneel?
``It is the sunset hour when all
Begin to feel the need to pray,
Upon our common Father call
To guard the night, condone the day.
``Is it proud scorn, or humble doubt,
That keeps you standing, lingering, there;
Half in the Church, and half without,
Midway betwixt the world and prayer?
``No meeter moment could there be
For man to talk alone with God.
The careless sexton has, you see,
Shouldered his spade, and homeward trod.
``The Vicar's daily round is done;
His back just sank below the brow.
He passed the porches, one by one,
That line the hamlet street, and now
``He, in his garden, cons the page,
And muses on to-morrow's text.
The homebound rustic counts his wage,
The same last week, the same the next.
``Nor priest nor hind are you, but each
Alike is welcome here within;
Both they who learn, and they who teach,
Have secret sorrow, secret sin.
``Enter, and bare your inmost sore;
Enter, and weep your stain away;
Leave doubt and darkness at the door;
Come in and kneel, come in and pray.''
Such were the words I seemed to hear,
By no one uttered, but alack!
The voice of many a bygone year,
Striking the church, and echoing back.
I entered not, but on a stone
Sate, that recorded some one's loss;
But name and date no more were shown,
The deep-cut lines were smooth with moss.
[...] Read more
poem by Alfred Austin
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The Careless Word
A WORD is ringing thro' my brain,
It was not meant to give me pain;
It had no tone to bid it stay,
When other things had past away;
It had no meaning more than all
Which in an idle hour fall:
It was when first the sound I heard
A lightly uttered, careless word.
That word--oh! it doth haunt me now,
In scenes of joy, in scenes of woe;
By night, by day, in sun or shade,
With the half smile that gently played
Reproachfully, and gave the sound
Eternal power thro' life to wound.
There is no voice I ever heard,
So deeply fix'd as that one word.
When in the laughing crowd some tone,
Like those whose joyous sound is gone,
Strikes on my ear, I shrink--for then
The careless word comes back again.
When all alone I sit and gaze
Upon the cheerful home-fire blaze,
Lo! freshly as when first 'twas heard,
Returns that lightly uttered word.
When dreams bring back the days of old;
With all that wishes could not hold;
And from my feverish couch I start
To press a shadow to my heart--
Amid its beating echoes, clear
That little word I seem to hear:
In vain I say, while it is heard,
Why weep?--'twas but a foolish word.
It comes--and with it come the tears,
The hopes, the joys of former years;
Forgotten smiles, forgotten looks,
Thick as dead leaves on autumn brooks,
And all as joyless, though they were
The brightest things life's spring could share.
Oh! would to God I ne'er had heard
That lightly uttered, careless word!
It was the first, the only one
Of those which lips for ever gone
Breathed in their love--which had for me
Rebuke of harshness at my glee:
And if those lips were here to say,
[...] Read more
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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83
you must know i only uttered i love you once
speaking of love, yes, love, what can i say about love,
i cannot speak it without using the word
you,
it is always you, because without you, love cannot even exist
as a word,
or even a thought or even a waft of air to cool my senses,
without you,
love cannot even exist as a blood cell in my heart
or a vein or a chamber
where love usually sleeps,
it is you,
always it is you that i will always equate with love,
you must know
i only uttered i love you
once, and it was true, and it is still true,
the rest
are the words of the drunk man, the broken heart trying
to relive what was once truly uttered,
reenacting,
imitating but always falling short of the truth
years ago
again the words kneeled before God in an old church
with you
our hands may have clasped in prayer
if you remember
our hands finally found each other
touching and holding tight as i said
i love you
as you said
i love you too
that was many years ago,
truth does not know how to die,
true love lives in that
i love you,
forever, always,
you,
i love you,
wherever you are now,
you
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Famine, The
Oh the long and dreary Winter!
Oh the cold and cruel Winter!
Ever thicker, thicker, thicker
Froze the ice on lake and river,
Ever deeper, deeper, deeper
Fell the snow o'er all the landscape,
Fell the covering snow, and drifted
Through the forest, round the village.
