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If you have ambition, you might not achieve anything, but without ambition, you are almost certain not to achieve anything.

quote by Whitfield Diffie
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War And Peace—A Poem

THOU, bright Futurity! whose prospect beams,
In dawning radiance on our day-light dreams;
Whose lambent meteors and ethereal forms
Gild the dark clouds, and glitter thro' the storms;
On thy broad canvas fancy loves to trace,
Her brilliant Iris, drest in vivid grace;
Paints fair creations in celestial dyes,
Tints of the morn and blushes of the skies;
And bids her scenes perfection's robe assume,
The mingling flush of light, and life, and bloom.
Thou bright Futurity! whose morning-star
Still beams unveil'd, unclouded, from afar;
Whose lovely vista smiling Hope surveys,
Thro' the dim twilight of the silvery haze;

Oh! let the muse expand her wing on high,
Thy shadowy realms, thy worlds unknown descry;
Let her clear eye-beam, flashing lucid light,
Chase from thy forms th' involving shades of night;
Pierce the dark clouds that veil thy noontide rays,
And soar, exulting, in meridian blaze!
In bliss, in grief, thy radiant scenes bestow,
The zest of rapture, or the balm of woe!
For, as the sun-flower to her idol turns,
Glows in his noon, and kindles as he burns;
Expands her bosom to th' exalting fire,
Lives but to gaze, and gazes to admire;
E'en so to thee, the mind incessant flies,
From thy pure source the fount of joy supplies;
And steals from thee the sunny light that throws
A brighter blush on pleasure's living rose!
To thee pale sorrow turns her eye of tears,
Lifts the dim curtain of unmeasur'd years;
And hails thy promis'd land, th' Elysian shore,
Where weeping virtue shall bewail no more!

Now, while the sounds of martial wrath assail,
While the red banner floats upon the gale;
While dark destruction, with his legion-bands,
Waves the bright sabre o'er devoted lands;
While war's dread comet flashes thro' the air,
And fainting nations tremble at the glare;
To thee, Futurity! from scenes like these,
Pale fancy turns, for heav'n-imparted ease;
Turns to behold, in thy unclouded skies,
The orb of peace in bright perspective rise;
And pour around, with joy-diffusing ray,
Life, light, and glory, in a flood of day!

Thou, whose lov'd presence and benignant smile

[...] Read more

poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Good Ambition

Ive spent eleven months and five days loving you
And all these times Ive spent forgiving you
I dont want to be hurt
I dont want to be hurt
I dont want to be hurt
Not any more
Im a man with a good ambition
And I will never let you drag me down
You better go home and leave me alone
Im a man with a good ambition
And I will never let you drag me down
So baby go home
And leave me alone
Ive got a good, good, good ambition
Tell you its a good, good, good ambition
Ive got a good, good, good ambition
Tell you its a good, good, good ambition
Ive got a good, good, good ambition
Tell you its a good, good, good ambition

song performed by Ub40
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Ainsi Va le Monde

[As a Tribute of Esteem and Admiration this Poem is inscribed to ROBERT MERRY, Esq. A. M. Member of the Royal Academy at Florence, and Author of the Laurel of Liberty, and the Della Crusca Poems.]

O THOU, to whom superior worth's allied,
Thy Country's honour­and the MUSES' pride;
Whose pen gives polish to the varying line
That blends instruction with the song divine;
Whose fancy, glancing o'er the hostile plain,
Plants a fond trophy o'er the mighty slain; I
Or to the daisied lawn directs its way,
Blithe as the songstress of returning day;
Who deign'd to rove where twinkling glow-worms lead
The tiny legions o'er the glitt'ring mead;
Whose liquid notes in sweet meand'rings flow,
Mild as the murmurs of the Bird of Woe;
Who gave to Sympathy its softest pow'r,
The charm to wing Affliction's sable hour;
Who in Italia's groves, with thrilling song,
Call'd mute attention from the minstrel throng;
Gave proud distinction to the Poet's name,
And claim'd, by modest worth, the wreath of fame­
Accept the Verse thy magic harp inspires,
Nor scorn the Muse that kindles at its fires.

