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Father's Day 2008

What is Father's Day, without the Guest of Honor?
Is it then a celebration of that which was, formerly?
Because, now Father is absent, he is gone, or
Is he? His presence looms with thee, there, nearly!

How have we come to be here, without one another?
The 'love of your life'-oh, really? Then why believe your own deceit?
You must ensureth your mind's heal, then only-befitting, a Mother!
Otherwise, your life's journey shall render your pain's repeat!

With Father, our family is surely completed-
Lo, lacking same: empty, my heart; my soul, depleted!
Why do you not see, as do all others
Your want for return, fastly, of your drothers?

Father loves Mother, indeed more than he ought-
Return, must we, our happiness, with nary another thought!

Maurice Harris,15 June 2008

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Can You Not See

Can you not see the sorrow, in someone's tearful eyes,
Or see the dread, in someone's weary frown.
Can you not see the fear, when someone's telling lies,
Or feel the sadness, in the laughter of a clown.

Can you not see disappointment, in someone's shoulder stoop,
Or the hand of doubt, when someone drags their feet.
Their whole being, giving signs, with a sagging body droop,
That their life, in this world, isn't quite complete.

Can you not see that each poor soul, has a heavy cross to bear,
One which we hope, will never come our way,
Perhaps the onus, is on us, to show them that we care,
And lift their spirits, and take away dismay.

Then we could see the smile, in someone's brightening eyes,
And the serenity, in someone's lifting frown.
The openness, when someone speaks, they'll have no need for lies,
And there will be a healing, in the laughter of a clown.

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Can You Not See?

Can you not see this pain I have inside
For so long It had to hide
Pain surrounds me day by day
It just doesn't seem to go away
Pain that comes and pain that goes
Pain that keeps you on your toes
There is pain in my heart
And it seems to never part
Pain stuffed inside of me
Can't let anyone near me
Can't let anyone see the real me
It seems that nobody cares
I can't take this pain anymore
I just want to walk out the door

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We Have A Tendency To Ridicule And Attack One Another Harshly On The Deepest Levels

We have a tendency to ridicule and attack one another harshly on the deepest levels, really calumniate to destroy one other emotionally, morally, personally. This reflects the emotional ignorance, lack of understanding and emotional respect we where subjected to, often unintentionally, as children as infants, as newborns, it gets played out in all sorts of elaborate fashions but in essence it is the results of our hurt minds, emotions, feelings and soul.

How do you respond in a healing manner to others that are important to you that are marooned on such emotionally stunted levels that hold such limiting, painfully restricting views? You do not go down to their level, nor do you pretend that the gravity of their mindset is not toxic. You go on with your life, as you do you might occasionally invite them to meet you on higher grounds but do not engage in battles on lower levels. You lose your self and power that way. You gain self and strength when you have the space to engage live freely, meaningfully that only comes when you do not restrict your self to battles on lower levels. You healing these who are receptive to heal, in time others will find their own way if the choose to let go of the unfulfilling ways they are exercising on lower levels, mind sets, when such individuals stop using control for control sake. If out of stubbornness they wish to remain immature, that is their choice, you do not have to destroy your self, hurt your self in engaging with them, by connecting with them, in trying to save them if they do not want to move.

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All I Want For Christmas Is You lyrics

I don't want a lot for Christmas
There is just one thing I need
I don't care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree
I just want you for my own more than you could ever know
Make my wish come true
All I want for Christmas is you
It's YOU

I don't want a lot for Christmas
There is just one thing I need
Don't care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree
I don't need to hang my stocking there upon the fireplace
Santa Claus won't make me happy with a toy on Christmas day

I just want you for my own
More than you could ever know
Make my wish come true
All I want for Christmas is you
Yooou baby

I won't ask for much this Christmas
I won't even wish for snow
I'm just gonna keep on waiting underneath the mistletoe
I won't make a list and sent it to the North Pole for Saint Nick
I won't even stay awake to hear those magic reindeer's click

