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I have no regrets because I did everything by the book.

quote by Alexis Arguello
Added by Lucian Velea
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Eighth Book

ONE eve it happened when I sate alone,
Alone upon the terrace of my tower,
A book upon my knees, to counterfeit
The reading that I never read at all,
While Marian, in the garden down below,
Knelt by the fountain (I could just hear thrill
The drowsy silence of the exhausted day)
And peeled a new fig from that purple heap
In the grass beside her,–turning out the red
To feed her eager child, who sucked at it
With vehement lips across a gap of air
As he stood opposite, face and curls a-flame
With that last sun-ray, crying, 'give me, give,'
And stamping with imperious baby-feet,
(We're all born princes)–something startled me,–
The laugh of sad and innocent souls, that breaks
Abruptly, as if frightened at itself;
'Twas Marian laughed. I saw her glance above
In sudden shame that I should hear her laugh,
And straightway dropped my eyes upon my book,
And knew, the first time, 'twas Boccaccio's tales,
The Falcon's,–of the lover who for love
Destroyed the best that loved him. Some of us
Do it still, and then we sit and laugh no more.
Laugh you, sweet Marian! you've the right to laugh,
Since God himself is for you, and a child!
For me there's somewhat less,–and so, I sigh.

The heavens were making room to hold the night,
The sevenfold heavens unfolding all their gates
To let the stars out slowly (prophesied
In close-approaching advent, not discerned),
While still the cue-owls from the cypresses
Of the Poggio called and counted every pulse
Of the skyey palpitation. Gradually
The purple and transparent shadows slow
Had filled up the whole valley to the brim,
And flooded all the city, which you saw
As some drowned city in some enchanted sea,
Cut off from nature,–drawing you who gaze,
With passionate desire, to leap and plunge,
And find a sea-king with a voice of waves,
And treacherous soft eyes, and slippery locks
You cannot kiss but you shall bring away
Their salt upon your lips. The duomo-bell
Strikes ten, as if it struck ten fathoms down,
So deep; and fifty churches answer it
The same, with fifty various instances.
Some gaslights tremble along squares and streets
The Pitti's palace-front is drawn in fire:

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Truth and the Devil

The devil unstoppably took pride in salaciously writing; the book of
obnoxious caste-creed and venomously penalizing hatred,

The devil unstoppably took pride in acrimoniously writing; the book of
indiscriminate bloodshed and disastrously traumatizing ruthlessness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in vengefully writing; the book of
tyrannical devastation and lecherously bellicose orphaning,

The devil unstoppably took pride in fretfully writing; the book of
vindictive war and satanically criminal holocausts,

The devil unstoppably took pride in maliciously writing; the book of
coldblooded barbarism and manipulatively bizarre malice,

The devil unstoppably took pride in forlornly writing; the book of
worthless
ghosts and mortuaries brutally anointed with fresh blood,

T The devil unstoppably took pride in indigently writing; the book of
nonchalant spuriousness and fecklessly insipid meaninglessness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in torturously writing; the book of
ominous
animosity and hedonistically pugnacious illwill,

The devil unstoppably took pride in dictatorially writing; the book of
licentious bawdiness and insanely threadbare nothingness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in heinously writing; the book of
lascivious poverty and baselessly crippling uncertainty,

The devil unstoppably took pride in savagely writing; the book of
despicable
defeat and lethally ballistic atrociousness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in raunchily writing; the book of
dolorous
delinquency and insidiously slandering betrayal,

The devil unstoppably took pride in preposterously writing; the book of
scurrilous lunatism and barbarously incarcerating fiendishness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in frigidly writing; the book of
jejune
mockery and impudently castigating brazenness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in heartlessly writing; the book of
ghastly
bloodshed and indefatigably bombarding politics,

[...] Read more

poem by Nikhil Parekh
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I. The Ring and the Book