O, justly gifted with the Sacred Lyre,
Whose sounds can more than mortal thoughts inspire,
Whether its strings HEROIC measures move,
Or lyric numbers charm the soul to love;
Whether thy fancy "pours the varying verse"
In bow'rs of bliss, or o'er the plumed hearse;
Whether of patriot zeal, or past'ral sports,
The peace of hamlets, or the pride of courts:
Still Nature glows in ev'ry classic line­
Still Genius dictates­still the verse is thine.

Too long the Muse, in ancient garb array'd,
Has pin'd neglected in oblivion's shade;
Driv'n from the sun-shine of poetic fame,
Stripp'd of each charm she scarcely boasts a name:
Her voice no more can please the vapid throng,
No more loud Pæans consecrate her song,
Cold, faint, and sullen, to the grove she flies,
A faded garland veils her radiant eyes:
A with'ring laurel on her breast she wears,
Fann'd by her sighs, and spangled with her tears;
From her each fond associate early fled,
She mourn'd a MILTON lost, a SHAKSPERE dead:
Her eye beheld a CHATTERTON oppress'd,
A famish'd OTWAY­ravish'd from her breast;
Now in their place a flutt'ring form appears,

[...] Read more

poem by Mary Darby Robinson
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When You Believe

- s. schwartz - babyface -
Wh:
Many nights we pray
With no proof anyone could hear
And our hearts a hopeful song
We barely understand
Now we are not afraid
Although we know theres much to fear
We were moving mountains long
Before we know we could
Oah yes
There can be miracles
When you believe
Though hope is frail
Its hard to kill
Who know what miracle
You can achieve
When you believe
Somehow you will
You will when you believe
Mc:
In this time of fear
When prayer so often proves in vain
Hope seems like the summer birds
Too swiftly flown away
And now I am standing here
My hearts so full I cant explain
Seeking faith and speaking words
I never thought Id say
There can be miracles
When you believe
(wh: when you believe)
Though hope is frail
Its hard to kill
Who know what miraclea
You can achieve
(wh: you can achieve)
When you believe
Somehow you will
You will when you believe
Both:
They dont always happen when you ask
And its easy to give in to your fear
Ohhhhh
But when youre blinded by your pain
Cant see you way safe through the rain
Thought of a still resilient voice
Says love is very near
There can be miracles
(wh: miracles)

[...] Read more

song performed by Mariah Carey
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Canto the Third

I.

Is thy face like thy mother’s, my fair child!
Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart?
When last I saw thy young blue eyes, they smiled,
And then we parted, - not as now we part,
But with a hope. -
Awaking with a start,
The waters heave around me; and on high
The winds lift up their voices: I depart,
Whither I know not; but the hour’s gone by,
When Albion’s lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.

II.

Once more upon the waters! yet once more!
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
That knows his rider. Welcome to their roar!
Swift be their guidance, wheresoe’er it lead!
Though the strained mast should quiver as a reed,
And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale,
Still must I on; for I am as a weed,
Flung from the rock, on Ocean’s foam, to sail
Where’er the surge may sweep, the tempest’s breath prevail.

III.

In my youth’s summer I did sing of One,
The wandering outlaw of his own dark mind;
Again I seize the theme, then but begun,
And bear it with me, as the rushing wind
Bears the cloud onwards: in that tale I find
The furrows of long thought, and dried-up tears,
Which, ebbing, leave a sterile track behind,
O’er which all heavily the journeying years
Plod the last sands of life - where not a flower appears.

IV.

Since my young days of passion - joy, or pain,
Perchance my heart and harp have lost a string,
And both may jar: it may be, that in vain
I would essay as I have sung to sing.
Yet, though a dreary strain, to this I cling,
So that it wean me from the weary dream
Of selfish grief or gladness - so it fling
Forgetfulness around me - it shall seem
To me, though to none else, a not ungrateful theme.

V.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1818)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Canto the Fourth

I.

I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand:
I saw from out the wave her structures rise
As from the stroke of the enchanter’s wand:
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying glory smiles
O’er the far times when many a subject land
Looked to the wingèd Lion’s marble piles,
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles!

II.

She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean,
Rising with her tiara of proud towers
At airy distance, with majestic motion,
A ruler of the waters and their powers:
And such she was; her daughters had their dowers
From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East
Poured in her lap all gems in sparkling showers.
In purple was she robed, and of her feast
Monarchs partook, and deemed their dignity increased.

