Citatepedia^®.com

I always use the same guitar; I got this guitar years and years ago for nine pounds. It's still got the same strings on it.

quote by Brian Eno
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

99 Lbs

Written by: d. bryant
Twenty-five pounds of pure cane sugar
Shes got in each and every kiss
You wouldnt know what Im talking bout
If you never had a love like this
Well, I dont mean to be frank with you all
Its a natural fact
Good things come wrapped up in small, small packages now
Well you cant argue with that
Oh, oh, yeah
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul, oh, oh
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul
Twenty-five pounds of tenderness
She got in each and every touch
Twenty-five pounds of understanding my woman
cause I was the one running round town worrying too much
Twenty-four pounds of sunday
That I cant see, yeah
And it all adds up to ninety-nine big pounds
Oh, Im talking about a feline friend
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul

song performed by Black Crowes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Props 'n Pounds

KURT LODER - MTV NEWS:
"Here is someone that's obviously playing rock and roll who is also a
funk artist, who covered a lot of categories that which artists have
been separating for so long and brought them together purposely ... ."
Props n pounds
Props n pounds
Love 4 one another is the only sound 2day
Positivity is the only way
Chorus:
Props n pounds
Props n pounds
Love 4 one another is the only sound 2day
Negative people don't get to play
Props n pounds
Props n pounds
Why you wanna holler when you know what the bible say
Positivity is the only way
Once again when the coin is tossed
And lands upon the sea
Unsuspecting lives are lost
They didn't have to be
When the book is opened
and The Son condemns them all
Pagan holidays,crucifixes
$100 tears will fall
Chorus :
(hey)
(no play)
(you know it)
All the ones still in the game
Never give me pounds
Egotists to proud to say the opposite of found
Worrying about the validity of the rulers crown
When everyone ought 2 be in line giving props n pounds
Chorus:
(hey hey hey)
(ooow)
Props n pounds
Props n pounds
Props n pounds
Once again when the money get tossed
Never gonna see npg floss
Keeping you happy is the only cost
Love God and everyone or your life will be lost
Listen to the words that will save every one
Safe sex campaign talking about a gun
With CON as the prefix, suffix be the DOM
(dumb)
Look at them both and tell me something
What's in the Trojan Horse? Lubrication.

[...] Read more

song performed by Prince
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Guitar & Pen

Youre alone above the street somewhere
Youre alone above the street somewhere
Wondering how youll ever count out there
Wondering how youll ever count out there
You can walk, you can talk, you can fight
You can walk, you can talk, you can fight
But inside youve got something to write
But inside youve got something to write
In your hand you hold your only friend
In your hand you hold your only friend
Never spend your guitar or your pen
Never spend your guitar or your pen
Your guitar or your pen
Your guitar or your pen
Your guitar or your pen
Your guitar or your pen
Your guitar or your pen
Your guitar or your pen
Your guitar or your pen
Your guitar or your pen
When you take up a pencil and sharpen it up
When you take up a pencil and sharpen it up
When youre kicking the fence and still nothing will budge
When youre kicking the fence and still nothing will budge
When the words are immobile until you sit down
When the words are immobile until you sit down
Never feel theyre worth keeping, theyre not easily found
Never feel theyre worth keeping, theyre not easily found
Then you know in some strange, unexplainable way
Then you know in some strange, unexplainable way
You must really have something
You must really have something
Jumping, thumping, fighting, hiding away
Jumping, thumping, fighting, hiding away
Important to say
Important to say
When you sing through the verse and you end in a scream
When you sing through the verse and you end in a scream
And you swear and you curse cause the rhyming aint clean
And you swear and you curse cause the rhyming aint clean
But it suddenly comes after years of delay
But it suddenly comes after years of delay
You pick up your guitar, you can suddenly play
You pick up your guitar, you can suddenly play
When your fingers are bleeding and the knuckles are white
When your fingers are bleeding and the knuckles are white
Then you can be sure, you can open the door
Then you can be sure, you can open the door
Get off of the floor tonight
Get off of the floor tonight

