When the curtain falls, the best thing an actor can do is to go away.
quote by Harold MacMillan
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If It All Falls Down
By: matt betton
1986
I never wanted to be
A man of mystery
My lifes an open book
By james joyce and agatha christie
Sometimes I get confused
Somewhere around page two
I live the perfect crime
And crime pays more than it used to
Theyre checkin the evidence
May be some charges pressed
The only one they got me on
Is some misdemeanor craziness
Chorus:
If it all falls down falls down falls down
If they solve my life they find me out
Never thought to keep all I have found
I have had my fun if it all falls down
If it all falls down falls down falls down
I have had my fun I have bought a few rounds
And been out on the town way out on the town
Way way way out if it all falls down
Never wanted to be
A part of history
I have my days in the sun
A beach bum a man for all seasides
Guidance counselor said
Your scores are anti-heroic
Computer recommends
Hard-drinking calypso poet
Studied life at sea
Studied life in bars
Never passed my s.a.t.s
So I thought Id study extra hard
Chorus:
If it all falls down falls down falls down
I have learned my trade from the inside out
I can strum real hard I can play real loud
I can charm a crowd if it all falls down
If it all falls down falls down falls down
I can warm a crowd I can make them shout
I can juggle verbs adverbs and nouns
I can make them dance til they all fall down
We had plenty of doctors
We had plenty of lawyers
We had people to make us things
We had people to sell us those things
Didnt have enough room for those things
We build lots of self storage
[...] Read more
song performed by Jimmy Buffett
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The House Of Dust: Complete
I.
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.
And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.
'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.
We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.
Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.
Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.
II.
[...] Read more
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The Rosciad
Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.
Roscius deceased, each high aspiring player
Push'd all his interest for the vacant chair.
The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage
No longer whine in love, and rant in rage;
The monarch quits his throne, and condescends
Humbly to court the favour of his friends;
For pity's sake tells undeserved mishaps,
And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps.
Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome,
To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume;
In pompous strain fight o'er the extinguish'd war,
And show where honour bled in every scar.
But though bare merit might in Rome appear
The strongest plea for favour, 'tis not here;
We form our judgment in another way;
And they will best succeed, who best can pay:
Those who would gain the votes of British tribes,
Must add to force of merit, force of bribes.
What can an actor give? In every age
Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage;
Monarchs themselves, to grief of every player,
Appear as often as their image there:
They can't, like candidate for other seat,
Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat.
Wine! they could bribe you with the world as soon,
And of 'Roast Beef,' they only know the tune:
But what they have they give; could Clive do more,
Though for each million he had brought home four?
Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair,
And hopes the friends of humour will be there;
In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat
For those who laughter love, instead of meat;
Foote, at Old House,--for even Foote will be,
In self-conceit, an actor,--bribes with tea;
Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives,
And at the New, pours water on the leaves.
The town divided, each runs several ways,
As passion, humour, interest, party sways.
Things of no moment, colour of the hair,
Shape of a leg, complexion brown or fair,
A dress well chosen, or a patch misplaced,
Conciliate favour, or create distaste.
From galleries loud peals of laughter roll,
And thunder Shuter's praises; he's so droll.
Embox'd, the ladies must have something smart,
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Churchill
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Falls On Me
You see me hanging round
starting to swear about this black hole you've dug for me
and silently within hands touchin skin shock
breaks my disease and i can breath
and all of your weights
all you dream falls on me
it falls on me
and your beautiful sky
the light you breath
falls on me
it falls on me ahha
Your faith like a pain
it draws me in again
she washes all my wounds of me
darkness in my veins
I never could explain
and i wonder if you have ever see
Will you still believe
and all of your weights
and all that you dream
falls on me
it falls on me
and your beautiful sky
the light you breath
falls on me
it falls on me
am I that strong
to carry on
have i changed your life
have i changed my world
could you save me ahhhhha
and all of your weights
all you dream
falls on me
it falls on me
and you beautiful sky
the light you breath
falls on me
it falls on me
and all of your weights
all you dream falls on me
it falls on me
and your beautiful sky
the light you breath
falls on me
it falls on me
ahhhhaha yea ahhhah yea
song performed by Fuel
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I Saw It Myself (Short Verse Drama)
Dramatis Personae: Adrian, his wife Ester, his sisters Rebecca and Johanna, his mother Elizabeth, the high priest Chiapas, the disciple Simon Peter, the disciple John, Mary Magdalene, worshipers, priests, two angels and Jesus Christ.