III.

In Venice, Tasso’s echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,
And music meets not always now the ear:
Those days are gone - but beauty still is here.
States fall, arts fade - but Nature doth not die,
Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear,
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy!

IV.

But unto us she hath a spell beyond
Her name in story, and her long array
Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond
Above the dogeless city’s vanished sway;
Ours is a trophy which will not decay
With the Rialto; Shylock and the Moor,
And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn away -
The keystones of the arch! though all were o’er,
For us repeopled were the solitary shore.

V.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1818)
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An Epistle

I.

Master and Sage, greetings and health to thee,
From thy most meek disciple! Deign once more
Endure me at thy feet, enlighten me,
As when upon my boyish head of yore,
Midst the rapt circle gathered round thy knee
Thy sacred vials of learning thou didst pour.
By the large lustre of thy wisdom orbed
Be my black doubts illumined and absorbed.

II.

Oft I recall that golden time when thou,
Born for no second station, heldst with us
The Rabbi's chair, who art priest and bishop now;
And we, the youth of Israel, curious,
Hung on thy counsels, lifted reverent brow
Unto thy sanctity, would fain discuss
With thee our Talmud problems good and evil,
Till startled by the risen stars o'er Seville.

III.

For on the Synagogue's high-pillared porch
Thou didst hold session, till the sudden sun
Beyond day's purple limit dropped his torch.
Then we, as dreamers, woke, to find outrun
Time's rapid sands. The flame that may not scorch,
Our hearts caught from thine eyes, thou Shining One.
I scent not yet sweet lemon-groves in flower,
But I re-breathe the peace of that deep hour.

IV.

We kissed the sacred borders of thy gown,
Brow-aureoled with thy blessing, we went forth
Through the hushed byways of the twilight town.
Then in all life but one thing seemed of worth,
To seek, find, love the Truth. She set her crown
Upon thy head, our Master, at thy birth;
She bade thy lips drop honey, fired thine eyes
With the unclouded glow of sun-steeped skies.

V.

[...] Read more

poem by Emma Lazarus
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The King and the Shepherd

Through ev'ry Age some Tyrant Passion reigns:
Now Love prevails, and now Ambition gains
Reason's lost Throne, and sov'reign Rule maintains.
Tho' beyond Love's, Ambition's Empire goes;
For who feels Love, Ambition also knows,
And proudly still aspires to be possest
Of Her, he thinks superior to the rest.

As cou'd be prov'd, but that our plainer Task
Do's no such Toil, or Definitions ask;
But to be so rehears'd, as first 'twas told,
When such old Stories pleas'd in Days of old.

A King, observing how a Shepherd's Skill
Improv'd his Flocks, and did the Pastures fill,
That equal Care th' assaulted did defend,
And the secur'd and grazing Part attend,
Approves the Conduct, and from Sheep and Curs
Transfers the Sway, and changed his Wool to Furrs.
Lord-Keeper now, as rightly he divides
His just Decrees, and speedily decides;
When his sole Neighbor, whilst he watch'd the Fold,
A Hermit poor, in Contemplation old,
Hastes to his Ear, with safe, but lost Advice,
Tells him such Heights are levell'd in a trice,
Preferments treach'rous, and her Paths of Ice:
And that already sure 't had turn'd his Brain,
Who thought a Prince's Favour to retain.
Nor seem'd unlike, in this mistaken Rank,
The sightless Wretch, who froze upon a Bank
A Serpent found, which for a Staff he took,
And us'd as such (his own but lately broke)
Thanking the Fates, who thus his Loss supply'd,
Nor marking one, that with amazement cry'd,
Throw quickly from thy Hand that sleeping Ill;
A Serpent 'tis, that when awak'd will kill.

A Serpent this! th' uncaution'd Fool replies:
A Staff it feels, nor shall my want of Eyes
Make me believe, I have no Senses left,
And thro' thy Malice be of this bereft;
Which Fortune to my Hand has kindly sent
To guide my Steps, and stumbling to prevent.
No Staff, the Man proceeds; but to thy harm
A Snake 'twill prove: The Viper, now grown warm
Confirm'd it soon, and fasten'd on his Arm.