[...] Read more

song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Invisible Strings

(ian hunter)
One, two, three
Well I woke up this morning - theres a girl in my bed.
How did she get there? was it something I said?
I dont understand it but somehow it seems
She visits me in invisible dreams.
Over and over I try to explain
How did that girl get into my veins?
Did somebody send her - was it my velvet wings?
And how does she touch my invisible strings?
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
Now its all over when the fat lady sings
Ill still be playing my invisible strings
Well maybe she dont have a world of her own
Maybe shes using me just like a phone
And sometimes shes cool and sometimes she stings
And Im all tangled up in invisible strings
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
When youre wearing black and Im wearing wings,
Well still be playing those invisible strings
Well she never leaves - Im never alone
I aint in the book but shes still calling home
I tried to lose her - watch the tv
But that womans always picking on me
Well, theres strings round my body, strings round my heart
Id like to know where the string-pulling starts
Id give anything to meet the angel who sends
Invisible ink to my invisible pen
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
When youre wearing black and Im wearing wings,
Well still be playing our invisible strings
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
Now its all over when the fat lady sings
Well still be playing our invisible strings
Invisible strings - invisible strings
Oh yeah

song performed by Ian Hunter
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Weigh

Id like to cut your head off so I could weigh it, what do ya say?
Five pounds, six, pounds, seven pounds
Id like to go to your house and gather all your razors and pick all the
Little prickly hairs so I can weigh them, what do ya say?
Five pounds, six pounds, seven pounds
Id like to gather all your friends and squish them all into a small
Swimming pool so I can weigh them, what do ya say?
Five pounds, six pounds, seven pounds
Why weigh on a sunny day?
So much to do so why, why weigh?
On a sunny day, why wei-igh-hey?
Why weigh, why weigh?
Id like to hear my options, so I can weigh them, what do ya say?
Five pounds, six pounds, seven pounds
Why weigh on a sunny day?
So much to do, so why, why weigh?
On a sunny day, why wei-gh-hey?
Why
Oh why[x11]
Why weigh?

song performed by Phish
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

I Can Play (Lyrics) :

He didn't give himself up to fear.
And his voice had a life of its own.
He didn't give himself up for broke.
Just a man who played his guitar.

He said 'I can play the guitar', 'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.

'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.

He didn't give himself up to drinking beer.
His voice still had a life of its own.
And he didn't give himself up for smoke.
Just a man who played his guitar.

He said 'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.

'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.

He didn't give himself up to curcumstance.
Always tried to make it alone.
He didn't give himself up to telling lies.
His honesty was already shown.
Always kept himself up to par.
Just a man who played his guitar.

He said 'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.

'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'...

Rock Lyric By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1987,2009..
ALL rights reserved..

poem by Kim Robin Edwards
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

99 Pounds

I tell ya shes a heart breaker
And you cant tell me she aint
Theres a little devil in her
Under all that powder and paint
And she can hang you up every night
And get you so uptight
Shes 99 pounds, I said 99 pounds,
Shes 99 pounds of some kind of dynomite
I tell you half a ton of sugar aint half as sweet as her
She can change and rearrange you
Till you cant tell what you were
And it dont even pay to fight
cause she dont know wrong from right
Shes 99 pounds, I said 99 pounds,
Shes 99 pounds of some kind of dynomite
And she may look like an angel
But shes made out of tnt
Shes a little bitty thing and she ? ? ? ?
Yeah but when she holds you tight
Shes some kind of outa sight
Shes 99 pounds, I said 99 pounds,
I said 99 pounds of some kind of dynomite
I said 99 pounds, I said 99 pounds,

song performed by Monkees
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Song of the Guitar.

In the tenth year of Yuanhe I was banished and demoted to be assistant official in Jiujiang. In the summer of the next year I was seeing a friend leave Penpu and heard in the midnight from a neighbouring boat a guitar played in the manner of the capital. Upon inquiry, I found that the player had formerly been a dancing-girl there and in her maturity had been married to a merchant. I invited her to my boat to have her play for us. She told me her story, heyday and then unhappiness. Since my departure from the capital I had not felt sad; but that night, after I left her, I began to realize my banishment. And I wrote this long poem -- six hundred and twelve characters.