Do you see this Ring?
'T is Rome-work, made to match
(By Castellani's imitative craft)
Etrurian circlets found, some happy morn,
After a dropping April; found alive
Spark-like 'mid unearthed slope-side figtree-roots
That roof old tombs at Chiusi: soft, you see,
Yet crisp as jewel-cutting. There's one trick,
(Craftsmen instruct me) one approved device
And but one, fits such slivers of pure gold
As this was,—such mere oozings from the mine,
Virgin as oval tawny pendent tear
At beehive-edge when ripened combs o'erflow,—
To bear the file's tooth and the hammer's tap:
Since hammer needs must widen out the round,
And file emboss it fine with lily-flowers,
Ere the stuff grow a ring-thing right to wear.
That trick is, the artificer melts up wax
With honey, so to speak; he mingles gold
With gold's alloy, and, duly tempering both,
Effects a manageable mass, then works:
But his work ended, once the thing a ring,
Oh, there's repristination! Just a spirt
O' the proper fiery acid o'er its face,
And forth the alloy unfastened flies in fume;
While, self-sufficient now, the shape remains,
The rondure brave, the lilied loveliness,
Gold as it was, is, shall be evermore:
Prime nature with an added artistry—
No carat lost, and you have gained a ring.
What of it? 'T is a figure, a symbol, say;
A thing's sign: now for the thing signified.

Do you see this square old yellow Book, I toss
I' the air, and catch again, and twirl about
By the crumpled vellum covers,—pure crude fact
Secreted from man's life when hearts beat hard,
And brains, high-blooded, ticked two centuries since?
Examine it yourselves! I found this book,
Gave a lira for it, eightpence English just,
(Mark the predestination!) when a Hand,
Always above my shoulder, pushed me once,
One day still fierce 'mid many a day struck calm,
Across a Square in Florence, crammed with booths,
Buzzing and blaze, noontide and market-time,
Toward Baccio's marble,—ay, the basement-ledge
O' the pedestal where sits and menaces
John of the Black Bands with the upright spear,
'Twixt palace and church,—Riccardi where they lived,
His race, and San Lorenzo where they lie.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Fifth Book

AURORA LEIGH, be humble. Shall I hope
To speak my poems in mysterious tune
With man and nature,–with the lava-lymph
That trickles from successive galaxies
Still drop by drop adown the finger of God,
In still new worlds?–with summer-days in this,
That scarce dare breathe, they are so beautiful?–
With spring's delicious trouble in the ground
Tormented by the quickened blood of roots.
And softly pricked by golden crocus-sheaves
In token of the harvest-time of flowers?–
With winters and with autumns,–and beyond,
With the human heart's large seasons,–when it hopes
And fears, joys, grieves, and loves?–with all that strain
Of sexual passion, which devours the flesh
In a sacrament of souls? with mother's breasts,
Which, round the new made creatures hanging there,
Throb luminous and harmonious like pure spheres?–
With multitudinous life, and finally
With the great out-goings of ecstatic souls,
Who, in a rush of too long prisoned flame,
Their radiant faces upward, burn away
This dark of the body, issuing on a world
Beyond our mortal?–can I speak my verse
So plainly in tune to these things and the rest,
That men shall feel it catch them on the quick,
As having the same warrant over them
To hold and move them, if they will or no,
Alike imperious as the primal rhythm
Of that theurgic nature? I must fail,
Who fail at the beginning to hold and move
One man,–and he my cousin, and he my friend,
And he born tender, made intelligent,
Inclined to ponder the precipitous sides
Of difficult questions; yet, obtuse to me,–
Of me, incurious! likes me very well,
And wishes me a paradise of good,
Good looks, good means, and good digestion!–ay,
But otherwise evades me, puts me off
With kindness, with a tolerant gentleness,–
Too light a book for a grave man's reading! Go,
Aurora Leigh: be humble.
There it is;
We women are too apt to look to one,
Which proves a certain impotence in art.
We strain our natures at doing something great,
Far less because it's something great to do,
Than, haply, that we, so, commend ourselves
As being not small, and more appreciable
To some one friend. We must have mediators

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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No Cabin Fever Here

Many can get restless,
When a cabin fever comes to test.
And...
They must be living in a debt.
And pressured by regret.

Many can get restless,
When a cabin fever comes to test.
And...
Wishing to escape,
Through a door that has a blocked exit.

But nothing's going to keep me...
Locked up and away,
From Mama Nature.

I don't have those regrets!

Nothing's going to keep me...
Locked up and away,
From Mama Nature.

I don't have those regrets!

Many can get restless,
When a cabin fever comes to test.
And...
They must be living in a debt.
And pressured by regret.