Cause I just want you here tonight

Holding onto me so tight
What more can I do? ?
All I want for Christmas is you
Yooou baby

Oh! All the lights are shining so brightly everywhere (so brightly baby)
And the sound of children's laughter fills the air
And everyone is singing
I hear those sleigh bells ringing
Santa won't you bring me the one I really need
Won't you please bring my baby to me? oooh

I don't want a lot for Christmas
This is all I'm asking for
I just wanna see my baby standing right outside my door
I just want you for my own more than you could ever know
Make my wish come true
Baby all I want for Christmas is you
Yooou baby

All I want for Christmas is you baby
You're all I want
You're all I need
Christmas day baby you and me

You're all I want
You're all I need
Christmas Day baby you and me

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O fools! can you not see

O fools! can you not see a traffic nearer,
In my sweet lady's face, where nature showeth
Whatever treasure eye sees or heart knoweth,
Rubies and diamonds dainty,
And orient pearls such plenty,
Coral and ambergris, sweeter and dearer,
Than which the South Seas or Moluccas lend us,
Or either Indies, East or West, do send us.

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All I Want For Christmas Dear Is You

(Buck Owens / Don Rich)
Here it is Christmas day
And you're many miles away
And I wonder if you feel the way I do
In the air there's happiness
But in me there's loneliness
For all I want for Christmas dear, is you.
Presents wrapped in green and gold
Have no arms for me to hold
No lips to whisper softly, I love you
Oh, how happy I would be
To find you underneath my tree
For all I want for Christmas dear, is you.
--- Instrumental ---
Presents wrapped in green and gold
Have no arms for me to hold
No lips to whisper softly I love you
Oh, how happy I would be
To find you underneath my tree
For all I want for Christmas dear, is you.
Yes darling, all I want for Christmas dear, is you...

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When I Stand At The End Of Our Love

I

When I stand at the end of our love
that disappears as if the flame
of destiny determines our feelings
then you trample my humanity to its depths.
When that which we see as holy does go lost
it makes my wonder,
if we can find a place somewhere
without any suspicion
where things are peaceful and clear
where we both are stripped from others,
where you wait faithful
with every word and deed a small witness
that our feelings did not change
in the glittering night full of stars.

II

In the glittering night full of stars
I saw you for moments
held you tightly
with passion that could not wait,
you were mine through a summer day
as if you eternally true
would only keep to me
your eyes shone pretty like the stars
but now you are not there anymore
to reach for me,
and our time is past and forever finished,
the song of our lost love has finally been sung
and in the evenings I see your eyes gaze,
in the evenings the memories flare up.

III

In the evenings the memories flare up
with shining eyes full of deep meaning,
that which was between us was no secret
and the light of it circled out to others
but another came into our lives
making that which was pure and noble
trampled, lost and full of woe,
twisted away from all beauty,
broken to many pieces
and with painful suspicion and prayer
I wanted to spare our love from destruction,
I wanted our relationship to be restored,
wanted to rescue the beauty in its fullness;
I had to accept your free will.

IV

I had to accept your free will
and the feelings that we had
was suddenly broken and finished,
even the way we did live
but now I know that love does sometimes fail,
even when it's seen as being eternal,
a person has sometimes got to experience pain
and heartache that falls like a lightning bolt
while that which was between us did perish
and I had to go on another way
that shines up to the highest heavens,
which God Himself sets out for me
and the break-up was your decision;
I wonder from where our love did come?

V

I wonder from where our love did come,
the feelings that once was between us
about the glittering eyes that met each other,
the beauty that almost was something Godly?
Somewhere that fire was distinguished,
was scorched, burnt to ashes,
you were infected by love for someone else
while you did leave me pain
and I wonder how your blushing cheeks,
the glittering fire in your eyes
could so easily catch me,
could bewitch me,
when your heart could despise me,
while that which was between us now fades.