I was bidding a guest farewell, at night on the Xunyang River,
Where maple-leaves and full-grown rushes rustled in the autumn.
I, the host, had dismounted, my guest had boarded his boat,
And we raised our cups and wished to drink-but, alas, there was no music.
For all we had drunk we felt no joy and were parting from each other,
When the river widened mysteriously toward the full moon --
We had heard a sudden sound, a guitar across the water.
Host forgot to turn back home, and guest to go his way.
We followed where the melody led and asked the player's name.
The sound broke off...then reluctantly she answered.
We moved our boat near hers, invited her to join us,
Summoned more wine and lanterns to recommence our banquet.
Yet we called and urged a thousand times before she started toward us,
Still hiding half her face from us behind her guitar.
...She turned the tuning-pegs and tested several strings;
We could feel what she was feeling, even before she played:
Each string a meditation, each note a deep thought,
As if she were telling us the ache of her whole life.
She knit her brows, flexed her fingers, then began her music,
Little by little letting her heart share everything with ours.
She brushed the strings, twisted them slow, swept them, plucked them --
First the air of The Rainbow Skirt, then The Six Little Ones.
The large strings hummed like rain,
The small strings whispered like a secret,
Hummed, whispered-and then were intermingled
Like a pouring of large and small pearls into a plate of jade.
We heard an oriole, liquid, hidden among flowers.
We heard a brook bitterly sob along a bank of sand...
By the checking of its cold touch, the very string seemed broken
As though it could not pass; and the notes, dying away
Into a depth of sorrow and concealment of lament,
Told even more in silence than they had told in sound....
A silver vase abruptly broke with a gush of water,
And out leapt armored horses and weapons that clashed and smote --
And, before she laid her pick down, she ended with one stroke,
And all four strings made one sound, as of rending silk
There was quiet in the east boat and quiet in the west,
And we saw the white autumnal moon enter the river's heart.
...When she had slowly placed the pick back among the strings,
She rose and smoothed her clothing and, formal, courteous,
Told us how she had spent her girlhood at the capital,
Living in her parents' house under the Mount of Toads,
And had mastered the guitar at the age of thirteen,
With her name recorded first in the class-roll of musicians,
Her art the admiration even of experts,
Her beauty the envy of all the leading dancers,
How noble youths of Wuling had lavishly competed
And numberless red rolls of silk been given for one song,

[...] Read more

poem by Bai Juyi
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Fastest Guitar Alive

Orbison/dees
Hey here I go a lucky so and so
Happy cos I know Ive got my fast guitar
Singing pretty songs, knowing I belong
I am first and last, and always a fast guitar
The fastest guitar alive
Rattling strings like a gattling gun
Shaped like a lovely woman
Stay right where you are
My guitar is a fast guitar
The fastest guitar alive
Im rolling on like a rolling stone
Gathering no moss, I play a boss guitar
The fastest guitar alive
Strumming like a battling soldiers drum
Shaped like a lovely woman
Stay right where you are
My guitar is a fast guitar
The fastest guitar alive
Hey here I go a lucky so and so
Happy cos I know Ive got my fast guitar
The fastest guitar
The fastest guitar
The fastest guitar alive

song performed by Roy Orbison
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Part I

"That oblong book's the Album; hand it here!
Exactly! page on page of gratitude
For breakfast, dinner, supper, and the view!
I praise these poets: they leave margin-space;
Each stanza seems to gather skirts around,
And primly, trimly, keep the foot's confine,
Modest and maidlike; lubber prose o'er-sprawls
And straddling stops the path from left to right.
Since I want space to do my cipher-work,
Which poem spares a corner? What comes first?
'Hail, calm acclivity, salubrious spot!'
(Open the window, we burn daylight, boy!)
Or see—succincter beauty, brief and bold—
'If a fellow can dine On rumpsteaks and port wine,
He needs not despair Of dining well here—'
'Here!' I myself could find a better rhyme!
That bard's a Browning; he neglects the form:
But ah, the sense, ye gods, the weighty sense!
Still, I prefer this classic. Ay, throw wide!
I'll quench the bits of candle yet unburnt.
A minute's fresh air, then to cipher-work!
Three little columns hold the whole account:
Ecarté, after which Blind Hookey, then
Cutting-the-Pack, five hundred pounds the cut.
'Tis easy reckoning: I have lost, I think."