Many can get restless,
When a cabin fever comes to test.
And...
Wishing to escape,
Through a door that has a blocked exit.

But nothing's going to keep me...
Locked up and away,
From Mama Nature.

I don't have those regrets!

No cabin fever!

I don't have those regrets!

No cabin fever here!

I don't have those regrets!

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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No Regrets

BOUNCE B-side
Thunder cracks, the sky is crying
On her back she's pushing, trying
He holds her hand and kneels beside her bed
Break the silence, baby's screaming
In slow motion she ain't dreaming
She closed her eyes, looked up to God and says
Should I cry a little more?
Should I try a little more?
I pay the cost and laugh it off
And do it all a thousand times again
No regrets
Living's hard and dying's easy
My mistakes, they won't defeat me
I like to burn a candle at both ends
I broke some hearts, been broken hearted
Run away from fires I've started
I didn't break but tried my best to bend
Should I cry a little more?
Should I try a little more?
I pay the cost and laugh it off
And do it all a thousand times again
No regrets for things I've done
No regrets for wars I've won
No regrets for fires I've started
No regrets for faith departed
Hey, Hey
Thunder cracks, the sky is crying
On her back she's pushing, trying
Holds her hand and kneels beside her
Only faith left there to guide her
Should I cry a little more?
Should I try a little more?
Should I lie a little more?
Or get high a little more?
I pay the cost and laugh it off
And do it all a thousand times
Should I ...
Should I ...
Should I ...
No regrets
No regrets
No regrets
No regrets

song performed by Bon Jovi
Added by Lucian Velea
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Miss Piggy regrets..

Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today, madam..
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today:
That tastelessly named flu’s got her
(She forgot to wash her front trotter…) so
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today..

Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today, madam..
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today:
It’s a swine of a stroke of bad luck:
Her eyelashes, she sneezed them unstuck… so
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today…

Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today, madam..
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today:
She’s all pink from her snout to her face;
Her mascara’s all over the place… so
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today..

Why not try the lamb today, madam…?

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Seventh Book

'THE woman's motive? shall we daub ourselves
With finding roots for nettles? 'tis soft clay
And easily explored. She had the means,
The moneys, by the lady's liberal grace,
In trust for that Australian scheme and me,
Which so, that she might clutch with both her hands,
And chink to her naughty uses undisturbed,
She served me (after all it was not strange,;
'Twas only what my mother would have done)
A motherly, unmerciful, good turn.

'Well, after. There are nettles everywhere,
But smooth green grasses are more common still;
The blue of heaven is larger than the cloud;
A miller's wife at Clichy took me in
And spent her pity on me,–made me calm
And merely very reasonably sad.
She found me a servant's place in Paris where
I tried to take the cast-off life again,
And stood as quiet as a beaten ass
Who, having fallen through overloads, stands up
To let them charge him with another pack.

'A few months, so. My mistress, young and light,
Was easy with me, less for kindness than
Because she led, herself, an easy time
Betwixt her lover and her looking-glass,
Scarce knowing which way she was praised the most.
She felt so pretty and so pleased all day
She could not take the trouble to be cross,
But sometimes, as I stooped to tie her shoe,
Would tap me softly with her slender foot
Still restless with the last night's dancing in't,
And say 'Fie, pale-face! are you English girls
'All grave and silent? mass-book still, and Lent?
'And first-communion colours on your cheeks,
'Worn past the time for't? little fool, be gay!'
At which she vanished, like a fairy, through
A gap of silver laughter.
'Came an hour
When all went otherwise. She did not speak,
But clenched her brows, and clipped me with her eyes
As if a viper with a pair of tongs,
Too far for any touch, yet near enough
To view the writhing creature,–then at last,
'Stand still there, in the holy Virgin's name,
'Thou Marian; thou'rt no reputable girl,
'Although sufficient dull for twenty saints!
'I think thou mock'st me and my house,' she said;
'Confess thou'lt be a mother in a month,

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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No Regrets

