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Turning The Heat To Hotter

Nobody came to party knew somebody who sat,
In a corner to sigh.
This was a heat to hotter party.

Nobody came to party knew somebody who sat,
In a corner to sigh.
This was a heat to hotter party.

Everybody here took off the roof to cry,
'High, high, high...high.'
With their hands up,
'High, high, high...high.'
And sweating bodies soakin'.
'High, high, high...high.'

Everybody on the scene holla'd and screamed...
'High, high, high...high.'
With their hands up,
'High, high, high...high.'

Nobody came to this party knew somebody who sat.
This was a heat to hotter party.

Everybody here took off the roof to cry,
'High, high, high...high.'
With their hands up,
'High, high, high...high.'
And sweating bodies soakin'.
'High, high, high...high.'
Turning the heat to hotter.
'High, high, high...high.'
Turning the heat to hotter.
'High, high, high...high.'
Turning the heat to hotter.
'High, high, high...high.'

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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.

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poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The Song Of Theodolinda

I

Queen Theodolind has built
In the earth a furnace-bed:
There the Traitor Nail that spilt
Blood of the anointed Head,
Red of heat, resolves in shame:
White of heat, awakes to flame.
Beat, beat! white of heat,
Red of heat, beat, beat!

II

Mark the skeleton of fire
Lightening from its thunder-roof:
So comes this that saw expire
Him we love, for our behoof!
Red of heat, O white of heat,
This from off the Cross we greet.

III

Brown-cowled hammermen around
Nerve their naked arms to strike
Death with Resurrection crowned,
Each upon that cruel spike.
Red of heat the furnace leaps,
White of heat transfigured sleeps.

IV

Hard against the furnace core
Holds the Queen her streaming eyes:
Lo! that thing of piteous gore
In the lap of radiance lies,
Red of heat, as when He takes,
White of heat, whom earth forsakes.

V

Forth with it, and crushing ring
Iron hymns, for men to hear
Echoes of the deeds that sting
Earth into its graves, and fear!
Red of heat, He maketh thus,
White of heat, a crown of us.

VI

This that killed Thee, kissed Thee, Lord!

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poem by George Meredith
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Get the Boogey When It's Hot

You're playing the right song,
But at the wrong time.

You see...
I use to love to boogey with my body
Sweating hot!
And in that beat.
That heats the feet.

I use to love to boogey with my body
Sweating hot!
And in that beat.
That heats the feet.

Then when twilight comes along.
With the fireflies twinkling bright.
And you have just begun to see the Sun.

You're playing the right song,
But at the wrong time.

You see...
I use to love to boogey with my body
Sweating hot!
And in that beat.
That heats the feet.

I use to love to boogey with my body
Sweating hot!
And in that beat.
That heats the feet.

I use to love to boogey sweating hot!
I use to love to boogey sweating hot!
I use to love to boogey sweating hot!
And in that beat.
That heats the feet.

You're playing the right song.
I use to love to boogey sweating hot!
You're playing the right song.
I use to love to boogey sweating hot!
You're playing the right song.
I use to love to boogey sweating hot!
And in that beat.
That heats the feet.

I use to love to boogey sweating hot!
Play it.
I use to love to boogey sweating hot!

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Narrative And Dramatic The Wanderings Of Oisin

BOOK I

S. Patrick. You who are bent, and bald, and blind,
With a heavy heart and a wandering mind,
Have known three centuries, poets sing,
Of dalliance with a demon thing.

Oisin. Sad to remember, sick with years,
The swift innumerable spears,
The horsemen with their floating hair,
And bowls of barley, honey, and wine,
Those merry couples dancing in tune,
And the white body that lay by mine;
But the tale, though words be lighter than air.
Must live to be old like the wandering moon.