Two personages occupy this room
Shabby-genteel, that's parlor to the inn
Perched on a view-commanding eminence;
———— -Inn which may be a veritable house
Where somebody once lived and pleased good taste
Till tourists found his coign of vantage out,
And fingered blunt the individual mark
And vulgarized things comfortably smooth.
On a sprig-pattern-papered wall there brays
Complaint to sky Sir Edwin's dripping stag;
His couchant coast-guard creature corresponds;
They face the Huguenot and Light o' the World.
Grim o'er the mirror on the mantlepiece,
Varnished and coffined, Salmo ferox glares
—Possibly at the List of Wines which, framed
And glazed, hangs somewhat prominent on peg.

So much describes the stuffy little room—
Vulgar flat smooth respectability:
Not so the burst of landscape surging in,
Sunrise and all, as he who of the pair
Is, plain enough, the younger personage
Draws sharp the shrieking curtain, sends aloft
The sash, spreads wide and fastens back to wall

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Inn Album (1875)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Drummer

1
The drummer beats slowly, the drummer beats loud
As he beats of Humanity wrapped in a shroud.
Well he beats of the bone bags Dame Famine's designed
As she ravished and plagued us since dawn of mankind;
And he beats of Lord Boss letting oranges decay
While a child suffers scurvy and passes away;
And he beats of the beasts we've so needlessly slain
And of critters and creatures cast off in distain;
And he beats of combatants who're dying deceived
As the merchants of murder count profits received;
And he beats of the rape and the killing of war
And the mind blinding sorrow we blithely ignore.
He beats and he pounds till our consciences gnaw
And his fingers are battered and bloody and raw
And his hands are all broken and bleeding and raw.
2
The drummer beats slowly, the drummer beats loud
As he beats of abuse that we try to becloud.
Well he beats of the barons and princes and kings
Who have broken our backs while crushing our wings
And he beats of the bribes that the powerful make
To key politicians who fawn in their wake;
And he beats of the waifs bound and chained to machines
And of slaves in the fields and other such scenes;
And he beats of decrees stating all men are free
While ignoring the blacks and their agonised plea;
And he beats of the tyrants in clerical garb
Who have tortured with faggots and thumbscrews and barb.
He beats and he pounds till revealing the flaw
And his fingers are battered and bloody and raw
And his hands are all broken and bleeding and raw.
3
The drummer beats slowly, the drummer beats loud
As he beats of the strength of the rebels so proud.
Well he beats of the spirit the rack couldn't break,
And the flame of the flesh that was burned at the stake;
And he beats of the minds that could never be chained
By the faith that was living while ignorance reigned;
And he beats of the struggles when Spartacus rose
Having tired of shackles and slavery's woes;
And he beats of the women who'll die to be freed
And will never give up till they finally succeed;
And he beats of the progress outliving the jeers
So belying the pessimist's fatuous sneers.
He beats and he pounds till we stand back in awe
And his fingers are battered and bloody and raw
And his hands are all broken and bleeding and raw.
4
The drummer beats slowly, the drummer beats loud

[...] Read more

poem by Terry O'Leary
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Lawyer’s Second Tale: Christian

A highland inn among the western hills,
A single parlour, single bed that fills
With fisher or with tourist, as may be;
A waiting-maid. as fair as you can see,
With hazel eyes, and frequent blushing face,
And ample brow, and with a rustic grace
In all her easy quiet motions seen,
Large of her age, which haply is nineteen,
Christian her name, in full a pleasant name,
Christian and Christie scarcely seem the same;
A college fellow, who has sent away
The pupils he has taught for many a day,
And comes for fishing and for solitude,
Perhaps a little pensive in his mood,
An aspiration and a thought have failed,
Where he had hoped, another has prevailed,
But to the joys of hill and stream alive,
And in his boyhood yet, at twenty-five.
A merry dance, that made young people meet,
And set them moving, both with hands and feet;
A dance in which he danced, and nearer knew
The soft brown eyes, and found them tender too.
A dance that lit in two young hearts the fire,
The low soft flame, of loving sweet desire,
And made him feel that he could feel again;
The preface this, what follows to explain.
That night he kissed, he held her in his arms,
And felt the subtle virtue of her charms;
Nor less bewildered on the following day,
He kissed, he found excuse near her to stay,
Was it not love? And yet the truth to speak,
Playing the fool for haply half a week,
He yet had fled, so strong within him dwelt
The horror of the sin, and such he felt
The miseries to the woman that ensue.
He wearied long his brain with reasonings fine,
But when at evening dusk he came to dine,
In linsey petticoat and jacket blue
She stood, so radiant and so modest too,
All into air his strong conclusions flew.
Now should he go. But dim and drizzling too,
For a night march, to-night will hardly do,
A march of sixteen weary miles of way.
No, by the chances which our lives obey,
No, by the Heavens and this sweet face, he’ll stay.