Thus wilt thou find, Shepherd believe it true,
Some Ill, that shall this seeming Good ensue;

[...] Read more

poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto IV.

I.
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand:
I saw from out the wave her structures rise
As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand:
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying Glory smiles
O'er the far times, when many a subject land
Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles,
Where Venice sate in state, thron'd on her hundred isles!

II.
She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean,
Rising with her tiara of proud towers
At airy distance, with majestic motion,
A ruler of the waters and their powers:
And such she was; her daughters had their dowers
From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East
Pour'd in her lap all gems in sparkling showers.
In purple was she rob'd, and of her feast
Monarchs partook, and deem'd their dignity increas'd.

III.
In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,
And music meets not always now the ear:
Those days are gone -- but Beauty still is here.
States fall, arts fade -- but Nature doth not die,
Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear,
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy!

IV.
But unto us she hath a spell beyond
Her name in story, and her long array
Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond
Above the dogeless city's vanish'd sway;
Ours is a trophy which will not decay
With the Rialto; Shylock and the Moor,
And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn away --
The keystones of the arch! though all were o'er,
For us repeopl'd were the solitary shore.

V.
The beings of the mind are not of clay;
Essentially immortal, they create
And multiply in us a brighter ray
And more belov'd existence: that which Fate
Prohibits to dull life, in this our state

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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The Triumph Of Melancholy

1

Memory, be still! why throng upon the thought
These scenes deep-stain'd with Sorrow's sable dye?
Hast thou in store no joy-illumined draught,
To cheer bewilder'd Fancy's tearful eye?

2

Yes—from afar a landscape seems to rise,
Deck'd gorgeous by the lavish hand of Spring:
Thin gilded clouds float light along the skies,
And laughing Loves disport on fluttering wing.

3

How blest the youth in yonder valley laid!
Soft smiles in every conscious feature play,
While to the gale low murmuring through the glade,
He tempers sweet his sprightly-warbling lay.

4

Hail, Innocence! whose bosom, all serene,
Feels not fierce Passion's raving tempest roll!
Oh, ne'er may Care distract that placid mien!
Oh, ne'er may Doubt's dark shades o'erwhelm thy soul!

5

Vain wish! for, lo! in gay attire conceal'd,
Yonder she comes, the heart-inflaming fiend!
(Will no kind power the helpless stripling shield?)
Swift to her destined prey see Passion bend!

6

O smile accursed, to hide the worst designs!
Now with blithe eye she woo's him to be blest,
While round her arm unseen a serpent twines—
And, lo! she hurls it hissing at his breast.

7

[...] Read more

poem by James Beattie
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Under Patient Conditions

If you want to win you've got to stack the pack.
Sitting and wishing wont bring the cash.
Those with dreams work hard at tasks.
Ambition with a mission is the right ammunition.

Under patient conditions anyone can fix what's missing.
Under patient conditions anyone can fix what's missing.
Under patient conditions anyone can fix what's missing.
Ambition with a mission is the right ammunition.

If you want to win you've got to stack the pack.
Sitting and wishing wont bring the cash.
Those with dreams work hard at tasks.
Ambition with a mission is the right ammunition.

Under patient conditions anyone can fix what's missing.
Under patient conditions anyone can fix what's missing.
If you want to win you've got to stack the pack.
Sitting and wishing wont bring the cash.
Those with dreams work hard at tasks.
Ambition with a mission is the right ammunition.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Wanderer: A Vision: Canto V

We left the cave. Be Fear (said I) defy'd!
Virtue (for thou art Virtue) is my guide.

By time-worn steps a steep ascent we gain,
Whose summit yields a prospect o'er the plain.
There, bench'd with turf, an oak our seat extends,
Whose top, a verdant, branch'd pavilion bends.
Vistas, with leaves, diversify the scene,
Some pale, some brown, and some of lively green.

Now, from the full-grown day a beamy show'r
Gleams on the lake, and gilds each glossy flow'r.
Gay insects sparkle in the genial blaze,
Various as light, and countless as its rays:
They dance on every stream, and pictur'd play,
'Till, by the wat'ry racer, snatch'd away.