Caoilte, and Conan, and Finn were there,
When we followed a deer with our baying hounds.
With Bran, Sceolan, and Lomair,
And passing the Firbolgs' burial-motmds,
Came to the cairn-heaped grassy hill
Where passionate Maeve is stony-still;
And found On the dove-grey edge of the sea
A pearl-pale, high-born lady, who rode
On a horse with bridle of findrinny;
And like a sunset were her lips,
A stormy sunset on doomed ships;
A citron colour gloomed in her hair,

But down to her feet white vesture flowed,
And with the glimmering crimson glowed
Of many a figured embroidery;
And it was bound with a pearl-pale shell
That wavered like the summer streams,
As her soft bosom rose and fell.

S. Patrick. You are still wrecked among heathen dreams.

Oisin. 'Why do you wind no horn?' she said
'And every hero droop his head?
The hornless deer is not more sad
That many a peaceful moment had,
More sleek than any granary mouse,
In his own leafy forest house
Among the waving fields of fern:
The hunting of heroes should be glad.'

'O pleasant woman,' answered Finn,
'We think on Oscar's pencilled urn,
And on the heroes lying slain

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poem by William Butler Yeats
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Hotter Than Hell

Some like the violence
Some like submission
Some like aggression
Some use a bullet in the head to be brave
Some like the evil
Some need the power
Some bleed in vain
Some get a bullet in the head instead
Some got to go
Some play the role
Some scream out in horror just for show
Some got no reason
Some got no hope
Some like it hot
Some like it hot
We like it hot
We like it hotter, hotter than hell
Like hotter, we like it, um we like, um we like hot
Some like violence
Some like submission
Some use aggression
Some use a bullet in the head to be brave
Some got to go
Some play the role
Some scream out in horror just for show
Some got no reason
Some got no hope
Some like it hot
Some like it hot
We like it hot
We like it hotter, hotter than hell
Like hotter, we like it, um we like, um we like hot
Hotter, like hotter than hell
Like hotter, hotter than hell, we like it hotter
Hotter than hell, like hotter, we like it
We like it, we like it hot

song performed by Motley Crue
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Tamar

I
A night the half-moon was like a dancing-girl,
No, like a drunkard's last half-dollar
Shoved on the polished bar of the eastern hill-range,
Young Cauldwell rode his pony along the sea-cliff;
When she stopped, spurred; when she trembled, drove
The teeth of the little jagged wheels so deep
They tasted blood; the mare with four slim hooves
On a foot of ground pivoted like a top,
Jumped from the crumble of sod, went down, caught, slipped;
Then, the quick frenzy finished, stiffening herself
Slid with her drunken rider down the ledges,
Shot from sheer rock and broke
Her life out on the rounded tidal boulders.

The night you know accepted with no show of emotion the little
accident; grave Orion
Moved northwest from the naked shore, the moon moved to
meridian, the slow pulse of the ocean
Beat, the slow tide came in across the slippery stones; it drowned
the dead mare's muzzle and sluggishly
Felt for the rider; Cauldwell’s sleepy soul came back from the
blind course curious to know
What sea-cold fingers tapped the walls of its deserted ruin.
Pain, pain and faintness, crushing
Weights, and a vain desire to vomit, and soon again
die icy fingers, they had crept over the loose hand and lay in the
hair now. He rolled sidewise
Against mountains of weight and for another half-hour lay still.
With a gush of liquid noises
The wave covered him head and all, his body
Crawled without consciousness and like a creature with no bones,
a seaworm, lifted its face
Above the sea-wrack of a stone; then a white twilight grew about
the moon, and above
The ancient water, the everlasting repetition of the dawn. You
shipwrecked horseman
So many and still so many and now for you the last. But when it
grew daylight
He grew quite conscious; broken ends of bone ground on each
other among the working fibers
While by half-inches he was drawing himself out of the seawrack
up to sandy granite,
Out of the tide's path. Where the thin ledge tailed into flat cliff
he fell asleep. . . .
Far seaward
The daylight moon hung like a slip of cloud against the horizon.
The tide was ebbing
From the dead horse and the black belt of sea-growth. Cauldwell
seemed to have felt her crying beside him,

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poem by Robinson Jeffers
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My Cup

