This Is Their Request
They have spoken.
And have chosen to amplify the darkness.
This is their request.
This is their concept of progress.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
Hope
an angel a bridge
of heart
Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness
Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness
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Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness
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a light
of humanity tree
poem by Nyein Way
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Darkness Of...
Darkness is not the darkness of night
it is the darkness of mind and soul.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of discrimination between poor and rich.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of dishonesty.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of aggravate.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is darkness of corruption.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of indiscipline.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of animosity.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of inveterate.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of perjury.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness that we all brought up inside us,
so, light the lamp of light inside you...
poem by Suniya Garg
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Conditioned To Request Permission
No need to treat me like an alley cat.
Because you are addicted...
To those rumors that will ruin,
Any happiness we get.
No need to treat me like an alley cat.
Because you are addicted...
To those rumors that will ruin,
Any happiness we get.
Because you are addicted...
To those rumors that will ruin,
The pursuing of the blooming...
We expect and accept,
With any happiness we get.
Oh...
Oh oh,
Why should we be the ones conditioned,
To request permission...
To investigate a picked division.
And whoa,
A oh oh....
Oh,
Why should we be the ones conditioned,
To request permission...
To investigate a picked division.
No need to treat me like an alley cat.
Because you are addicted...
To those rumors that will ruin,
Any happiness we get.
No need to treat me with suspicion,
And live with secret inhabitions.
Why should we accept conditions,
That might invite future division.
Whoa,
A oh oh....
Oh,
Why should we be the ones conditioned,
To request permission...
To investigate a picked division.
No need to treat me like an alley cat.
Because you are addicted...
To those rumors that will ruin,
Any happiness we get.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Courtship of Miles Standish, The
I
MILES STANDISH
In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.
Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Courtship of Miles Standish
I
MILES STANDISH
In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.
Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Ease Appeases With a Bit of Tease
Assumptions you have held and chosen...
Know they must go.
Those assumptions you have held and chosen,
Know they must go.
Release them to go.
Relax!
Find that place,
Where you can go...
Within.
To bring outside of yourself,
A comfort shown to shine without end.
You seem to be hiding inside too much.
And not enough of you,
Is believed or known.
Those assumptions you have held and chosen,
Know they must go.
Release them to go.
Relax!
First impressions,
Aren't always the best to leave.
Especially when some expect magic...
Unnatural miracles and a tap dance,
Done comfortably.
Assumptions you have held and chosen...
Know they must go.
Those assumptions you have held and chosen,
Know they must go.
Release them to go.
Relax!
Just be you.
You will be surprise by how enchanting,
The unseen you can be,
To dazzle others unexpectedly.
When ease appeases with a bit of tease.
Those assumptions you have held and chosen,
Know they must go.
Release them to go.
Assumptions you have held and chosen...
Know they must go.
Those assumptions you have held and chosen,
Know they must go.
Release them to go.
And relax.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Metamorphoses: Book The Sixth
PALLAS, attending to the Muse's song,
Approv'd the just resentment of their wrong;
And thus reflects: While tamely I commend
Those who their injur'd deities defend,
My own divinity affronted stands,
And calls aloud for justice at my hands;
Then takes the hint, asham'd to lag behind,
And on Arachne' bends her vengeful mind;
One at the loom so excellently skill'd,
That to the Goddess she refus'd to yield.
The Low was her birth, and small her native town,
Transformation She from her art alone obtain'd renown.
of Arachne Idmon, her father, made it his employ,
into a Spider To give the spungy fleece a purple dye:
Of vulgar strain her mother, lately dead,
With her own rank had been content to wed;
Yet she their daughter, tho' her time was spent
In a small hamlet, and of mean descent,
Thro' the great towns of Lydia gain'd a name,
And fill'd the neighb'ring countries with her fame.
Oft, to admire the niceness of her skill,
The Nymphs would quit their fountain, shade, or
hill:
Thither, from green Tymolus, they repair,
And leave the vineyards, their peculiar care;
Thither, from fam'd Pactolus' golden stream,
Drawn by her art, the curious Naiads came.
Nor would the work, when finish'd, please so much,
As, while she wrought, to view each graceful touch;
Whether the shapeless wool in balls she wound,
Or with quick motion turn'd the spindle round,
Or with her pencil drew the neat design,
Pallas her mistress shone in every line.
This the proud maid with scornful air denies,
And ev'n the Goddess at her work defies;
Disowns her heav'nly mistress ev'ry hour,
Nor asks her aid, nor deprecates her pow'r.
Let us, she cries, but to a tryal come,
And, if she conquers, let her fix my doom.
The Goddess then a beldame's form put on,
With silver hairs her hoary temples shone;
Prop'd by a staff, she hobbles in her walk,
And tott'ring thus begins her old wives' talk.