Act I
Scene I.- Adrian’s house in Jerusalem. Adrian has just returned home after a business journey in Galilee, in time to attend the Passover feast. He sits at the table with his wife Ester and his sisters, Rebecca and Johanna. It’s just before sunset on the Friday afternoon.
Adrian. (Somewhat puzzled) Strange things are happening,
some say demons dwell upon the earth,
others angelic beings, miracles take place
and all of this when they had put a man to death,
had crucified a criminal. Everybody knows
the cross is used for degenerates only!
Rebecca. (With a pleasant voice) Such harsh words used,
for a good, a great man brother?
They say that without charge
he healed the sick, brought back sight,
cured leprosy, even made some more food,
from a few fishes and loafs of bread…
Adrian. (Somewhat harsh) They say many things!
That he rode into Jerusalem
to be crowned as the new king,
was a rebel against the state,
even claimed to be
the very Son of God,
now that is blasphemy
if there is no truth to it!
Johanna. I met him once.
He’s not the man
that you make him, brother.
There was a strange tranquilly to Him.
Some would say a divine presence,
while He spoke of love that is selfless,
visited the sick, the poor
and even the destitute, even harlots.
Adrian. (Looks up) There you have it!
Harlots! Tax collecting thieves!
A man is know by his friends,
or so they say and probably
there is some truth to it.
Ester. Husband, do not be so quick to judge.
I have seen Him myself, have seen
Roman soldiers marching Him to the hill
to take His life, with a angry crowd
following and mocking Him.
[...] Read more
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Falling Stars
SHEPHERD, thou say'st there is a star
Which rules our changeful destinies:
Can mortal vision soar so far,
Or pierce such mighty mysteries?
Shepherd, 'tis said thy mind recals
The lore of grey departed seers:
say, what is yonder star which falls,
Which falls, falls, and disappears?
My son, a child of joy expired,
Yon was his star which glided by,
The friendly feast, by mirth inspired,
Has witnessed his departing sigh;
He sang of wine and beauty's thralls,
Round went his jokes and witty jeers
There is another star which falls.
Which falls, falls, and disappears!
My son, it is a star of light,
Of one beloved, and young and fair,
Preparing for her bridal night,
Wreathing white roses in her hair;
On her her frantic lover calls,
But vain his grief, and vain his tears
There is another star which falls.
Which falls, falls, and disappears!
My son, yon was the rapid star,
The suddenly extinguished gleam,
Of one just born to wealth and power,
One born to bask in fortune's beam;
He has escaped the flatterers' thralls,
The weight of guilt, the load of years
There is another star which falls,
Which falls, falls, and disappears!
My son, did'st see its guileful ray?
A monarch's favourite is no more!
Flattered in life-in death's dark day
No friends or mourners seek his door:
He was the cringing slave who crawls,
And fattens on a people's tears
There is another star which falls,
Which falls, falls, and disappears!
'Twas the last of a race of kings;
But go, my son-for thou hast seen
That wealth and power are empty things,
Which leave no trace that they have been.