VI

While that which was between us now fades.
to only broken memories,
into my lost ponderings
the branches of our spring is now sawn off
and the beauty did perish like it did please you,
with heartache that goes to the depths of the soul
and sometimes it feels as if this sadness goes wider,
as if these feelings go to other horizons
and the pain is like a falling drop
that in water circles out wider
and later the surface is without a crease
as it goes into oblivion
but memories do tell
you did once love me passionately.

VII

You did once love me passionately
with love in your eyes,
fire and electricity in every touch,
with the glory of rainbows
and now there is just scorn in your gaze
while I am a stranger,
while you are lost in the traps of life
and now you are wild like an animal
that preys and mangles and set selfish claims,
like a cat from hell that slyly steals upon me,
as if my love and tenderness does not count
as you sneak nearer with anger and destruction
but still life goes on at its time
when I stand at the end of our love

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Blanket Syd - The World Anew

All I seek is a lust beyond the want for climax,
I seek a beauty with which to trust my soul;
A beauty to make me whole in knowing
We flow as one in the same.

Inside placid beasts lay tamed
As angels outside play games un-named.

Gabrielle opens up her eyes to you, turning her head ornamental,
Beseeching to minds lost in wonderment oriental philosophies on which to ponder.
She holds within her form the innocence of the lamb still she retains a knowledge of the flesh.
She feeds the imagination with promises of sexual gratification fresh as golden fabrics flow in swallowing her form. Her head turns upon a spine cast within the kiln as Blanket Syd distorts the visions of the helmsman holding fantasy captive within the bounds of reality.
She stands domineering in her stance. Daring you to dance for her – she’s daring you to throw inhibition from upon your shoulders - She’s daring you to know Love as your lover.

Red skin gum sticks the joint your holding stiff with your thumb.
Roll. Succumb to the numbing of the senses as the imagination leaps
In bounding, the imagination lay forever lost in searching – attempting to find that which was never there to be found.

Bend the words upon a whim
Skim the surface, don’t break the skin.

Remember, I remember the first time I saw myself from the past
A beard full in flowing clung to my cheeks, my knees forever weak within an age of longing.

Stroke the beast that keeps you calm
So soft to touch upon the palm of your hand.

Lost is ever generation, lost beyond a care.

How old these souls must be now in reflecting upon the time they spent trashed
Crashed out with Joplin’s tones upon the airwaves, screaming the blues to a tune
Of orchestral happiness – Still the blues shine through forever bound within the tragedy
Of a flower born aloft upon the wind. For every song she sung a thousand generations will cry
Awaiting her kind to be born again – The myths are made once your dues are paid then poets will sing your laments.

How culture must resent the descent of youths talent deflowered.
The music’s over yet still she holds strong the crowd.

When I think of all the souls I’ve known I know I loved them all.
Never half but always whole.

They say kissing builds up the muscles in your mouth.

Keep on feeding each other, if your too tired to chew pass it on
Next comes some poor fool lost without his cane.

The oracle serves well the mind of the acid soaked mariner
Lost upon surface of disillusionment – the depths of the abyss they beckon
Calling for confrontation – Push away the daemon for a while

Smile.

Lost in his manor, seeking solace in the arms of a strange unknowing caress
You can hear them calling upon the edge of sleep, keeping dry sanity from the rain.

Rise from the floor your throne.

One ear feels thick to the finger
Almost stuffed the other cold
As I shuffle ever knowing each second I am older
Yet time dissolves as we feel Our mother revolve
Turning, spurring on creation anew – Creation through destruction breathes
As nutrients are embraced by the soil of the earth as a given gift from Autumns trees.

I know now that meditation is to be found within the realms of masturbation.

I feel sound within myself yet can seem to lift no idea of construct sane from upon the shelf.
Still Gabrielle sings, whispering soft melodies through the winding corridors of trees.
She offers out her hand to me, promising freedom - She promised I would see the World Tree.
She sings soft as an angels charm, claiming that she hath known no death in life.


In you I perceive a beauty of wonderment
Into you I wish I could flow alike a river
Swollen with freshly thawed waters
Dripping to sip she’s sipping from the drip.