Young maid attend, nor stubbornly despise
The admonitions of the old, and wise;
For age, tho' scorn'd, a ripe experience bears,
That golden fruit, unknown to blooming years:
Still may remotest fame your labours crown,
And mortals your superior genius own;
But to the Goddess yield, and humbly meek
[...] Read more
Deepness In The Throat
Like a deepness in your throat
I'm here to make you choke.
A miss step to the abiding course
Scream of the divorce of those of fantasy and the real.
No concept is ever a far cry from the from the truth.
Of the abused
Mentally used
Confused
Bitter
Sour
Anger
Ha te
In everything we relate
So do not agitate
Look at yourself making so many miscalculations
In your proclamations
As am I
We speak, we learn
We follow through
Like an oppression upon the chest
Looky their its sitting on that shelf
Just reach for it.
Like a deepness in your throat
I'm here to make you choke.
A miss step to the abiding course
Scream of the divorce of those of fantasy and the real.
No concept is ever a far cry from the from the truth.
Of the abused
Mentally used
Confused
Bitter
Sour
Anger
Ha te
In everything we relate
So do not agitate
Bang bang the drugs take effect
Are you hallucinating yet.
Don't fret
You'll be soon enough
Think you got it rough
Come on now be tough
Stand up for yourself
Emotional distrust
Like a deepness in your throat
I'm here to make you choke.
[...] Read more
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Get Some Rest
Getting little rest...
Isn't what's suggested is the best thing.
But...
Once one is committed,
It's difficult to quit.
Like many would would rather sit,
Just to...
Reminisce a bitterness,
Or...
Ignore the taking of those risks,
To...
Excuse the value of it.
And as a bit of a reminder...
Progress isn't made by sitting.
Progress isn't made by quitting.
Progress takes sacrificing,
What is wanted and what one likes.
And...
Progress isn't made by wishing.
Progress isn't made by shrinking...
Away to sneak a taste of cake,
While awaiting for someone else to make.
And...
Progress isn't made by sitting.
No.
Progress isn't made by quitting.
no.
Progress takes sacrificing,
What one wants, prefers and likes.
And,
Getting little rest...
Isn't what's suggested is the best thing.
But...
Once one is committed,
It's difficult to quit.
Like many would would rather sit,
Just to...
Reminisce a bitterness,
Or...
Ignore the taking of those risks,
To...
Excuse the value of it.
And as a bit of a reminder...
Get up and be tough.
Know,
To quit is not the best thing.
But...
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Babys Request
When the moon lays his head on a pillow
And the stars settle down for a rest,
Just do me one small favour, I beg you,
Please play me my babys request.
Its the song that we heard when we started.
Now the birds have all flown from our nest,
But you could bring back memries departed
By playing my babys request.
My baby said that she knows how it goes
But youre the one who really knows,
So go ahead, just one more time and then well go to bed.
- solo -
But you could bring back memries departed
By playing my babys request.
My baby says she knows how it goes but youre the one that really knows.
So go ahead, just one more time and then well go to bed.
When the moon lays his head on a pillow
And the star settles down for a rest,
Just do me one small favour, I beg you,
Please play me babys request.
Mh-hm, play me babys request.
Please! play me my babys request -- one more time.
song performed by Paul McCartney
Added by Lucian Velea
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As Fighter And Fought - Lord Krishna
[A scene from the hindu epic Mahabharatham
where both duryodhan and arjun come to lord
krishna for favors to sopport them in the war
KURUKSHETRA WAR]
Arjun sat near foot
duryodhan sat near his head
god in deep slumber
a war approaching
with a request both waited
god in deep slumber
Krishna wakes to see
arjun first and with a smile
'what is your request'?
he came before me
ask his request first then me
arjuna told god
turning his head to see.......
'duryodhan here too
may i know your request too'
krishna waits to hear
we need your support
you should help us in the war
duryodhan's request
krishna to duryodhan......
you may have come first
i asked arjun's request first
i shall help you both
thinking for a moment......