Harry tobias / ingraham
No regrets
Although our love affair has gone astray
No regrets
I know Ill always care though youre away
So now our happy romance ended suddenly
Still in my heart youll be forever mine
No regrets
Because somebody new looks good to you
No regrets
Sweetheart no matter what you say or do
I know our love will linger
When the other love forgets
So I say goodbye with no regrets
No regrets
Because somebody new looks good to you
No regrets
Sweetheart no matter what you say or do
I know our love will linger
When the other love forgets
So I say goodbye with no regrets

song performed by Billie Holiday
Added by Lucian Velea
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Picture Book

Picture yourself when youre getting old,
Sat by the fireside a-pondering on[? ].
Picture book, pictures of your mama, taken by your papa a long time ago.
Picture book, of people with each other, to prove they love each other a long ago.
Na, na, na, na, na na.
Na, na, na, na, na na.
Picture book.
Picture book.
A picture of you in your birthday suit,
You sat in the sun on a hot afternoon.
Picture book, your mama and your papa, and fat old uncle charlie out cruising with their friends.
Picture book, a holiday in august, outside a bed and breakfast in sunny southend.
Picture book, when you were just a baby, those days when you were happy, a long time ago.
Na, na, na, na, na na.
Na, na, na, na, na na.
Picture book.
Picture book.
Picture book.
Picture book.
Picture book,
Na, na, na, na na,
Na, na, na, na na,
A-scooby-dooby-doo.
Picture book,
Na, na, na, na na,
Na, na, na, na na,
A-scooby-dooby-doo.
Picture book, pictures of your mama, taken by your papa a long time ago.
Long time ago,
Long time ago,
Long time ago,
Long time ago,
Yeah, yeah, yeah.

song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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Why.............?

The American book of 'why',
The Asian book of 'why',
The European book of 'why',
The African book of 'why',
The Australian book of 'why',
The most asked question in the valley of world events;
Especially when one explodes a bomb!

The Christian book of 'why',
The Muslim book of 'why',
The Jewish book of 'why',
The Hindu book of 'why',
The Krishna book of 'why',
lLife is like the yeast which makes the bread rise;
But, the writer always has his or her own mind.

The Pagan book of 'why',
The Buddhist book of 'why',
The Protestant book of 'why',
The Confucian book of 'why',
To all life's aspects with the remaining books of 'why';
Poetry is the literature that muses with the mind.

Shall the trumpet be blown in the city and,
The people will not be afraid?
Seven bulls and seven rams,
I am the planted tree by the rivers of waters.
I am very young in years but,
The word 'why' is the question that goes around easily.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Lucky

Thunder cracks, the sky is crying
On her back shes pushing trying
He holds her hand and kneels beside her bed
Break the silence baby screaming
In slow motion she aint dreaming she closed her eyes looked
Up to God and says
Should I cry a little more
Should I try a little more
Id pay the cost and laugh it off
Id do it all a thousand times again
No Regrets
Livings hard and dyings easy
My mistakes they wont defeat me
I like to burn the candle at both ends
Ive broke some hearts been broken hearted
Ive run away from fires Ive started
I didnt break but tried my best to bend
Should I cry a little more
Should I try a little more
Id pay the cost and laugh it off
Id do it all a thousand times again
No Regrets
No regrets-for things Ive done
No regrets-for wars Ive won
No regrets-for fires Ive started
No regrets-for faith departed
Should I cry a little more
Should I die a little more
Should I lie a little more
Should I get high a little more
Should I cry a little more
Should I try a little more
Id pay the cost and laugh it off
Id do it all a thousand times again
No Regrets

song performed by Bon Jovi
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Canterbury Tales; the Wyves tale of Bathe

The Prologe of the Wyves tale of Bathe.

Experience, though noon auctoritee
Were in this world, were right ynogh to me
To speke of wo that is in mariage;
For, lordynges, sith I twelf yeer was of age,
Thonked be God, that is eterne on lyve,

Housbondes at chirche-dore I have had fyve-
For I so ofte have ywedded bee-
And alle were worthy men in hir degree.
But me was toold, certeyn, nat longe agoon is,
That sith that Crist ne wente nevere but onis

To weddyng in the Cane of Galilee,
That by the same ensample, taughte he me,
That I ne sholde wedded be but ones.
Herkne eek, lo, which a sharpe word for the nones,
Biside a welle Jesus, God and Man,

Spak in repreeve of the Samaritan.
'Thou hast yhad fyve housbondes,' quod he,
'And thilke man the which that hath now thee
Is noght thyn housbonde;' thus seyde he, certeyn.
What that he mente ther by, I kan nat seyn;

But that I axe, why that the fifthe man
Was noon housbonde to the Samaritan?
How manye myghte she have in mariage?
Yet herde I nevere tellen in myn age
Upon this nombre diffinicioun.