Three hours since my soul supped maddened bliss,
I wonder is this night to be mine alone.
For frozen, inescapable horrors lay slumbering upon the
Verge of perversions fantastic.

Gabrielle stirs my soul once more
Opening up the doorways of my heart
Parting the tides below which I have been hiding.
Magick resides within, empowered words vibrate from upon the paper
Surging through the eyes of the observer.
All we need is to know there is another who understands us
All we need is to know there is another who will love us.

I perceive a beauty untarnished
A beauty; raw and unpolluted
Nature at peace within the most harmonious of forms
Still her proportions differ from the norm whilst riding
The waves of storm clouds over head a-gathering
She herds the clouds with the palm of her hand.

She’s asking you to sing
So that you may know
What Love it is she brings
Beneath a blanket snow.

Love could never know the love I have for Love
War could never know the war I would wage on War.
Hate could never know the hatred I feel for Hate.

Patience beside her virtues waits shaking her head
By the cemetery gates – awaiting us to turn –
Knowing we shall one day learn to take within our stride
The undertakings of the Time’s tides ever crashing –
Ever weathering the pride we take in our forms
She awaits for us to know her shelter from the storm.

Outside the winds await in bated breathe
Un able as they are to rest upon the edge of space
‘Nothing proves a greater obstacle than first thought possible.

Out of the corner of your eye images flicker
Portraits turn as canvas eyeballs tumble in their sockets.
Lips of plastic are waxing.
Feeling inferior can lead us nowhere
But the interior of an asylum you would
Not seek as your sanctuary.
An asylum where they would have you sane
Rather than speaking with the spirits of the Dell.

They play, bubbling upon the edge of the imagination.

Are we not painting in sounds the portrait of an generation
Lost to the comfort of islands in the sky?

You’ve seen them laugh, you’ve heard them cry
Now you know what it is to wonder why.
Why it is we may feel out of proportion with our surroundings
Believing through distortion that we are grounded as
The patterns of surrounding tapestries merge as fuel of
The imaginations wanderings.

No one sees it but I see in her eyes the signs of a soul fully wasted
A which forbidden fruits hath tasted.

Speak truth beyond truth if you think you can find the words,
All it is not to go unheard,
All it is to deny the movement of the herd.

Appreciate the gratitude you find in servitude
Towards the honour of a higher cause.
Pause; consider all it is that fuels
Your attitude upon this journey of ours.

Pass away the days, pass away the hours.
For they are ours to pass away.
Make Love throughout the day
And Hold true the blues you feel
If they are all you consider as real
But know that you may peel away the
Veils of this reality we hath inherited
And you will see the world anew.

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Pharsalia - Book VII: The Battle

Ne'er to the summons of the Eternal laws
More slowly Titan rose, nor drave his steeds,
Forced by the sky revolving, up the heaven,
With gloomier presage; wishing to endure
The pangs of ravished light, and dark eclipse;
And drew the mists up, not to feed his flames,
But lest his light upon Thessalian earth
Might fall undimmed.

Pompeius on that morn,
To him the latest day of happy life,
In troubled sleep an empty dream conceived.
For in the watches of the night he heard
Innumerable Romans shout his name
Within his theatre; the benches vied
To raise his fame and place him with the gods;
As once in youth, when victory was won
O'er conquered tribes where swift Iberus flows,
And where Sertorius' armies fought and fled,
The west subdued, with no less majesty
Than if the purple toga graced the car,
He sat triumphant in his pure white gown
A Roman knight, and heard the Senate's cheer.
Perhaps, as ills drew near, his anxious soul,
Shunning the future wooed the happy past;
Or, as is wont, prophetic slumber showed
That which was not to be, by doubtful forms
Misleading; or as envious Fate forbade
Return to Italy, this glimpse of Rome
Kind Fortune gave. Break not his latest sleep,
Ye sentinels; let not the trumpet call
Strike on his ear: for on the morrow's night
Shapes of the battle lost, of death and war
Shall crowd his rest with terrors. Whence shalt thou
The poor man's happiness of sleep regain?
Happy if even in dreams thy Rome could see
Once more her captain! Would the gods had given
To thee and to thy country one day yet
To reap the latest fruit of such a love:
Though sure of fate to come! Thou marchest on
As though by heaven ordained in Rome to die;
She, conscious ever of her prayers for thee
Heard by the gods, deemed not the fates decreed
Such evil destiny, that she should lose
The last sad solace of her Magnus' tomb.
Then young and old had blent their tears for thee,
And child unbidden; women torn their hair
And struck their bosoms as for Brutus dead.
But now no public woe shall greet thy death
As erst thy praise was heard: but men shall grieve
In silent sorrow, though the victor's voice
Amid the clash of arms proclaims thy fall;
Though incense smoke before the Thunderer's shrine,
And shouts of welcome bid great Caesar hail.