'duryodhan' he said
'you can have all my soldiers
whole of my army'
to arjun he said
you and your brother's have me
not as warrior
further krishna went on
[...] Read more
poem by Samanyan Lakshminarayanan
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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 glow of darkness
The glow of darkness
Darkness, in our normal understanding
Is bereft of the revealing light or perception
We are unable to make out or perceive
Things in darkness
And often prefer to blame it
And come out of it
Darkness is nothing new to you
You are in dark while you sleep
And you were in dark in your mother’s womb
Though you seem to be in light
More often you are in dark
As most of the things seen and perceived
Are in guise
So, darkness and your non-ability
To see are ever with you
Whether you know it or not
But, darkness by itself is perceived
And realized instantly with no aid
Even the visually challenged person
Can perceive darkness and understand it
While in darkness
At the same time, we try to
Perceive things so far you have
Never attempted to look for
Your inner vision in fact helps you
A great number of things
Which you might have seen
In bright light and broad daylight
You will agree darkness
Triggers the functioning of
Other sense organs and
They come to your rescue
In case you are in some trouble
Extending this understanding
Your wisdom comes to life
And you attempt to visualize
Less perceived things while being in dark
As an old Sanskrit script says
The person who sees inaction in action
And action in inaction is wise
And performs in totality
We end up with a corollary
[...] Read more
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Curriculum
Bright sunny skies,
Shine high.
With clouds minimized!
And I know why,
Your eyes...
Are clear,
And particular!
On a flight like a kite.
Excited by height.
And delighted your life,
Has a new insight.
And I,
Enjoy this ride you find...
Particular!
That curriculum chosen,
Is your own.
Oh, oh.
That curriculum chosen,
All alone.
Oh, oh.
That curriculum chosen...
That you've shown.
Oh, oh.
That curriculum...
Nobody but you've got it!
That curriculum chosen,
Is your own.
Oh, oh.
That curriculum chosen,
All alone.
Oh, oh.
That curriculum chosen...
That you've shown.
Oh, oh.
That curriculum...
Nobody but you've got it!
Those bright sunny skies,
Shine high.
With clouds minimized!
And I know why,
Your eyes...
Are clear,
And particular!
Nobody but you've got it!
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My Angel (In The Darkness)
I know I haven't really been a good friend,
and I know I could of tried a little harder,
but you see I can't tell you,
how I feel about you,
the world would reject me if I did,
but I'm willing to try,
and go over the edge,
and show you how I Feel about you,
when we meet,
I was in such bad shape,
my life was crumbling all around me,
until I meet you,
my life was engulfed in darkness,
I was engulfed in my own self-pity,
I had an inescapable demon,
living inside of my head,
I had pain inside of heart,
I felting nothing but pain,
for months and months,
I thought it was inedible,
until I meet you that day,
not really suspecting anyone that would,
really care about me,
not suspecting that anyone that would even love me,
love me,
like the way that you do,
My Angel (In The Darkness)
My Angel (In The Darkness)
My Angel (In The Darkness)
I couldn't believe what I was seeing,
nor what I was saying or what I was hearing,
the world had rejected you for what you are,
and what you've done,
but do they have the eyes that I do?
was it insane of me,
to see you as the angel,
that I know you are,
and not the demon that they all make you out to be,
was I insane to see the goodness inside of you,
and was it crazy that you took the darkness outside of me,
My Angel (In The Darkness)
My Angel (In The Darkness)
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Rumery
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The Quintet of Revelations
Part 1: The Mystic Man
In the beginning
The world was a dark colorless wasteland
Lightning littered the sky in dark clouds
A mystical being creates life surrounded by shroud
The Mystic Man makes light
The Mystic Man makes night
The Mystic Man makes wrong
The Mystic Man makes right
The world is now surrounded by light and night
Lightning strikes fertile soil creating plants
Green is the first color created by the Mystic Man
Drawing a bone from his ribs he makes man
The world is growing surrounded by light and night
The Mystic Man commands the man
Showing him how to use the land
Which was made by the Mystic Man
The Mystic Man lets the man understand
How to use his holy land
Finally the man understands
And is granted a woman by the Mystic Man
A woman to help him take care of the land
The land that was shaped by the Mystic Man
Together the woman and the man
Take care of the Mystic Man’s holy land
In peace and prosperity they use the land
To make a great family
The beginning of man
For two hundred years
They farmed that land
The land formed by the Mystic Man
They found the first civilization of man
Part 2: The Man of Darkness
Ten thousand years
After the first woman and man
And the making of the land by the Mystic Man
A Man of Darkness rises from the depths
To spread terror and fear to mortal man
This Man of Darkness has no mercy
This Man of Darkness has no love
[...] Read more
poem by Alex Fischer
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The Idols
An Ode
Luce intellettual, piena d' amore
Prelude
Lo, the spirit of a pulsing star within a stone
Born of earth, sprung from night!
Prisoned with the profound fires of the light
That lives like all the tongues of eloquence
Locked in a speech unknown!
The crystal, cold and hard as innocence,
Immures the flame; and yet as if it knew
Raptures or pangs it could not but betray,
As if the light could feel changes of blood and breath
And all--but--human quiverings of the sense,
Throbs of a sudden rose, a frosty blue,
Shoot thrilling in its ray,
Like the far longings of the intellect
Restless in clouding clay.