Glory and fame the heart enthral,
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Mackay
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Facade
A little girl trapped in her knowledge and craft
Came tripping to my room last night
I cooked her a steak and I tried not to fake
And still make everything alright
She had dreads in her hair and problems and cares
She tried hard not to let em show
She was decent and sweet and I was sizin up the meat
But doubts fell in my mind like snow
And when the shove comes down to love
The facade falls down
And when the bricks fall from the tricks
The facade falls down
Its a sunny afternoon and Im sitting in my robe
Im dirty and Im here alone
Theres a story on my table that talks about me
And I want to stuff it down the authors throat
And Im sleeping with someone new every night
And in the morning politely saying bye
And Im nowhere and no one
And I only wanna run
And I feel like a hamburger bun
And when you must
Believe or bust
The facade falls down
When youre scared of a brand new care
The facade falls down
I got no reason to believe
I got no reason but Im new york scumbag tough
And Ill keep on truckin
So night is falling
And Im getting tired
And its time to get my slippers and books
Got a sweater and glasses
And something that passes
For a way to get by in this world
And Im getting tired
Of so many different things
I guess Im just plain tired
Or maybe too intelligent to believe
In the obvious side of things
And when voice says make a choice
The facade falls down
When your knees start to concede
The facade falls down
When the shove comes down to love
The facade falls down
And when the bricks fall from the tricks
The facade falls down
The facade falls down
The facade falls down
[...] Read more
song performed by Iggy Pop
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Aechdeacon Barbour
THROUGH the long hall the shuttered windows shed
A dubious light on every upturned head;
On locks like those of Absalom the fair,
On the bald apex ringed with scanty hair,
On blank indifference and on curious stare;
On the pale Showman reading from his stage
The hieroglyphics of that facial page;
Half sad, half scornful, listening to the bruit
Of restless cane-tap and impatient foot,
And the shrill call, across the general din,
'Roll up your curtain! Let the show begin!'
At length a murmur like the winds that break
Into green waves the prairie's grassy lake,
Deepened and swelled to music clear and loud,
And, as the west-wind lifts a summer cloud,
The curtain rose, disclosing wide and far
A green land stretching to the evening star,
Fair rivers, skirted by primeval trees
And flowers hummed over by the desert bees,
Marked by tall bluffs whose slopes of greenness show
Fantastic outcrops of the rock below;
The slow result of patient Nature's pains,
And plastic fingering of her sun and rains;
Arch, tower, and gate, grotesquely windowed hall,
And long escarpment of half-crumbled wall,
Huger than those which, from steep hills of vine,
Stare through their loopholes on the travelled Rhine;
Suggesting vaguely to the gazer's mind
A fancy, idle as the prairie wind,
Of the land's dwellers in an age unguessed;
The unsung Jotuns of the mystic West.
Beyond, the prairie's sea-like swells surpass
The Tartar's marvels of his Land of Grass,
Vast as the sky against whose sunset shores
Wave after wave the billowy greenness pours;
And, onward still, like islands in that main
Loom the rough peaks of many a mountain chain,
Whence east and west a thousand waters run
From winter lingering under summer's sun.
And, still beyond, long lines of foam and sand
Tell where Pacific rolls his waves a-land,
From many a wide-lapped port and land-locked bay,
Opening with thunderous pomp the world's highway
To Indian isles of spice, and marts of far Cathay.
'Such,' said the Showman, as the curtain fell,
'Is the new Canaan of our Israel;
The land of promise to the swarming North,
Which, hive-like, sends its annual surplus forth,
To the poor Southron on his worn-out soil,
Scathed by the curses of unnatural toil;
[...] Read more
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Actor Of Love
Hold on
I have found something I longing for
To fill the hollowness of my heart
But why I'm feeling more of sorrow
Before
I am the one who said: 'Oh, I'll control'
But now I realize you are my world
And it's waiting to break apart
I'm an actor of love
I'm trying to perfect
But I'm just fooling around
I'm an actor of love
I want to be your hero
But I've made myself a clown
I'm an actor of love
I need you by my side
But now you leave me alone
I'm an actor of love
I beg your forgiveness
But you refuse me so cold
Sometimes
We wonder why we should be together
Do we really dream of love forever?
Or we afraid to be alone
I'm an actor of love
I want to protect you
But I always hurt you bad
I'm an actor of love
I want to be your shield
But may turn someone you hate
I'm an actor of love
We kiss in the morning
But in night we have a war
I'm an actor of love
We care for each other
But we only circle round
If this love only makes me crazy
Take the story and just let it be
Tragedy or comedy
[...] Read more
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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O, Curtain Boy...my Curtain Boy!
i'm the stage
i'm the setting
i'm the play
i'm the actor
i'm the green room, too
but how's it you kept
the command ove the
curtain in your hands?
o, curtain boy!
my curtain boy...
don't you see
the stage's developing cracks?
the setting's getting ruined?
the lines're getting broken?
the actor's growing weary?
the greenroom floor is all smudged
with the colours of spent out emotions?
o, curtain boy...
my curtain boy!