The stars had fled before the growing morn,
When eager voices (as the fates drew on
The world to ruin) round Pompeius' tent
Demand the battle signal. What! by those
So soon to perish, shall the sign be asked,
Their own, their country's doom? Ah! fatal rage
That hastens on the hour; no other sun
Upon this living host shall rise again.
'Pompeius fears!' they cry. 'He's slow to act;
Too 'kind to Caesar; and he fondly rules
A world of subject peoples; but with peace
Such rule were ended.' Eastern kings no less,
And peoples, eager for their distant homes,
Already murmured at the lengthy war.

Thus hath it pleased the gods, when woe impends
On guilty men, to make them seem its cause.
We court disaster, crave the fatal sword.
Of Magnus' camp Pharsalia was the prayer;
For Tullius, of all the sons of Rome
Chief orator, beneath whose civil rule
Fierce Catiline at the peace-compelling axe
Trembled and fled, arose, to Magnus' ear
Bearing the voice of all. To him was war
Grown hateful, and he longed once more to hear
The Senate's plaudits; and with eloquent lips
He lent persuasion to the weaker cause.
'Fortune, Pompeius, for her gifts to thee
Asks this one boon, that thou should'st use her now.
Here at thy feet thy leading captains lie;
And here thy monarchs, and a suppliant world
Entreats thee prostrate for thy kinsman's fall.
So long shall Caesar plunge the world in war?
Swift was thy tread when these proud nations fell;
How deep their shame, and justly, should delay
Now mar thy conquests! Where thy trust in Fate,
Thy fervour where? Ingrate! Dost dread the gods,
Or think they favour not the Senate's cause?
Thy troops unbidden shall the standards seize
And conquer; thou in shame be forced to win.
If at the Senate's orders and for us
The war is waged, then give to us the right
To choose the battle-field. Why dost thou keep
From Caesar's throat the swords of all the world?
The weapon quivers in the eager hand:
Scarce one awaits the signal. Strike at once,
Or without thee the trumpets sound the fray.
Art thou the Senate's comrade or her lord?
We wait your answer.'