A week he stayed, and still was loth to go,
But she grew anxious and would have it so.
Her time of service shortly would be o’er,
And she would leave; her mistress knew before.

[...] Read more

poem by Arthur Hugh Clough from Mari Magno or Tales on Board
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Pencil Seller

A pencil, sir; a penny -- won't you buy?
I'm cold and wet and tired, a sorry plight;
Don't turn your back, sir; take one just to try;
I haven't made a single sale to-night.
Oh, thank you, sir; but take the pencil too;
I'm not a beggar, I'm a business man.
Pencils I deal in, red and black and blue;
It's hard, but still I do the best I can.
Most days I make enough to pay for bread,
A cup o' coffee, stretching room at night.
One needs so little -- to be warm and fed,
A hole to kennel in -- oh, one's all right . . .

Excuse me, you're a painter, are you not?
I saw you looking at that dealer's show,
The croûtes he has for sale, a shabby lot --
What do I know of Art? What do I know . . .
Well, look! That David Strong so well displayed,
"White Sorcery" it's called, all gossamer,
And pale moon-magic and a dancing maid
(You like the little elfin face of her?) --
That's good; but still, the picture as a whole,
The values, -- Pah! He never painted worse;
Perhaps because his fire was lacking coal,
His cupboard bare, no money in his purse.
Perhaps . . . they say he labored hard and long,
And see now, in the harvest of his fame,
When round his pictures people gape and throng,
A scurvy dealer sells this on his name.
A wretched rag, wrung out of want and woe;
A soulless daub, not David Strong a bit,
Unworthy of his art. . . . How should I know?
How should I know? I'm Strong -- I painted it.

There now, I didn't mean to let that out.
It came in spite of me -- aye, stare and stare.
You think I'm lying, crazy, drunk, no doubt --
Think what you like, it's neither here nor there.
It's hard to tell so terrible a truth,
To gain to glory, yet be such as I.
It's true; that picture's mine, done in my youth,
Up in a garret near the Paris sky.
The child's my daughter; aye, she posed for me.
That's why I come and sit here every night.
The painting's bad, but still -- oh, still I see
Her little face all laughing in the light.
So now you understand. -- I live in fear
Lest one like you should carry it away;
A poor, pot-boiling thing, but oh, how dear!
"Don't let them buy it, pitying God!" I pray!

[...] Read more

poem by Robert William Service
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Five-Per-Cent

Because I have ten thousand pounds I sit upon my stern,
And leave my living tranquilly for other folks to earn.
For in some procreative way that isn't very clear,
Ten thousand pounds will breed, they say, five hundred every year.
So as I have a healthy hate of economic strife,
I mean to stand aloof from it the balance of my life.
And yet with sympathy I see the grimy son of toil,
And heartly congratulate the tiller of the soil.
I like the miner in the mine, the sailor on the sea,
Because up to five hundred pounds they sail and mine for me.
For me their toil is taxed unto that annual extent,
According to the holy shibboleth of Five-per-Cent.

So get ten thousand pounds, my friend, in any way you can.
And leave your future welfare to the noble Working Man.
He'll buy you suits of Harris tweed, an Airedale and a car;
Your golf clubs and your morning Times, your whisky and cigar.
He'll cosily install you in a cottage by a stream,
With every modern comfort, and a garden that's a dream>
Or if your tastes be urban, he'll provide you with a flat,
Secluded from the clamour of the proletariat.
With pictures, music, easy chairs, a table of good cheer,
A chap can manage nicely on five hundred pounds a year.
And though around you painful signs of industry you view,
Why should you work when you can make your money work for you?