30aug2009
00.40hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Behind That Curtain
Let me show and tell you my people,
Behind that curtain,
where all the cooking can be attained,
that, all suprises are drowned,
yap'that, where our eyes directed.
Behind that curtain,
decorated with a colourful carpet,
with a big secret underneath,
yeah! that where every eye digging into it.
Behind that curtain,
sorroundedby curious walls,
walls with beautiful dolls,
yap! that every finger would like to touch.
Behind that curtain,
where all decisions are made,
decisions of power and trade,
that may stand years and decades.
Behind that curtain,
drafted with Tanzanite colour,
that may stand for years not hours,
yes, where every heart would like to mingle in.
Behind that curtain,
where I hear a smell,
something like a rotten hell,
yes, that every fly would be pleased to kiss.
that is where you belong and it is yiur home.
poem by Dickson Mseti
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Coomera
THERE’S a pretty little story with a touch of moonlit glory
Comes from Beenleigh on the Logan, but we don’t know if it’s true;
For we scarcely dare to credit ev’rything they say who edit
Those unhappy country papers ’twixt the ocean and Barcoo.
’Twas the man who owned the wherry at the first Coomera ferry
Who was sitting cold and lonely while he counted out his tin;
When the cloudy curtain lifting let the moonlight on a drifting
Boat, that floated down the river with a pallid form therein.
And they say that Sergeant Carey (with the man who ran the ferry),
Started down to save the body from the cruel heartless sea,
And in spite of wind and water, soon they reached the barque and caught her;
And they tied the boat behind them while they wondered “who was he?”
O the moon shone bright as ever as they towed him up the river,
And they found within the pocket that was nearest to his breast—
Just an antidote for sorrow, that would tide him o’er the morrow—
(Flask of Brandy); but we’d better draw the curtain o’er the rest.
Yet, in case the point’s too finely drawn (we know we joke divinely),
And the reader fails to see it with a magnifying glass,
We will say the man who floated, while the moonlight o’er him gloated,
Was not dead and gone to heaven—he was only drunk, alas!THERE’S a pretty little story with a touch of moonlit glory
Comes from Beenleigh on the Logan, but we don’t know if it’s true;
For we scarcely dare to credit ev’rything they say who edit
Those unhappy country papers ’twixt the ocean and Barcoo.
’Twas the man who owned the wherry at the first Coomera ferry
Who was sitting cold and lonely while he counted out his tin;
When the cloudy curtain lifting let the moonlight on a drifting
Boat, that floated down the river with a pallid form therein.
And they say that Sergeant Carey (with the man who ran the ferry),
Started down to save the body from the cruel heartless sea,
And in spite of wind and water, soon they reached the barque and caught her;
And they tied the boat behind them while they wondered “who was he?”
O the moon shone bright as ever as they towed him up the river,
And they found within the pocket that was nearest to his breast—
Just an antidote for sorrow, that would tide him o’er the morrow—
(Flask of Brandy); but we’d better draw the curtain o’er the rest.
Yet, in case the point’s too finely drawn (we know we joke divinely),
And the reader fails to see it with a magnifying glass,
We will say the man who floated, while the moonlight o’er him gloated,
Was not dead and gone to heaven—he was only drunk, alas!
For we scarcely dare to credit ev’rything they say who edit
Those unhappy country papers ’twixt the ocean and Barcoo.
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Lawson
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When It Falls, It Falls All Over You
Selling papers on the corner,
I saw a man yesterday.
I asked him if hed wanna
Tell me what made him this way.
He said, when its born, its warm,
Then it gathers strength in lies,
When it falls, it falls all over you.
He used to pick his friends.
They left him in the end.
An easy thing to lose,
The right to pick and choose.
When its born, its warm,
Then it gathers strength in lies,
When it falls, it falls all over you.
He said he left his wife,
The back-bone of his life.
Another came along,
But now I guess shes gone.
When its born, its warm,
Then it gathers strength in lies,
When it falls, it falls all over you.
I think I used to see
That old man on tv,
Can you be the same?
It seems like such a shame.
When its born, its warm,
Then it gathers strength in lies,
When it falls, it falls all over you.