Now, from yon range of rocks, strong rays rebound,
Doubling the day on flow'ry plains around:
King-cups beneath far-striking colours glance,
Bright as th' etherial glows the green expanse.
Gems of the field!-the topaz charms the sight,
Like these, effulging yellow streams of light.
From the same rocks, fall rills with soften'd force,
Meet in yon mead, and well a river's source.
Thro' her clear channel, shine her finny shoals,
O'er sands, like gold, the liquid crystal rolls.
Dimm'd in yon coarser moor, her charms decay,
And shape, thro' rustling reeds, a ruffled way.
Near willows short and bushy shadows throw:
Now lost, she seems thro' nether tracts to flow;
Yet, at yon point, winds out in silver state,
Like Virtue from a labyrinth of fate.
In length'ning rows, prone from the mountains, run
The flocks:-their fleeces glist'ning in the sun;
Her streams they seek, and, 'twixt her neighb'ring trees,
Recline in various attitudes of ease.
Where the herds sip, the little scaly fry,
Swift from the shore, in scatt'ring myriads fly.

Each liv'ry'd cloud, that round th' horizon glows,
Shifts in odd scenes, like earth, from whence it rose.
The bee hums wanton in yon jasmine bow'r,
And circling settles, and despoils the flow'r.
Melodious there the plumy songsters meet,
And call charm'd Echo from her arch'd retreat.

[...] Read more

poem by Richard Savage
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Raging Ambition

We do have tons of ambition
Some are for real, some are just for imagination
Ambition has three divisions
Like fire composes of three divisions, the theme of ambition

Fire uses carbon as the base
To maintain the heat and the pressure, it’s a showcase
The latter must paired with our faith
To have a positive repartee and to face the goals in straight

Fuel is the booster of fire
To start and to initiates the flame like a wire
The late needs determination
To work-out the goals and to gain a right lore, not like an auction

Oxygen is a must in fire
To give breath and to mold forms to the flame, is a hire
Humility builds the latter
To accept the free-falls and to aim high in worst and in better

Ambition needs the three like fire
Without the other it’s like a car without a tire
It is the merely ingredients
To beacon ambitions and to succeed like chasing the radiant

poem by Sheldon Allen Saluta
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In Her Dark Citadel (Revised)

I am so glad to be led by Madame Pompadour,
her employees are irksome self-motivated prigs
dissatisfied as their central value, the ethic of
the hard-working Calvinist, showing a lack of
ambition; is trampled beneath Madame's feet as
only dishonesty pays, she is ashamed of her
underlings; she says

Madame Pompadour shows grand ambition by
sneering at work ethics and showing utter
disdain for everyone except her own arrogant
self, she spreads the bitterness eating away
at her soul by destroying work enjoyment, re-
lationships and processes, she thrives
on discontent

She detests the culture of her underlings, their
behaviors, attitudes, assumptions, beliefs; it's
an affront contravening her ideal of sharing un-
happiness equally; she stamps on undue diligence,
the unspoken, unwritten rules followed by those
coming in early, leaving late, making every
due date

She counteracts them by staying home, not
being on time, shouting at clients and service
providers alike, playing cards at work; this is
her way to fulfill ambitions her behaviour
proclaims, belittling everyone without rank
or status to fight injustice when she rates
them badly or refuses permission to leave

She runs her world to her satisfaction, no ethic
or moral principle is brooked in her reign of
terror, making a stand Voldemort would envy,
a representative of Nietsche's Ubermensch,
hooray for Madame La Pompadour - supreme
in her dark citadel!

[ORIGINAL]

I am so glad to be led by Madame Pompadour,
she says her employees are irksome by being
self-motivated prigs who are dissatisfied as
their value of a hard-working Calvinist ethic,
shows a lack of ambition in a world where
only dishonesty pays, she is ashamed of
her underlings, she says

[...] Read more

poem by Margaret Alice Second
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A Inspired Interest To Fulfil Desire!

Power, position, possession are precious for joy, rapture, satisfaction;
Inspiration and interest urge one to take any risk against dangers
To fulfil desire in achieving and acquiring precious things in life!
But who and what give inspiration to have aspiration for progress?
Nature, literature, history, politics and movie inspire many men!