[Bob Marley]
My cup is running over
I don't know what to do
My cup is running over
I don't know what to do
No I don't know [no I don't know] no I don't know
[No I don't know] Yes I've got to cry, cry, cry
People let me cry, cry, cry
Said I fell a little bit better [cry, cry, cry]
If only I got to cry, cry, cry
Now that I, lost you
I've lost the best friend
That I ever knew
Now that I, realize
It makes me [makes me] it makes me [makes me]
So mad, tell you, my cup, running over
I don't know what to do
My cup is running over
I don't know what to do
No I don't know [no I don't know] no I don't know
[No I don't know] Yes I've got to cry, cry, cry
People let me [cry, cry, cry]
[Cry, cry, cry]
[Cry, cry, cry]
Now that I, lost you
I've lost the best friend that I ever knew
Now that I, realize
It makes me [makes me] it makes me [makes me]
So mad, tell you my cup, cup, is running over baby
And I don't know what to, don't know what to do yeah
Tell you my cup, running over
And I don't know, don't know, don't know what to do
Eh
No I don't know [no I don't know] no I don't know
[No I don't know] Yes I've got to cry, cry, cry
People let me [cry, cry, cry]
I'll feel a little bit better [cry, cry, cry]
But I got [feel like crying] [cry, cry, cry]
Ooh yeah [feel like crying] [cry, cry, cry]
Ooh yeah [feel like crying] cry, cry, cry [feel likr crying]
Cry, cry

song performed by Bob Marley
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Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,--
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre.

Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion,
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest;
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.

PART THE FIRST

I

In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward,
Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number.
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant,
Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows.
West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village.
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock,
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries.
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting
Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway.
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset
Lighted the village street and gilded the vanes on the chimneys,
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors

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poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Cry Baby

Cry baby shed a thousand tears
Cry baby til all the dry land disappears
You can sugar-coat the truth
With all sweetness and light
You can beg me for mercy
But pardon my spite
Cry its your turn tonight
Cry baby for all the good times we had
Cry baby no the good dont outshine the bad
You can grease me with kisses
til your red lips turn blue
Offer me affection
But what good would it do
Cry like I cried for you
Im tired of making love together
When youre apt to forget my given name
Its over its finished and whats better
I am completely without pain
Cry baby like a cloudburst in the sky
Cry baby in other words goodbye
You can try to move a mountain
Attempt to calm the sea
Youd sooner raise a dead man
Than my deep sympathy
Cry it dont matter to me
Its over its finished and whats better
I am completely without pain
Cry baby oooh
Cry baby in other words goodbye
You can try to move a mountain
Attempt to calm the sea
Youd sooner raise a dead man
Than my deep sympathy
Cry it just dont matter to me
I want you to cry cry cry cry cry
I want you to cry cry cry cry cry
I want you to cry cry cry cry cry
Cry baby cry baby
Cry cry cry cry cry
Cry cry cry cry cry
Cry cry cry cry cry

song performed by Gino Vanelli
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Where's The Party

Where's the party (party, party)
Where's the party (party, party)
Show me the way, show me the way
It's like a holiday
That happens everyday
I get to celebrate
No matter what you say
When I get real bored
I want something more
I never lose my head
Cause I know the score
Show me the way
Show me the way
C'mon, show me the way
Where's the party?
All I Wanna do is have some fun
Where's the party?
Party all night 'til I can't go on
Where's the party?
All I Wanna do is have some fun
Where's the party?
Show me the way, show me the way
One thing I know
Is when I feel low
I never have to worry
Got a place to party
no one's getting mean
It's so obscene
No matter what goes down
I just get what I need
Show me the way
Show me the way
C'mon, show me the way
Where's the party?
All I Wanna do is have some fun
Where's the party?
Party all night 'til I can't go on
Where's the party?
All I Wanna do is have some fun
Where's the party?
Show me the way, show me the way
Where's the party, where's the party
party, party, party, party, party, party, party, party
p-p-p-party
Show me the way
Show me the way
C'mon, show me the way
Where's the party?
All I Wanna do is have some fun
Where's the party?