The world he thought he knew,
Has better things to do.
As I went on my way
I thought I heard him say:
When its born, its warm,
Then it gathers strength in lies,
When it falls, it falls all over you.
song performed by Neil Young
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Behind the Scenes
The actor struts his little hour,
Between the limelight and the band;
The public feel the actor's power,
Yet nothing do they understand
Of all the touches here and there
That make or mar the actor's part,
They never see, beneath the glare,
The artist striving after art.
To them it seems a labour slight
Where nought of study intervenes;
You see it in another light
When once you've been behind the scenes.
For though the actor at his best
Is, like a poet, born not made,
He still must study with a zest
And practise hard to learn his trade.
So, whether on the actor's form
The stately robes of Hamlet sit,
Or as Macbeth he rave and storm,
Or plays burlesque to please the pit,
'Tis each and all a work of art,
That constant care and practice means --
The actor who creates a part
Has done his work behind the scenes.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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When The Rain Falls Down
when the rain falls down it awakes my dream
when the rain falls down it washes me clean
when the rain falls down it screams my scream
when the rain falls down it follows me
when the rain falls down it carrys me
when the rain falls down it unties me
when the rain falls down it talks to me
when the rain falls down im comin clean
when the rain falls down. down on me.
poem by Alyssa Swensen
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Dreaming As The Tears Fall.
Dreaming of happy days.
Dreaming of that longing gaze.
Dreaming of that perfect embrace.
I'm dreaming of love always.
The greatest gift one could give.
Loneliness speaks of my weakness.
Vulnerabilities open like a wound so sore.
A tear dropp falls forevermore.
Dreaming of happy days.
Dreaming of that longing gaze.
Dreaming of that perfect embrace.
I'm dreaming of love always.
The greatest gift one could give.
I feel so abandon by everyone.
I feel like no one cares.
I feel, I feel, I feel so much pain.
Please tell me why I am still here.
A purpose should never disappear.
Dreaming of happy days.
Dreaming of that longing gaze.
Dreaming of that perfect embrace.
I'm dreaming of love always.
The greatest gift one could give.
Loneliness speaks of my weakness.
Vulnerabilities open like a wound so sore.
A tear dropp falls forevermore.
Loneliness speaks of my weakness.
Vulnerabilities open like a wound so sore.
A tear dropp falls forevermore.
Dreaming of happy days.
Dreaming of that longing gaze.
Dreaming of that perfect embrace.
I'm dreaming of love always.
The greatest gift one could give.
I remember the past so vividly.
But still it isn't now.
A singled out cloud.
The sun is burning him out.
Oh how he wishes darkness would surround.
Dreaming of happy days.
Dreaming of that longing gaze.
[...] Read more
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Bad Little Actress
I cant carry on
This play is too long
I must be going
Extend my regrets
I gave it my best
But now Im going
This is too much for me to take
Something tells me that shes faking it
She says she dont care
She wants to be fair
She must be joking
Its simple she said
Lets not lose our head
Tell me shes joking
This is too much for me to take
But somebody isnt faking
Someones heart is breaking
And if you see her give her my critique
Shes a bad little actress
Gets no curtain call
But the worst of all
When the curtain falls
Theres no one at the backstage door
Im more than her friend
cause I knew her when
She was no sensation
Shes wasting our time
Repeats all her lines
Whats her motivation?
Now she wont share her stage with me
Her performance was outrageous
Put me through some changes
So if you see her give her my critique
Shes a bad little actress
Her delivery dont come naturally
Anyone could see she doesnt mean a word she says
Her mascara ran
And the show was panned
But Im still her biggest fan
So when you see her give her my critique
Shes a bad little actress
Gets no curtain call
But the worst of all
When the curtain falls
Theres no one at the backstage door
song performed by Utopia
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The Grooms Still Waiting At The Altar
Prayed in the ghetto with my face in the cement,
Heard the last moan of a boxer, seen the massacre of the innocent
Felt around for the light switch, became nauseated.
She was walking down the hallway while the walls deteriorated.
East of the jordan, hard as the rock of gibraltar,
I see the burning of the page, curtain risin on a new age,
See the groom still waitin at the altar.