Beauty of Nature, Birds, fish, literary characters, historical leaders,
Charismatic politicians, matinee idols and heroes inspire people!
Inspiration kindles to learn knowledge of all to become intellectuals;
Vision of deep learning helps to have ambition to achieve great things;
For, ambition is the great driving force that drives man of success!

Concentration and intelligent efforts should be directly towards the goal
When inspiration, interest and desire join hand on a mission in hand!
Even a slight sluggishness diversifies mind, bifurcates the route to hell;
So, to fulfil wish one’s aim, ambition and goal should be to the bull’s eye!

poem by Ramesh T A
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Tricks Are For Kicks

There is an emergency,
That has an urgency.
But few can come to see,
Or agree upon a need...
To dismiss those old tricks,
That have not yet to fix...
And economy that bleeds,
From kaput hypocrisies.

It must be faced quick,
How foolish the risks...
Of wishing to succeed,
With kaput hypocrisies.

There is an emergency,
That has an urgency.
But few can come to see,
Or agree upon a need...
To dismiss those old tricks,
That have not yet to fix...
An economy that bleeds,
From kaput hypocrisies.

Tricks are for kicks,
To amuse a purpose!
But a magic to achieve,
Attracts a jeopardy.

Tricks are for kicks,
To amuse a purpose!
But a magic to achieve...
Attracts a jeopardy,
In reach!

There is an emergency,
That has an urgency.

Tricks are for kicks,
To amuse a purpose!
But a magic to achieve,
Attracts a jeopardy.

There is an emergency,
That has an urgency.
And...
Tricks are for kicks,
To amuse a purpose!
But a magic to achieve,
Attracts a jeopardy.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A man without ambition is dead. A man with ambition but no love is dead. A man with ambition and love for his blessings here on earth is ever so alive. Having been alive, it won't be so hard in the end to lie down and rest.

quote by Pearl Bailey
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A man without ambition is dead. A man with ambition but no love is dead. A man with ambition and love for his blessings here on earth is ever so alive.

quote by Pearl Bailey
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Ambition

Matlock
Im the kind of girl
I want that whole wide world
Nothing more nothing less
I dont want second best
Ah but my associates
Why theyre no more than opiates
Always dragging me down
Dash my hopes to the ground
But they must be kidding
Or wishful thinking
Adding fuel to the fire
Of my ambition
Ill make a date
Oh no I wont be late
And why of course hell be there
Hell promise hell sweur
But all I ever find
Been spun that same old line
Its happened time and time again before
But these things and more
Widen the score
And its one up for ambition
I really have a go
You know youve got to hand it to me
Ive got a heart of gold
But Im a wolf in muttons clothes
Someday my time will come
Ill feel I cant go on
I may not care or even know its there
But then Ill have my fun
So till then just press on
Dont lose your grip
Dont lose ambition

song performed by Iggy Pop
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Cowboy In The Jungle

Cowboy in the jungle
By: jimmy buffett
1978
Theres a cowboy in the jungle
And he looks so out of place
With his shrimpskin boots and his cheap cheroots
And his skin as white as paste
Headin south to paraguay
Where the gauchos sing and shout
Now hes stuck in porto bello
Since his money all ran out
So he hangs out with the sailors
Night and day theyre raisin hell
And his original destinations just another
Story that he loves to tell
With no plans for the future
He still seems in control
From a bronco ride to a ten foot tide
He just had to learn to roll
Chorus:
Roll with the punches
Play all of his hunches
Make the best of whatever came his way
What he lacked in ambition
He made up with intuition
Plowing straight ahead come what may
Steel band in the distance
And their music floats across the bay
While american women in moomoos
Talk about all the things they did today
And their husbands quack about fishing
As they slug those rum drinks down
Discussing who caught what and who sat on his butt
But its the only show in town.
Chorus:
Theyre tryin to drink all the punches
They all may lose their lunches
Tryin to cram lost years into five or six days
Seems that blind ambition erased their intuition
Plowin straight ahead come what may.
I dont want to live on that kind of island
No I dont want to swim in a roped off sea
Too much for me, too much for me
Ive got to be where the wind and the water are free.
Alone on a midnight passage
I can count the falling stars
While the southern cross and the satellites
They remind me of where we are
Spinning around in circles
Living it day to day

[...] Read more

song performed by Jimmy Buffett
Added by Lucian Velea
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