Men may devyne, and glosen up and doun,
But wel I woot expres withoute lye,
God bad us for to wexe and multiplye;
That gentil text kan I wel understonde.
Eek wel I woot, he seyde, myn housbonde

Sholde lete fader and mooder, and take me;
But of no nombre mencioun made he,
Of bigamye, or of octogamye;
Why sholde men speke of it vileynye?
Lo, heere the wise kyng, daun Salomon;

I trowe he hadde wyves mo than oon-
As, wolde God, it leveful were to me
To be refresshed half so ofte as he-
Which yifte of God hadde he, for alle hise wyvys?
No man hath swich that in this world alyve is.

[...] Read more

poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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The Book of Annandale

I

Partly to think, more to be left alone,
George Annandale said something to his friends—
A word or two, brusque, but yet smoothed enough
To suit their funeral gaze—and went upstairs;
And there, in the one room that he could call
His own, he found a sort of meaningless
Annoyance in the mute familiar things
That filled it; for the grate’s monotonous gleam
Was not the gleam that he had known before,
The books were not the books that used to be,
The place was not the place. There was a lack
Of something; and the certitude of death
Itself, as with a furtive questioning,
Hovered, and he could not yet understand.
He knew that she was gone—there was no need
Of any argued proof to tell him that,
For they had buried her that afternoon,
Under the leaves and snow; and still there was
A doubt, a pitiless doubt, a plunging doubt,
That struck him, and upstartled when it struck,
The vision, the old thought in him. There was
A lack, and one that wrenched him; but it was
Not that—not that. There was a present sense
Of something indeterminably near—
The soul-clutch of a prescient emptiness
That would not be foreboding. And if not,
What then?—or was it anything at all?
Yes, it was something—it was everything—
But what was everything? or anything?
Tired of time, bewildered, he sat down;
But in his chair he kept on wondering
That he should feel so desolately strange
And yet—for all he knew that he had lost
More of the world than most men ever win—
So curiously calm. And he was left
Unanswered and unsatisfied: there came
No clearer meaning to him than had come
Before; the old abstraction was the best
That he could find, the farthest he could go;
To that was no beginning and no end—
No end that he could reach. So he must learn
To live the surest and the largest life
Attainable in him, would he divine
The meaning of the dream and of the words
That he had written, without knowing why,
On sheets that he had bound up like a book
And covered with red leather. There it was—
There in his desk, the record he had made,

[...] Read more

poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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No Regrets

Tell me a story
Where we all change
And we'd live our lives together
And not enstranged

I didn't lose my mind it was
Mine to give away
Couldn't stay to watch me cry
You didn't have the time
So I softly slip away...

No regrets they don't work
No regrets they only hurt
Sing me a love song
Drop me a line
Suppose it's just a point of view
But they tell me I'm doing fine

I know from the outside
We looked good for eachother
Felt things were going wrong
When you didn't like my mother

I don't want to hate but that's
All you've left me with
A bitter aftertaste and a fantasy of
How we all could live

No regrets they don't work
No regrets they only hurt
(We've been told you stay up late)
I know they're still talking
(You're far too short to carry weight)
The demons in your head
(Return the videos they're late)
If I could just stop hating you
(Goodbye)
I'd feel sorry for us instead

Remember the photographs (insane)
The ones where we all laugh (so lame)
We were having the time of our lives
Well thank you it was a real blast

No regrets they don't work
No regrets they only hurt
Write me a love song
Drop me a line
Suppose it's just a point of view
But they tell me I'm doing fine

[...] Read more

song performed by Robbie Williams from I've Been Expecting You
Added by Lucian Velea
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No Regrets

Tell me a story
Where we all change
And we'd live our lives together
And not enstranged

I didn't lose my mind it was
Mine to give away
Couldn't stay to watch me cry
You didn't have the time
So I softly slip away...