Try to be pure at heart, they arrest you for robbery,
Mistake your shyness for aloofness, your shyness for snobbery,
Got the message this morning, the one that was sent to me
About the madness of becomin what one was never meant to be.
West of the jordan, east of the rock of gibraltar,
I see the burning of the stage,
Curtain risin on a new age,
See the groom still waitin at the altar.
Dont know what I can say about claudette that wouldnt come back to haunt me,
Finally had to give her up bout the time she began to want me.
But I know God has mercy on them who are slandered and humiliated.
Id a-done anything for that woman if she didnt make me feel so obligated.
West of the jordan, west of the rock of gibraltar,
I see the burning of the cage,
Curtain risin on a new stage,
See the groom still waitin at the altar.
Put your hand on my head, baby, do I have a temperature?
I see people who are supposed to know better standin around like furniture.
Theres a wall between you and what you want and you got to leap it,
Tonight you got the power to take it, tomorrow you wont have the power to
Keep it.
West of the jordan, east of the rock of gibraltar,
I see the burning of the stage, curtain risin on a new age,
See the groom still waitin at the altar.
Cities on fire, phones out of order,
Theyre killing nuns and soldiers, theres fighting on the border.
What can I say about claudette?
Aint seen her since january,
She could be respectably married or running a whorehouse in buenos aires.
West of the jordan, west of the rock of gibraltar,
I see the burning of the stage,
Curtain risin on a new age,
See the groom still waitin at the altar.
song performed by Bob Dylan
Added by Lucian Velea
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Not A Dry Eye In The House
Not a dry eye in the house
After loves curtain comes down
Listen and youll hear the sound
Hear the sound of a heart breaking
I can still see you standing there
Midnight wind blowing through your hair
Kisses sweet in the salty air
When love was forever
Turn the page and we fade to blue
The scene has changed now Im without you
Walked away when the act was through
And the dream was over
It was almost like a movie - the way you said goodbye
You must have a lot of time rehearsing each and every line
Now theres not a dry eye in the house
After loves curtain comes down
Listen and youll hear the sound
Hear the sound of a heart breaking
Not a smile left on my face
The endings just too sad to take
And theres not a dry eye
Not a dry eye in the house
The greatest story was you and me
Had it all we had everything, but now the
Storys done its just history
The last act is over
You every line had the sweetest sound
Your every touch turned my world around
But the light came up and my world crashed down
End of show - its over
It was almost like a movie
Those nights we touched the stars
Time stood still for you and i
Now its sad enough to make you cry
Now theres not a dry eye in the house
After loves curtain comes down
Listen and youll hear the sound
Hear the sound of a heart breaking
Not a smile left on my face
The endings just too sad to take
And theres not a dry eye
Not a dry eye in the house
Act one - the storys just begun
Act two - I fell in love with you
Act three - knew it was meant to be
Act four - you dont love me no more
And theres not a dry eye in the house
After loves curtain comes down
Listen and youll hear the sound
Hear the sound of a heart breaking
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song performed by Meat Loaf
Added by Lucian Velea
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I Love It All
(John Michael Montgomery/Blair Daly)
Another night on this interstate
Seems like I've been on it everyday for years now
Does it ever end
On my way to another show
Where I'll end up, I don't even know where I'm going
Or where I've been
Don't know why, don't know how
But I keep comin' back for more
It's my life, there's no doubt
Guess I'll never know for sure
But when I stand on that stage, and the curtain falls
I love it all
It's getting late, I think I'll lay it down
Then I'll wake up in some other town and I'll wander
To my hotel room
I'll walk around just a-wastin' time
Lookin' for a little peace of mind I bet I'll find it
On an ole barstool
Don't know why, don't know how
But I keep comin' back for more
It's my life, there's no doubt
Guess I'll never know for sure
But when I stand on that stage, and the curtain falls
I love it all
Don't know why, don't know how
But I keep comin' back for more
It's my life, there's no doubt
Guess I'll never know for sure
But when I stand on that stage and the curtain falls
And the crowd wants to stay for one more song
I love it all
Another night on this interstate
Seems like I've been on it everyday for years now
I hope it never ends
song performed by John Michael Montgomery
Added by Lucian Velea
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