But Pompeius groaned;
His mind was adverse, but he felt the fates
Opposed his wish, and knew the hand divine.
'Since all desire it, and the fates prevail,
So let it be; your leader now no more,
I share the labours of the battle-field.
Let Fortune roll the nations of the earth
In one red ruin; myriads of mankind
See their last sun to-day. Yet, Rome, I swear,
This day of blood was forced upon thy son.
Without a wound, the prizes of the war
Might have been thine, and he who broke the peace
In peace forgotten. Whence this lust for crime?
Shall bloodless victories in civil war
Be shunned, not sought? We've ravished from our foe
All boundless seas, and land; his starving troops
Have snatched earth's crop half-grown, in vain attempt
Their hunger to appease; they prayed for death,
Sought for the sword-thrust, and within our ranks
Were fain to mix their life-blood with your own.
Much of the war is done: the conscript youth
Whose heart beats high, who burns to join the fray
(Though men fight hard in terror of defeat),
The shock of onset need no longer fear.
Bravest is he who promptly meets the ill
When fate commands it and the moment comes,
Yet brooks delay, in prudence; and shall we,
Our happy state enjoying, risk it all?
Trust to the sword the fortunes of the world?
Not victory, but battle, ye demand.
Do thou, O Fortune, of the Roman state
Who mad'st Pompeius guardian, from his hands
Take back the charge grown weightier, and thyself
Commit its safety to the chance of war.
Nor blame nor glory shall be mine to-day.
Thy prayers unjustly, Caesar, have prevailed:
We fight! What wickedness, what woes on men,
Destruction on what realms this dawn shall bring!
Crimson with Roman blood yon stream shall run.
Would that (without the ruin of our cause)
The first fell bolt hurled on this cursed day
Might strike me lifeless! Else, this battle brings
A name of pity or a name of hate.
The loser bears the burden of defeat;
The victor wins, but conquest is a crime.'
Thus to the soldiers, burning for the fray,
He yields, forbidding, and throws down the reins.
So may a sailor give the winds control
Upon his barque, which, driven by the seas,
Bears him an idle burden. Now the camp
Hums with impatience, and the brave man's heart
With beats tumultuous throbs against his breast;
And all the host had standing in their looks
The paleness of the death that was to come.
On that day's fight 'twas manifest that Rome
And all the future destinies of man
Hung trembling; and by weightier dread possessed,
They knew not danger. Who would fear for self
Should ocean rise and whelm the mountain tops,
And sun and sky descend upon the earth
In universal chaos? Every mind
Is bent upon Pompeius, and on Rome.
They trust no sword until its deadly point
Glows on the sharpening stone; no lance will serve
Till straightened for the fray; each bow is strung
Anew, and arrows chosen for their work
Fill all the quivers; horsemen try the curb
And fit the bridle rein and whet the spur.
If toils divine with human may compare,
'Twas thus, when Phlegra bore the giant crew,
In Etna's furnace glowed the sword of Mars,
Neptunus' trident felt the flame once more;
And great Apollo after Python slain
Sharpened his darts afresh: on Pallas' shield
Was spread anew the dread Medusa's hair;
And broad Sicilia trembled at the blows
Of Vulcan forging thunderbolts for Jove.

Yet Fortune failed not, as they sought the field,
In various presage of the ills to come;
All heaven opposed their march: portentous fire
In columns filled the plain, and torches blazed:
And thirsty whirlwinds mixed with meteor bolts
Smote on them as they strode, whose sulphurous flames
Perplexed the vision. Crests were struck from helms;
The melted sword-blade flowed upon the hilt:
The spear ran liquid, and the hurtful steel
Smoked with a sulphur that had come from heaven.
Nay, more, the standards, hid by swarms of bees
Innumerable, weighed the bearer down,
Scarce lifted from the earth; bedewed with tears;
No more of Rome the standards, or her state.
And from the altar fled the frantic bull
To fields afar; nor was a victim found
To grace the sacrifice of coming doom.

But thou, Caesar, to what gods of ill
Didst thou appeal? What furies didst thou call,
What powers of madness and what Stygian Kings
Whelmed in th' abyss of hell? Didst favour gain
By sacrifice in this thine impious war?
Strange sights were seen; or caused by hands divine
Or due to fearful fancy. Haemus' top
Plunged headlong in the valley, Pindus met
With high Olympus, while at Ossa's feet
Red ran Baebeis, and Pharsalia's field
Gave warlike voices forth in depth of night.
Now darkness came upon their wondering gaze,
Now daylight pale and wan, their helmets wreathed
In pallid mist; the spirits of their sires
Hovered in air, and shades of kindred dead
Passed flitting through the gloom. Yet to the host
Conscious of guilty prayers which sought to shed
The blood of sires and brothers, earth and air
Distraught, and horrors seething in their hearts
Gave happy omen of the end to come.