Hardly from his buried wigwam
Could the hunter force a passage;
With his mittens and his snow-shoes
Vainly walked he through the forest,
Sought for bird or beast and found none,
Saw no track of deer or rabbit,
In the snow beheld no footprints,
In the ghastly, gleaming forest
Fell, and could not rise from weakness,
Perished there from cold and hunger.
Oh the famine and the fever!
Oh the wasting of the famine!
Oh the blasting of the fever!
Oh the wailing of the children!
Oh the anguish of the women!
All the earth was sick and famished;
Hungry was the air around them,
Hungry was the sky above them,
And the hungry stars in heaven
Like the eyes of wolves glared at them!
Into Hiawatha's wigwam
Came two other guests, as silent
As the ghosts were, and as gloomy,
Waited not to be invited
Did not parley at the doorway
Sat there without word of welcome
In the seat of Laughing Water;
Looked with haggard eyes and hollow
At the face of Laughing Water.
And the foremost said: "Behold me!
I am Famine, Bukadawin!"
And the other said: "Behold me!
I am Fever, Ahkosewin!"
And the lovely Minnehaha
Shuddered as they looked upon her,
Shuddered at the words they uttered,
Lay down on her bed in silence,
Hid her face, but made no answer;
Lay there trembling, freezing, burning
At the looks they cast upon her,
At the fearful words they uttered.
Forth into the empty forest
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Famine
Oh the long and dreary Winter!
Oh the cold and cruel Winter!
Ever thicker, thicker, thicker
Froze the ice on lake and river,
Ever deeper, deeper, deeper
Fell the snow o'er all the landscape,
Fell the covering snow, and drifted
Through the forest, round the village.
Hardly from his buried wigwam
Could the hunter force a passage;
With his mittens and his snow-shoes
Vainly walked he through the forest,
Sought for bird or beast and found none,
Saw no track of deer or rabbit,
In the snow beheld no footprints,
In the ghastly, gleaming forest
Fell, and could not rise from weakness,
Perished there from cold and hunger.
Oh the famine and the fever!
Oh the wasting of the famine!
Oh the blasting of the fever!
Oh the wailing of the children!
Oh the anguish of the women!
All the earth was sick and famished;
Hungry was the air around them,
Hungry was the sky above them,
And the hungry stars in heaven
Like the eyes of wolves glared at them!
Into Hiawatha's wigwam
Came two other guests, as silent
As the ghosts were, and as gloomy,
Waited not to be invited
Did not parley at the doorway
Sat there without word of welcome
In the seat of Laughing Water;
Looked with haggard eyes and hollow
At the face of Laughing Water.
And the foremost said: "Behold me!
I am Famine, Bukadawin!"
And the other said: "Behold me!
I am Fever, Ahkosewin!"
And the lovely Minnehaha
Shuddered as they looked upon her,
Shuddered at the words they uttered,
Lay down on her bed in silence,
Hid her face, but made no answer;
Lay there trembling, freezing, burning
At the looks they cast upon her,
At the fearful words they uttered.
Forth into the empty forest
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Song Of Hiawatha XX: The Famine
Oh the long and dreary Winter!
Oh the cold and cruel Winter!
Ever thicker, thicker, thicker
Froze the ice on lake and river,
Ever deeper, deeper, deeper
Fell the snow o'er all the landscape,
Fell the covering snow, and drifted
Through the forest, round the village.
Hardly from his buried wigwam
Could the hunter force a passage;
With his mittens and his snow-shoes
Vainly walked he through the forest,
Sought for bird or beast and found none,
Saw no track of deer or rabbit,
In the snow beheld no footprints,
In the ghastly, gleaming forest
Fell, and could not rise from weakness,
Perished there from cold and hunger.
Oh the famine and the fever!
Oh the wasting of the famine!
Oh the blasting of the fever!
Oh the wailing of the children!
Oh the anguish of the women!
All the earth was sick and famished;
Hungry was the air around them,
Hungry was the sky above them,
And the hungry stars in heaven
Like the eyes of wolves glared at them!
Into Hiawatha's wigwam
Came two other guests, as silent
As the ghosts were, and as gloomy,
Waited not to be invited
Did not parley at the doorway
Sat there without word of welcome
In the seat of Laughing Water;
Looked with haggard eyes and hollow
At the face of Laughing Water.
And the foremost said: 'Behold me!