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song performed by Vitamin C
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Cry, Cry, Cry

Cry, cry, cry, cry, cry, cry,
Cry, cry, cry, cry, cry, cry,
Cry, cry, cry, cry, cry, cry.
Well, old man river just keeps on rollin
On down the line
Like my tears just keep on flowin
All the time
Cant you hear me cry.
Cry, cry, cry, cry, cry, cry,
Cry, cry, cry, cry, cry, cry,
Cry, cry, cry, cry.
Well, somewhere theres a rainbow for me,
I know its my time
I am getting so tired
Of standing in this light
Cant you hear me cry.
Boo, hoo, hoo, boo, hoo, hoo,
Boo, hoo, hoo, boo, boo, hoo,
Boo, hoo, hoo, cry, cry, cry.
Boo, hoo, hoo, boo, hoo, hoo,
Cry, cry, cry, cry.

song performed by Neil Young
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Tannhauser

The Landgrave Hermann held a gathering
Of minstrels, minnesingers, troubadours,
At Wartburg in his palace, and the knight,
Sir Tannhauser of France, the greatest bard,
Inspired with heavenly visions, and endowed
With apprehension and rare utterance
Of noble music, fared in thoughtful wise
Across the Horsel meadows. Full of light,
And large repose, the peaceful valley lay,
In the late splendor of the afternoon,
And level sunbeams lit the serious face
Of the young knight, who journeyed to the west,
Towards the precipitous and rugged cliffs,
Scarred, grim, and torn with savage rifts and chasms,
That in the distance loomed as soft and fair
And purple as their shadows on the grass.
The tinkling chimes ran out athwart the air,
Proclaiming sunset, ushering evening in,
Although the sky yet glowed with yellow light.
The ploughboy, ere he led his cattle home,
In the near meadow, reverently knelt,
And doffed his cap, and duly crossed his breast,
Whispering his 'Ave Mary,' as he heard
The pealing vesper-bell. But still the knight,
Unmindful of the sacred hour announced,
Disdainful or unconscious, held his course.
'Would that I also, like yon stupid wight,
Could kneel and hail the Virgin and believe!'
He murmured bitterly beneath his breath.
'Were I a pagan, riding to contend
For the Olympic wreath, O with what zeal,
What fire of inspiration, would I sing
The praises of the gods! How may my lyre
Glorify these whose very life I doubt?
The world is governed by one cruel God,
Who brings a sword, not peace. A pallid Christ,
Unnatural, perfect, and a virgin cold,
They give us for a heaven of living gods,
Beautiful, loving, whose mere names were song;
A creed of suffering and despair, walled in
On every side by brazen boundaries,
That limit the soul's vision and her hope
To a red hell or and unpeopled heaven.
Yea, I am lost already,-even now
Am doomed to flaming torture for my thoughts.
O gods! O gods! where shall my soul find peace?'
He raised his wan face to the faded skies,
Now shadowing into twilight; no response
Came from their sunless heights; no miracle,
As in the ancient days of answering gods.

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poem by Emma Lazarus
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Bad Dreams

Roll away, talleys, alleyway.
Yesterdays theory.
All alone in a nightmare.
Come on daytime!
And dont you cry cry cry cry cry all alone.
Allistar is on the banister making friends with the walls.
If you cry cry cry cry cry like a baby.
Make you cry cry cry cry cry.
Make you die die die die die.
Say goodbye bye bye bye bye.
All alone.
Your so young.
Like a baby.
All alone.
Hey, youre so young.
Just like a baby.
And you cry.
Ride away on the milky way.
Fly away on a cloud. I know bad dreams.
To make you cry.
To make you cry.
To make you cry cry cry cry cry.
To make you cry cry cry cry.
To make you cry cry cry cry cry.
All alone.
Hey to make you cry cry cry cry cry.
To make you die die die die.
To make you cry cry cry cry cry.
All alone.

song performed by Blondie
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The Bride's Prelude