Was't strange that peoples whom their latest day
Of happy life awaited (if their minds
Foreknew the doom) should tremble with affright?
Romans who dwelt by far Araxes' stream,
And Tyrian Gades, in whatever clime,
'Neath every sky, struck by mysterious dread
Were plunged in sorrow -- yet rebuked the tear,
For yet they knew not of the fatal day.
Thus on Euganean hills where sulphurous fumes
Disclose the rise of Aponus from earth,
And where Timavus broadens in the meads,
An augur spake: 'This day the fight is fought,
The arms of Caesar and Pompeius meet
To end the impious conflict.' Or he saw
The bolts of Jupiter, predicting ill;
Or else the sky discordant o'er the space
Of heaven, from pole to pole; or else perchance
The sun was sad and misty in the height
And told the battle by his wasted beams.
By Nature's fiat that Thessalian day
Passed not as others; if the gifted sense
Of reading portents had been given to all,
All men had known Pharsalia. Gods of heaven!
How do ye mark the great ones of the earth!
The world gives tokens of their weal or woe;
The sky records their fates: in distant climes
To future races shall their tale be told,
Or by the fame alone of mighty deeds
Had in remembrance, or by this my care
Borne through the centuries: and men shall read
In hope and fear the story of the war
And breathless pray, as though it were to come,
For that long since accomplished; and for thee
Thus far, Pompeius, shall that prayer be given.

Reflected from their arms, th' opposing sun
Filled all the slope with radiance as they marched
In ordered ranks to that ill-fated fight,
And stood arranged for battle. On the left
Thou, Lentulus, had'st charge; two legions there,
The fourth, and bravest of them all, the first:
While on the right, Domitius, ever stanch,
Though fates be adverse, stood: in middle line
The hardy soldiers from Cilician lands,
In Scipio's care; their chief in Libyan days,
To-day their comrade. By Enipeus' pools
And by the rivulets, the mountain troops
Of Cappadocia, and loose of rein
Thy squadrons, Pontus: on the firmer ground
Galatia's tetrarchs and the greater kings;
And all the purple-robed, the slaves of Rome.
Numidian hordes were there from Afric shores,
There Creta's host and Ituraeans found
Full space to wing their arrows; there the tribes
From brave Iberia clashed their shields, and there
Gaul stood arrayed against her ancient foe.
Let all the nations be the victor's prize,
None grace in future a triumphal car;
This fight demands the slaughter of a world.