So I'll get down upon my knees and bless the Working Man,
Who offers me a life of ease through all my mortal span;
Whose loins are lean to make me fat, who slaves to keep me free,
Who dies before his prime to let me round the century;
Whose wife and children toil in urn until their strength is spent,
That I may live in idleness upon my five-per-cent.
And if at times they curse me, why should I feel any blame?
For in my place I know that they would do the very same.
Aye, though hey hoist a flag that's red on Sunday afternoon,
Just offer them ten thousand pounds and see them change their tune.
So I'll enjoy my dividends and live my life with zest,
And bless the mighty men who first - invented Interest.

poem by Robert William Service
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Part II

So, they ring bell, give orders, pay, depart
Amid profuse acknowledgment from host
Who well knows what may bring the younger back.
They light cigar, descend in twenty steps
The 'calm acclivity,' inhale—beyond
Tobacco's balm—the better smoke of turf
And wood fire,—cottages at cookery
I' the morning,—reach the main road straitening on
'Twixt wood and wood, two black walls full of night
Slow to disperse, though mists thin fast before
The advancing foot, and leave the flint-dust fine
Each speck with its fire-sparkle. Presently
The road's end with the sky's beginning mix
In one magnificence of glare, due East,
So high the sun rides,—May's the merry month.
They slacken pace: the younger stops abrupt.
Discards cigar, looks his friend full in face.

"All right; the station comes in view at end;
Five minutes from the beech-clump, there you are!
I say: let's halt, let's borrow yonder gate
Of its two magpies, sit and have a talk!
Do let a fellow speak a moment! More
I think about and less I like the thing—
No, you must let me! Now, be good for once!
Ten thousand pounds be done for, dead and damned!
We played for love, not hate: yes, hate! I hate
Thinking you beg or borrow or reduce
To strychnine some poor devil of a lord
Licked at Unlimited Loo. I had the cash
To lose—you knew that!—lose and none the less
Whistle to-morrow: it's not every chap
Affords to take his punishment so well!
Now, don't be angry with a friend whose fault
Is that he thinks—upon my soul, I do—
Your head the best head going. Oh, one sees
Names in the newspaper—great this, great that,
Gladstone, Carlyle, the Laureate:—much I care!
Others have their opinion, I keep mine:
Which means—by right you ought to have the things
I want a head for. Here's a pretty place,
My cousin's place, and presently my place.
Not yours! I'll tell you how it strikes a man.
My cousin's fond of music and of course
Plays the piano (it won't be for long!)
A brand-new bore she calls a 'semi-grand,'
Rosewood and pearl, that blocks the drawing-room.
And cost no end of money. Twice a week
Down comes Herr Somebody and seats himself.
Sets to work teaching—with his teeth on edge—

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Inn Album (1875)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

This Guitar

(one, two, three, four)
Found myself out on a limb
But i'm happier than i've ever been
But this guitar can't keep from crying
Learned to get up when i fall
Can even climb rolling stone walls
But this guitar can't keep from crying
This here guitar can feel quite sad
Can be high strung, sometimes get mad
Can't understand or deal with hate
Responds much better to love
I though by now you knew the score
But you missed the point just like before
And this guitar can't keep from crying
(this) guitar, it can't keep from crying
This guitar can't keep from crying
This here guitar can feel quite sad
Can be high strung, sometimes get mad
It can't understand or deal with hate
Responds much better to love
While you attack, create offence
I'll put it down to your ignorance
But this guitar it can't keep from crying
This guitar can't keep from crying
This guitar can't keep from crying
This guitar can't keep from crying

song performed by George Harrison
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

This Guitar (Can't Keep From Crying)

(one, two, three, four)
Found myself out on a limb
But Im happier than Ive ever been
But this guitar cant keep from crying
Learned to get up when I fall
Can even climb rolling stone walls
But this guitar cant keep from crying
This here guitar can feel quite sad
Can be high strung, sometimes get mad
Cant understand or deal with hate
Responds much better to love
I though by now you knew the score
But you missed the point just like before
And this guitar cant keep from crying
(this) guitar, it cant keep from crying
This guitar cant keep from crying
This here guitar can feel quite sad
Can be high strung, sometimes get mad
It cant understand or deal with hate
Responds much better to love
While you attack, create offence
Ill put it down to your ignorance
But this guitar it cant keep from crying
This guitar cant keep from crying
This guitar cant keep from crying
This guitar cant keep from crying

song performed by George Harrison
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Guitar Man