I am Famine, Bukadawin!'
And the other said: 'Behold me!
I am Fever, Ahkosewin!'
And the lovely Minnehaha
Shuddered as they looked upon her,
Shuddered at the words they uttered,
Lay down on her bed in silence,
Hid her face, but made no answer;
Lay there trembling, freezing, burning
At the looks they cast upon her,
At the fearful words they uttered.
Forth into the empty forest
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Amen
It is over. What is over?
Nay, now much is over truly!—
Harvest days we toiled to sow for;
Now the sheaves are gathered newly,
Now the wheat is garnered duly.
It is finished. What is finished?
Much is finished known or unknown:
Lives are finished; time diminished;
Was the fallow field left unsown?
Will these buds be always unblown?
It suffices. What suffices?
All suffices reckoned rightly:
Spring shall bloom where now the ice is,
Roses make the bramble sightly,
And the quickening sun shine brightly,
And the latter wind blow lightly,
And my garden teem with spices.
Maiden-Song
Long ago and long ago,
And long ago still,
There dwelt three merry maidens
Upon a distant hill.
One was tall Meggan,
And one was dainty May,
But one was fair Margaret,
More fair than I can say,
Long ago and long ago.
When Meggan plucked the thorny rose,
And when May pulled the brier,
Half the birds would swoop to see,
Half the beasts draw nigher;
Half the fishes of the streams
Would dart up to admire:
But when Margaret plucked a flag-flower,
Or poppy hot aflame,
All the beasts and all the birds
And all the fishes came
To her hand more soft than snow.
Strawberry leaves and May-dew
In brisk morning air,
Strawberry leaves and May-dew
Make maidens fair.
'I go for strawberry leaves,'
Meggan said one day:
'Fair Margaret can bide at home,
[...] Read more
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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The Way You Do Me
Girl the way you do me...
Yeah
Ohhh...
Girl the way you do me
Girl my heads on fire
Since our very first kiss
Dreamed of us together
Never dreamed of this
Took me up to your room
To show me who you are
My cup is running over
(maybe its your... bra? )
Girl the way you do me
Makes me say waz up (waz up)
When youre finished
Im on the floor...
Feelin down, feelin up
Girl the way you do me
Drivin me insane
Ive never felt this way before...
Ill tell you how Im feelin
Theres no way to begin
Like winnin half a million
And then kissing through
Girl I know youre moody
You blow hot and cold
Thats the way I like it
Youre what I want (what I want)
Girl the way you do me
Makes me say waz up (waz up)
When youre finished
Im on the floor...
Feelin down, feelin up
Girl the way you do me
Drivin me insane
Ive never felt this way before...
Girl the way you do me
Makes me say waz up (waz up)
When youre finished
Im on the floor...
Feelin down, feelin up
Girl the way you do me
Drivin me insane
Ive never felt this way before...
Ill paris blues and gap you
Cant wait to unwrap you
You know I am feelin you,
Are you feeling me?
If you didnt phone me
I see the sky turning black
[...] Read more
song performed by 2gether
Added by Lucian Velea
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Wrong Number
Lime green lime green and tangerine
Are the sickly sweet colours of the snakes im seeing
Lime green and tangerine
Are the sickly sweet colours of the devil in my dreams
Lime green lime green and tangerine
Are the sickly sweet colours of the snakes im seeing
Lime green and tangerine
Are the sickly sweet colours of the devil in my dreams
It gets to friday and i give you a call
"you know im getting kind of worried
No she doesnt seem herself at all...
Lime green and a sickly kind of orange
I've never seen her like this before..."
I had the best laid plans this side of america
Started out in church and finished with angelica
Red and blue soul with a snow white smile
"can you dig it?"
I had the best laid plans this side of america
Started out in church and finished with angelica
And now i dig in the dirt
And i'm down here for a while...
You've got to make up your mind and make it soon
Is there room in your life
For one more trip to the moon?
Is there room in your life
For one more?
Burn red burn red red and gold
Are the deep dark colours of the snakes i hold
Burn red burn red and gold
Are the deep dark colours of the devil at home
"she pulls me down just as i'm trying to hide
Grabs me by the hair and drags me outside
And starts digging in the dirt...