No regrets they don't work
No regrets they only hurt
Sing me a love song
Drop me a line
Suppose it's just a point of view
But they tell me I'm doing fine

I know from the outside
We looked good for eachother
Felt things were going wrong
When you didn't like my mother

I don't want to hate but that's
All you've left me with
A bitter aftertaste and a fantasy of
How we all could live

No regrets they don't work
No regrets they only hurt
(We've been told you stay up late)
I know they're still talking
(You're far too short to carry weight)
The demons in your head
(Return the videos they're late)
If I could just stop hating you
(Goodbye)
I'd feel sorry for us instead

Remember the photographs (insane)
The ones where we all laugh (so lame)
We were having the time of our lives
Well thank you it was a real blast

No regrets they don't work
No regrets they only hurt
Write me a love song
Drop me a line
Suppose it's just a point of view
But they tell me I'm doing fine

[...] Read more

song performed by Robbie Williams from Ego Has Landed
Added by Lucian Velea
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Miss Otis Regrets

Miss otis regrets, she's unable to lunch today, madam,
Miss otis regrets, she's unable to lunch today.
She is sorry to be delayed,
But last evening down in lover's lane she strayed, madam,
Miss otis regrets, she's unable to lunch today.
When she woke up and found that her dream of love was gone, madam,
She ran to the man who had led her so far astray,
And from under her velvet gown,
She drew a gun and shot her love down, madam,
Miss otis regrets, she's unable to lunch today.
When the mob came and got her and dragged her from the jail, madam,
They strung her upon the old willow across the way,
And the moment before she died,
She lifted up her lovely head and cried, madam......
Miss otis regrets, she's unable to lunch today.
Miss otis regrets, she's unable to lunch today

song performed by Ella Fitzgerald
Added by Lucian Velea
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No Regrets

I have no regrets for loving you.
There is nothing different that I would do.
I have no regrets for loving you
for my love has turned into
long time peace that came my way
and ever the chance to have my say
everything that's been on my mind.

Do you have regrets for loving me?
Is there anything different you'd do?
Do you have regrets for loving me
after all that we've been through?

Angry times and foolish words
that sometimes made us sad
gave me all that I needed to know
that things were never that bad.

There are no regrets when you're in love.
The goodness is always there.
There are no regrets that we have found
in this love we share.

poem by Edwina Reizer
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Book Of Love

In the book of love come of age
When you lose your love, you turn the page
Hey-ho the book of love,
Life is written in your own blood
Say forever and it all sounds fine
When youre holding hands,
With the hands of time
Hey-ho the book of love
Laugh at the dead but tomorrow you cry
Chorus:
My broken hearts from a to z
Dos and donts on bended knees
Change of lovers endlessly
And this book of love is writing me
Chapter 2 you walk away
But in chapter 3 a man made me stay
Hey-ho the book of love
Why dontcha look up
All the games you played
Chorus
Theyll be sweet love in a darkness
But the book of love
Is a story of your loneliness
Finger tipped it on a holy night
And a page is ripped for a name of life
Check the back cause the datell be due
When theyll throw the book of love at you
They are broken hearts from a to z
Dos and donts on bended knees
Disappointed right to be
Celebrate a celebrity
K-i-s-s-i-n-g
Ah stupid cupid set me free
Took a look and whatll I see
This book of love is writing me
This book of love is writing me
This book of love is writing me
This book of love is writing me

song performed by Cher
Added by Lucian Velea
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Talking Book

I wish I had a talking book
That told me how to act and look
A talking book that contained keys
To past and present memories
A talking book that said your name
So if you were gone, youd still remain
More than a picture on a shelf
In imagination I could touch
A talking, talking book
I wish I had a talking book
Filled with buttons you could push
Containing looks and sights, your touch
Your feel, your breath, your sounds, your sighs
How much Id bluster to ask it why
One must live and one must die
I wish I had a talking book
By my side so I could look
And touch and feel and dream, a look
Much bigger than a talking book
A taste of loving future and past
Is that so much to really ask
In this one moments time and space
Can our love really be replaced
By a talking book
Can our love really be replaced
By a talking book
Can our love really be replaced
By a talking book
Can our love ever, forever be replaced
Can our love ever be replaced
Can our love ever be replaced
(can our love really be replaced)
By a talking book

song performed by Lou Reed
Added by Lucian Velea
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