“Sister,” said busy Amelotte
To listless Aloÿse;
“Along your wedding-road the wheat
Bends as to hear your horse's feet,
And the noonday stands still for heat.”
Amelotte laughed into the air
With eyes that sought the sun:
But where the walls in long brocade
Were screened, as one who is afraid
Sat Aloÿse within the shade.
And even in shade was gleam enough
To shut out full repose
From the bride's 'tiring-chamber, which
Was like the inner altar-niche
Whose dimness worship has made rich.
Within the window's heaped recess
The light was counterchanged
In blent reflexes manifold
From perfume-caskets of wrought gold
And gems the bride's hair could not hold,
All thrust together: and with these
A slim-curved lute, which now,
At Amelotte's sudden passing there,
Was swept in somewise unaware,
And shook to music the close air.
Against the haloed lattice-panes
The bridesmaid sunned her breast;
Then to the glass turned tall and free,
And braced and shifted daintily
Her loin-belt through her côte-hardie.
The belt was silver, and the clasp
Of lozenged arm-bearings;
A world of mirrored tints minute
The rippling sunshine wrought into 't,
That flushed her hand and warmed her foot.
At least an hour had Aloÿse—
Her jewels in her hair—
Her white gown, as became a bride,
Quartered in silver at each side—
Sat thus aloof, as if to hide.
Over her bosom, that lay still,
The vest was rich in grain,
With close pearls wholly overset:
Around her throat the fastenings met
Of chevesayle and mantelet.
Her arms were laid along her lap
With the hands open: life
Itself did seem at fault in her:
Beneath the drooping brows, the stir
Of thought made noonday heavier.

[...] Read more

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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We Came From Outer Space

(lowe/tennant)
-----------------
Hi -i- (hello)
Hello? my name is -
- very complicated with the -
With the police?
Yes, all
Were, were just here
What is this? what is that?
- complication high of it -
Do you know the difference between the two genders? no.
Do you know the difference between the two genders? no.
We came from outer space to
To our parents parents, ... parents
Parents?
Hi -i- (hello)
Hello? my name is -
- very complicated with the -
Do you know the difference between the two genders?
Yes, all
What is this? what is that? no.
We came from outer space to
Somebody from california said something about men and women
Do you know the difference between the two genders? no.
Do you know anything about what -
We came from outer space to
(laugh, cry, laugh, cry, laugh, cry, laugh, cry)
(laugh, cry, laugh, cry, laugh, cry, laugh, cry)
(laugh, cry) dont leave me
(laugh, cry) dont leave me
(laugh, cry) dont leave me
(laugh, cry) I love you
Weve been having some problems with the communication now and then
Do you know the difference between the two genders?
- black rain -
Somethings not right, I cant work it out
Do you know the difference between the two genders?
Somethings not right, I cant work it out
Do you know the difference between the two genders? no.
Somethings not right, I cant work it out
We came from outer space to
Somethings not right, I cant work it out
Do you know the difference between the two genders? no.
We came from outer space to
Hi -i- (hello)
Hello? my name is -
(laugh, cry, laugh, cry, laugh, cry, laugh, cry)
(laugh, cry, laugh, cry, laugh, cry, laugh, cry)
(laugh, cry) dont leave me
(laugh, cry) dont leave me

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song performed by Pet Shop Boys
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Beowulf

LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!
Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,
from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore,
awing the earls. Since erst he lay
friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him:
for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve,
till before him the folk, both far and near,
who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate,
gave him gifts: a good king he!
To him an heir was afterward born,
a son in his halls, whom heaven sent
to favor the folk, feeling their woe
that erst they had lacked an earl for leader
so long a while; the Lord endowed him,
the Wielder of Wonder, with world's renown.
Famed was this Beowulf: far flew the boast of him,
son of Scyld, in the Scandian lands.
So becomes it a youth to quit him well
with his father's friends, by fee and gift,
that to aid him, aged, in after days,
come warriors willing, should war draw nigh,
liegemen loyal: by lauded deeds
shall an earl have honor in every clan.
Forth he fared at the fated moment,
sturdy Scyld to the shelter of God.
Then they bore him over to ocean's billow,
loving clansmen, as late he charged them,
while wielded words the winsome Scyld,
the leader beloved who long had ruled….
In the roadstead rocked a ring-dight vessel,
ice-flecked, outbound, atheling's barge:
there laid they down their darling lord
on the breast of the boat, the breaker-of-rings,
by the mast the mighty one. Many a treasure
fetched from far was freighted with him.
No ship have I known so nobly dight
with weapons of war and weeds of battle,
with breastplate and blade: on his bosom lay
a heaped hoard that hence should go
far o'er the flood with him floating away.
No less these loaded the lordly gifts,
thanes' huge treasure, than those had done
who in former time forth had sent him
sole on the seas, a suckling child.
High o'er his head they hoist the standard,
a gold-wove banner; let billows take him,
gave him to ocean. Grave were their spirits,
mournful their mood. No man is able

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Born Under Punches

Take a look at these hands.
Take a look at these hands.
The hand speaks. the hand of a government man.
Well Im a tumbler. born under punches.
Im so thin.
All I want is to breathe Im too thin
Wont you breathe with me?
Find a little space, so we can move in-between in-between it
And keep on step ahead, of yourself.
Dont you miss it, dont you miss it.
Some a you people just about missed it!
Last time to make plans!
Well Im a tumbler...
Im a government man.
Never seen anything like that before
Falling bodies tuble cross the floor well Im a tumbler!
When you get to where you wanna be thank you! thank you!
When you get to where you wanna be dont even mention it!
Take a look at these hands. theyre passing in-between us.
Take a look at these hands
Take a look at these hands. you dont have to mention it.
No thanks. Im a government man.
And the heat goes on...and the heat goes on...and the heat goes on...
And the heat goes on...where the hand has been...and the heat goes
On...and the heat goes on...and the heat goes on...and the heat goes
On...and the heat goes on...and the heat goes on...and the heat goes
On...where the hand has been...and the heat goes on...and the heat
Goes on...
Im not a drowning man!
And Im not a burning building! (Im a tumbler!)
Drowning cannot hurt a man!
Fire cannot hurt a man. (not the government man.)
All I want is to breathe thank you. thank you
Wont you breathe with me?
Find a little space...so we move in-between Im so thin
And keep one step ahead of yourself. Im catching up with myself
All I want it to breathe
Wont you breathe with me hands of a government man
Find a little space so we move in-between
And keep one step ahead of yourself. dont you miss it! dont you
Miss it!
And the heat goes on...and the heat goes on...and the heat goes on...
And the heat goes on...and the heat goes on...and the heat goes on...
And the heat goes on...and the heat goes on...and the heat goes on...
Where the hands has been...and the heat goes on...and the heat goes
On...and the heat goes on...

song performed by Talking Heads
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Undying One- Canto III

'THERE is a sound the autumn wind doth make
Howling and moaning, listlessly and low:
Methinks that to a heart that ought to break
All the earth's voices seem to murmur so.
The visions that crost
Our path in light--
The things that we lost
In the dim dark night--
The faces for which we vainly yearn--
The voices whose tones will not return--
That low sad wailing breeze doth bring
Borne on its swift and rushing wing.
Have ye sat alone when that wind was loud,
And the moon shone dim from the wintry cloud?
When the fire was quench'd on your lonely hearth,
And the voices were still which spoke of mirth?

If such an evening, tho' but one,
It hath been yours to spend alone--
Never,--though years may roll along
Cheer'd by the merry dance and song;
Though you mark'd not that bleak wind's sound before,
When louder perchance it used to roar--
Never shall sound of that wintry gale
Be aught to you but a voice of wail!
So o'er the careless heart and eye
The storms of the world go sweeping by;
But oh! when once we have learn'd to weep,
Well doth sorrow his stern watch keep.
Let one of our airy joys decay--
Let one of our blossoms fade away--
And all the griefs that others share
Seem ours, as well as theirs, to bear:
And the sound of wail, like that rushing wind
Shall bring all our own deep woe to mind!