For a not so early bird it's the only way
For her to get the worm..."
I had the best laid plans this side of america
Started out in church and finished with angelica
Red and blue soul with a snow white smile
"can you dig it?"
I had the best laid plans this side of america
Started out in church and finished with angelica
Red and blue soul with a snow white smile
"can you dig it?"
And now i dig in the dirt
And i'll be down here for a while...
"hello? are you still there?"
"hello? are you still there?"
...and much too late...
"sorry, wrong number
song performed by Cure
Added by Lucian Velea
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Finished With Lies
Now Im telling the truth
Im finished with lies, lies
If you dont believe me now
Youll never believe me now
I should have my head examined
Theyll see when they look inside
I wont have to say a word
Ill stop thinking what I shouldnt be thinking
Ill make everyone believe me
Cant you see Im telling the truth
Im finished with lies, lies
If you dont believe me now
Youll never believe me now
Youll think its a lie
Couldnt we just put away the ancient history
Throw up our hands at the unsolved mysteries
Im going to have my head examined
Ill prove you were wrong about me
Move the needle telepathically
Ill turn everything around and confuse you
Talk faster and faster till I lose you
Ill fix it so you cant remember what was true
And therell be nothing to remind you
Starting now Im telling the truth
Im finished with lies, lies
If you dont believe me now
Youll never believe me now
Now Im telling the truth
Im finished with lies, lies
If you dont believe me now
Youll never believe me now
Lies, lies
Youll think its a lie
Youll think its a lie
Youll think its a lie
song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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Hello
(toby keith/jim femino)
I was hangin out in mexico, I had a beachfront bungalow
I know I should have gone home, but I was doin that caribbean thing
I was listenin to a spanish guitar, drinkin margaritas under the stars
With a pretty senorita when the telephone started to ring, guess who
Hello, honey, I was just about to
Hello, baby, I was gettin ready
Hello, I know I should have called sooner, oh, no, no
Hello, if you give me just a minute
Hello, dont you hang up till Im finished
Hello, youre the only one Ive ever, you know
Hello
Well, there was silence at the end of the line
I thought Id give her till a quarter of nine
I forgot to call her back and the party was a-rollin at ten
See, I was workin on tequila and lime
I guess I never even noticed the time
I was dancin the iguana when the phone started ringin again
And you know who
Hello, honey, I was just about to
Hello, baby, I was gettin ready
Hello, I know I should have called sooner, oh, no, no
Hello, if you give me just a minute
Hello, dont you hang up till Im finished
Hello, youre the only one Ive ever, you know
Hello
Hello, honey, I was just about to
Hello, baby, I was gettin ready
Hello, I know I should have called sooner, oh, no, no
Hello, if you give me just a minute
Hello, dont you hang up till Im finished
Hello, youre the only one Ive ever, you know
Hello
Hello, hello
Hello, honey, I was just about to
Hello, baby, I was gettin ready
Hello, dont you hang up till Im finished
Hello
song performed by Toby Keith
Added by Lucian Velea
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Last Fall
As I leave the demons behind me
I find myself within your eyes
I didnt seem to know what I was missing
Just seemed so out of my eyesight
But now I feel like I could fly feel like I could rise up
There to where youre calling me
No more asking why no more foolish lies
Cause I have finished falling
As I fight the shadows that disguise me
Dyin for these hidden ways
All that seems so far is now behind me
And I can soar while my heart is left sinking
But now I feel like I could fly feel like I could rise up
There to where youre calling me
No more asking why no more foolish lies
Cause I have finished falling
And it's as if new old eyes have found me, cause things look different than before
I've never felt so light and so free and so willing to go on no matter what I come across
Cause I will not stop pushing til I have recovered what was lost
Feel like I could fly feel like I could rise up
There to where youre calling me
No more asking why no more foolish lies
Cause I have finished falling
Funny how the things you need will find you
The things you want will leave you wanting some more
Everything that comes along reminds you
You can either rise above or you can hit the floor
But now I feel like I could fly feel like I could rise up
There to where youre calling me
No more asking why no more foolish lies
Cause I have finished falling
No Im no Im no no...I
song performed by Vanessa Carlton
Added by Lucian Velea
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