Who has confined the Light? Who has held it a slave,
Sold and bought, bought and sold?
Who has made of it a mystery to be doled,
Or trophy, to awe with legendary fire,
Where regal banners wave?
And still into the dark it sends Desire.
In the heart's darkness it sows cruelties.
The bright jewel becomes a beacon to the vile,
A lodestar to corruption, envy's own:
Soiled with blood, fought for, clutched at; this world's prize,
Captive Authority. Oh, the star is stone
To all that outward sight,
Yet still, like truth that none has ever used,
Lives lost in its own light.
Troubled I fly. O let me wander again at will
(Far from cries, far from these
Hard blindnesses and frozen certainties!)
Where life proceeds in vastness unaware
And stirs profound and still:
Where leafing thoughts at shy touch of the air
Tremble, and gleams come seeking to be mine,
Or dart, like suddenly remembered youth,
Like the ache of love, a light, lost, found, and lost again.
Surely in the dusk some messenger was there!
But, haunted in the heart, I thirst, I pine.--
Oh, how can truth be truth
Except I taste it close and sweet and sharp
As an apple to the tooth?
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Laurence Binyon
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Harmony With Darkness
It is extremely clear,
You travel with discomfort.
And sip on agonies that leave you drained.
The dripping of them from your lips...
Disappoint with those expectations,
You neither receive nor get!
From the exposure of it!
It is clearly known you want this shown.
While secluding your delusions.
Although standards you maintain...
Have strained relationships,
You once had gained.
There is an unhappiness kept self inflicted.
Your treasure chest of gifts,
You have allowed restricted!
They've become diminished like heirlooms replaced.
With a pawning done...
And etched upon your saddened face!
You are in harmony with darkness!
A tune sung and kept reminisced.
You are in harmony with darkness!
And plugged you are...
Right into it!
It is extremely clear,
You travel with discomfort.
That you alone have invited into your home.
And it is kept pampered like a loyal devoted pet.
One you expect to shower you with misery.
From Sunrise to Sunset!
You are in harmony with darkness.
And you've name it 'Eminent'.
Isn't it...
Eminent?
You are in harmony with darkness.
And it is permanently,
Un-resisted.
There is an unhappiness kept self inflicted.
Your treasure chest of gifts,
You have allowed restricted!
They've become diminished like heirlooms replaced.
With a pawning done...
And etched upon your saddened face!
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Holy War
If you will adore me
Bow before me and praise my name
If you place no God before me
Then all I have is yours to claim
And if God is in the heavens
Why did God let children die
If you dont ask these questions
There is no reasons why
We are chosen
We are one
We are frightened of no one
And no one will win this war
This is the way
This is the law
All the visions shown before you
All the kingdoms and the thrones
All are yours if you bow before me and adore me
All this you can own
There are those that will go to heaven
There are those that will never win
No one knows what will happen
There are those that turn to sin
We are chosen
We are one
We are frightened of no one
And no one will win this war
This is the way
This is the law
(solo)
We are chosen
We are one
We are frightened of no one
And no one will win this war
This is the way
This is the law
We are chosen
The devil is in hell with the demons
This is the holy war
They lead us to our temptation
Lead us, take our souls
There is no evil in salvation
There is evil in us all
Just as satan tempted jesus
And jesus slips and falls
He is a station on the cross now
He is dying to save us all
We are chosen
We are one
We are frightened of no one
And no one will win this war
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song performed by Thin Lizzy
Added by Lucian Velea
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Lamb Of God
Spoken:
After jesus was born in bethlehem in judea
During the time of king herod
Wise men from de east came to jerusalem and asked
Where is the one who is born king of the jews?
We saw his star in the east and we have come to worship him
Lord we have traveled far
Torn and weary guided by your star
There before us the living king
Halleluiah his praises sing
Herod with a evil plan
Kill the babies
Came his bold command
He tried to alter gods holy plan
God has saved him
The son of man
Behold the lamb of god
The mighty king of god
The chosen one of god
Behold the lamb of god
The mighty king of love
The chosen one of god
Three kings from a distance come
Bearing gifts for the only one
Shout to heaven sound the drum
Tell the nations
The lord has come
Behold the lamb of god
The mighty king of god
The chosen one of god
Behold the lamb of god
The mighty king of love
The chosen one of god
He came to bring us his peace
He came to bring us his joy
To bring us love
Behold the lamb of god
The mighty king of god
The chosen one of god
Behold the lamb of god
The mighty king of god
The precious lamb of god
Behold the lamb of god
The mighty king of god
The chosen one of god
Spoken:
And so the wise men the shepherds
The ox and the lamb
The angels above
All rejoiced at gods command
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song performed by Donna Summer
Added by Lucian Velea
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