'I went through the world, but I paused not now
At the gladsome heart and the joyous brow:
I went through the world, and I stay'd to mark
Where the heart was sore, and the spirit dark:
And the grief of others, though sad to see,
Was fraught with a demon's joy to me!

'I saw the inconstant lover come to take
Farewell of her he loved in better days,
And, coldly careless, watch the heart-strings break--
Which beat so fondly at his words of praise.
She was a faded, painted, guilt-bow'd thing,
Seeking to mock the hues of early spring,
When misery and years had done their worst

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poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Cry Cry Cry

Third Eye Blind Feat. Merle Haggard
Johnny Cash, Johnny Cash, Johnny Cash, Johnny Cash,
Johnny Cash trying to calm the criminal, soothed and imprisoned by a Memphis summer hymnal, with a saftey razor and a good man's nightmare, and that long road out of here paved with words that he don't believe, and a bitch of a woman caused the man in black to grieve
Everybody knows where you go when the sun goes down
I think you only live to see the lights of town
I wasted my time when I would try, try, try
Cause when the lights have lost their glow you'll cry, cry, cry
Soon your sugardaddies will all be gone
You wake up some cold day and find you're alone
You'll call for me but I'm gonna tell you bye, bye, bye
When I turn around and walk away you'll cry, cry, cry
You're gonna cry, cry, cry and you'll cry alone
When everyone's forgotten and you're left on your own
You're gonna cry, cry, cry
I lie awake at night to wait till you come in
You stay a little while and then you're gone again
Every question that I ask I get a lie, lie, lie
For every lie you tell you're gonna cry, cry, cry
You're gonna cry, and then you'll, you'll cry alone
When everyone's forgotten and you're left on your own
You're gonna cry, cry, cry, cry
When your fickle love gets old, and no one will care for you
You'll come back for me for a little love that's true
I'll tell you no and then you'll ask me why, why, why
When I remind you of all of this you'll cry, cry, cry
You're gonna cry, cry, cry and you, you'll want me then
It'll hurt when you think of all the fool you've been
You're gonna cry, cry, cry, cry
Cry, cry, cry, cry
You're gonna cry, cry, cry
Johnny Cash trying to calm the criminal, soothed and imprisoned by a Memphis summer hymnal, with a saftey razor...
It's gonna hurt you, hurt you

song performed by Third Eye Blind
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Interpretation of Nature and

I.

MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything.


II.

Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions.

III.

Human knowledge and human power meet in one; for where the cause is not known the effect cannot be produced. Nature to be commanded must be obeyed; and that which in contemplation is as the cause is in operation as the rule.

IV.

Towards the effecting of works, all that man can do is to put together or put asunder natural bodies. The rest is done by nature working within.

V.

The study of nature with a view to works is engaged in by the mechanic, the mathematician, the physician, the alchemist, and the magician; but by all (as things now are) with slight endeavour and scanty success.

VI.

It would be an unsound fancy and self-contradictory to expect that things which have never yet been done can be done except by means which have never yet been tried.

VII.

The productions of the mind and hand seem very numerous in books and manufactures. But all this variety lies in an exquisite subtlety and derivations from a few things already known; not in the number of axioms.

VIII.

Moreover the works already known are due to chance and experiment rather than to sciences; for the sciences we now possess are merely systems for the nice ordering and setting forth of things already invented; not methods of invention or directions for new works.

IX.

The cause and root of nearly all evils in the sciences is this -- that while we falsely admire and extol the powers of the human mind we neglect to seek for its true helps.

X.

The subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of the senses and understanding; so that all those specious meditations, speculations, and glosses in which men indulge are quite from the purpose, only there is no one by to observe it.

XI.

As the sciences which we now have do not help us in finding out new works, so neither does the logic which we now have help us in finding out new sciences.

XII.

The logic now in use serves rather to fix and give stability to the errors which have their foundation in commonly received notions than to help the search after truth. So it does more harm than good.

XIII.

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poem by Sir Francis Bacon
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