(words & music by hubbard)
Well, I quit my job down at the car wash,
Left my mama a goodbye note,
By sundown Id left kingston,
With my guitar under my coat,
I hitchhiked all the way down to memphis,
Got a room at the ymca,
For the next three weeks I went huntin them nights,
Just lookin for a place to play,
Well, I thought my pickin would set em on fire,
But nobody wanted to hire a guitar man.
Well, I nearly bout starved to death down in memphis,
I run outta money and luck,
So I bought me a ride down to macon, georgia,
On a overloaded poultry truck,
I thumbed on down to panama city,
Started pickin out some o them all night bars,
Hopin I could make myself a dollar,
Makin music on my guitar,
I got the same old story at them all night piers,
There aint no room around here for a guitar man
We dont need a guitar man, son
So I slept in the hobo jungles,
Roamed a thousand miles of track,
Till I found myself in mobile alabama,
At a club they call big jacks,
A little four-piece band was jammin,
So I took my guitar and I sat in,
I showed em what a band would sound like,
With a swingin little guitar man.
Show em, son
If you ever take a trip down to the ocean,
Find yourself down around mobile,
Make it on out to a club called jacks,
If you got a little time to kill,
Just follow that crowd of people,
Youll wind up out on his dance floor,
Diggin the finest little five-piece group,
Up and down the gulf of mexico,
Guess whos leadin that five-piece band,
Well, wouldnt ya know, its that swingin little guitar man.
The tv-special verse:
Well, I came a long way from the carwash,
Got to where I said Id get
Now that Im here I know for sure
I really aint got there yet
Think Ill start all over
Swing my guitar over my back
Im gonna get myself back on the track
Ill never, never ever look back

[...] Read more

song performed by Elvis Presley
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Girl in my guitar

she comes to me every night into my dreams, .. the same as the night be-fore

dressed up she dances and sings all here words to me so presish and sweet
she is the one I adore...
i wake from the dream with her there laying sound asleep like the every night before

i know when she sleeps she can tell thats shes next to me as she pulls her self closer
inside of my arms

oh love you are my girl.....
forever you have my heart
for as long as were on this world...
you 'll be the girl in my guitar
no matter how long apart...
no matter just where you are....
your the best that i've had by far.....
ohhh the girl in my guitar.....
the girl in my guitar

(VERSE 2)

she lights up a room like a the the sun reflecting off the moon.. like a lantern that burns
inside
shes the furnace that warms all the cold that i 've felt before the feelings she create for
me it's so hard to hide
her sweet supple lips to her goosebump-giving fingertips keeps the spark that we share
alive..
her silk flowing hair to the sexy little things she wears...keeps me excited til the
moment she arrives
(CHORUS B)

ohh love you are my girl....
forever you have my heart.....
as long as were on this world, ..
you'll be the girl in my guitar...
no matter how long apart...
no matter where you are...
your the best that i've had by far....
ohhh the girl in my guitar...
the girl in my guitar

(VERSE 3)

the love that we share and the way that she shows she cares it's never been shown
before
like an angel above she has showered me with endless love shes my drug of choice
she keeps me coming back for more
i'll sing her her song as she lays there she'll sing along... with every word i say..
as two melt to one all my defenses all overcome for we'll be together forever never

[...] Read more

poem by Michael Murphy
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

My Guitar Is Silent Now

My guitar is silent now.
Because you've gone away...
And there's,
No strings attached!
And no song can be matched to that.
And...
My guitar is silent now.
Gone from me is a need to tune up...
A humming done we did.
With happiness,
We celebrated.

And...
My guitar is silent now!
I have a need to sing the blues,
But...
Who would want to believe,
I'm as sad-as-I-can-be.
And...
Woe no no no...woe, no!
Baby, baby can't you see me deep grieving?
And...
Woe no no no...woe, no!
My heart is broken into pieces in me!

My guitar is silent now.
Because you've gone away...
And there's,
No strings attached!
And no song can be matched to that.
And...
Woe no no no...woe, no!
Baby, baby can't you see me deep grieving?
And...
Woe no no no...woe, no!
My heart is broken into pieces in me!

My guitar is silent now.
Gone from me is a need to tune up...
A humming done we did.
With happiness,
We celebrated.

And...
My guitar is silent now!
I have a need to sing the blues,
But...
Who would want to believe,
I'm as sad-as-I can be.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!