Caesar that day to send his troops for spoil
Had left his tent, when on the further hill
Behold! his foe descending to the plain.
The moment asked for by a thousand prayers
Is come, which puts his fortune on the risk
Of imminent war, to win or lose it all.
For burning with desire of kingly power
His eager soul ill brooked the small delay
This civil war compelled: each instant lost
Robbed from his due! But when at length he knew
The last great conflict come, the fight supreme,
Whose prize the leadership of all the world:
And felt the ruin nodding to its fall:
Swiftest to strike, yet for a little space
His rage for battle failed; the spirit bold
To pledge itself the issue, wavered now:
For Magnus' fortunes gave no room for hope,
Though Caesar's none for fear. Deep in his soul
Such doubt was hidden, as with mien and speech
That augured victory, thus the chief began:
'Ye conquerors of a world, my hope in all,
Prayed for so oft, the dawn of fight is come.
No more entreat the gods: with sword in hand
Seize on our fates; and Caesar in your deeds
This day is great or little. This the day
For which I hold since Rubicon was passed
Your promise given: for this we flew to arms:
For this deferred the triumphs we had won,
And which the foe refused: this gives you back
Your homes and kindred, and the peaceful farm,
Your prize for years of service in the field.
And by the fates' command this day shall prove
Whose quarrel juster: for defeat is guilt
To him on whom it falls. If in my cause
With fire and sword ye did your country wrong,
Strike for acquittal! Should another judge
This war, not Caesar, none were blameless found.
Not for my sake this battle, but for you,
To give you, soldiers, liberty and law
'Gainst all the world. Wishful myself for life
Apart from public cares, and for the gown
That robes the private citizen, I refuse
To yield from office till the law allows
Your right in all things. On my shoulders rest
All blame; all power be yours. Nor deep the blood
Between yourselves and conquest. Grecian schools
Of exercise and wrestling send us here
Their chosen darlings to await your swords;
And scarcely armed for war, a dissonant crowd
Barbaric, that will start to hear our trump,
Nay, their own clamour. Not in civil strife
Your blows shall fall -- the battle of to-day
Sweeps from the earth the enemies of Rome.
Dash through these cowards and their vaunted kings:
One stroke of sword and all the world is yours.
Make plain to all men that the crowds who decked
Pompeius' hundred pageants scarce were fit
For one poor triumph. Shall Armenia care
Who leads her masters, or barbarians shed
One drop of blood to make Pompeius chief
O'er our Italia? Rome, 'tis Rome they hate
And all her children; yet they hate the most
Those whom they know. My fate is in the hands
Of you, mine own true soldiers, proved in all
The wars we fought in Gallia. When the sword
Of each of you shall strike, I know the hand:
The javelin's flight to me betrays the arm
That launched it hurtling: and to-day once more
I see the faces stern, the threatening eyes,
Unfailing proofs of victory to come.
E'en now the battle rushes on my sight;
Kings trodden down and scattered senators
Fill all th' ensanguined plain, and peoples float
Unnumbered on the crimson tide of death.
Enough of words -- I but delay the fates;
And you who burn to dash into the fray,
Forgive the pause. I tremble with the hopes
Thus finding utterance. I ne'er have seen
The mighty gods so near; this little field
Alone dividing us; their hands are full
Of my predestined honours: for 'tis I
Who when this war is done shall have the power
O'er all that peoples, all that kings enjoy
To shower it where I will. But has the pole
Been moved, or in its nightly course some star
Turned backwards, that such mighty deeds should pass
Here on Thessalian earth? To-day we reap
Of all our wars the harvest or the doom.
Think of the cross that threats us, and the chain,
Limbs hacked asunder, Caesar's head displayed
Upon the rostra; and that narrow field
Piled up with slaughter: for this hostile chief
Is savage Sulla's pupil. 'Tis for you,
If conquered, that I grieve: my lot apart
Is cast long since. This sword, should one of you
Turn from the battle ere the foe be fled,
Shall rob the life of Caesar. O ye gods,
Drawn down from heaven by the throes of Rome,
May he be conqueror who shall not draw
Against the vanquished an inhuman sword,
Nor count it as a crime if men of Rome
Preferred another's standard to his own.
Pompeius' sword drank deep Italian blood
When cabined in yon space the brave man's arm
No more found room to strike. But you, I pray,
Touch not the foe who turns him from the fight,
A fellow citizen, a foe no more.
But while the gleaming weapons threaten still,
Let no fond memories unnerve the arm,
No pious thought of father or of kin;
But full in face of brother or of sire,
Drive home the blade. Unless the slain be known
Your foes account his slaughter as a crime;
Spare not our camp, but lay the rampart low
And fill the fosse with ruin; not a man
But holds his post within the ranks to-day.
And yonder tents, deserted by the foe,
Shall give us shelter when the rout is done.'

Scarce had he paused; they snatch the hasty meal,
And seize their armour and with swift acclaim
Welcome the chief's predictions of the day,
Tread low their camp when rushing to the fight;
And take their post: nor word nor order given,
In fate they put their trust. Nor, had'st thou placed
All Caesars there, all striving for the throne
Of Rome their city, had their serried ranks
With speedier tread dashed down upon the foe.

But when Pompeius saw the hostile troops
Move forth in order and demand the fight,
And knew the gods' approval of the day,
He stood astonied, while a deadly chill
Struck to his heart -- omen itself of woe,
That such a chief should at the call to arms,
Thus dread the issue: but with fear repressed,
Borne on his noble steed along the line
Of all his forces, thus he spake: 'The day
Your bravery demands, that final end
Of civil war ye asked for, is at hand.
Put forth your strength, your all; the sword to-day
Does its last work. One crowded hour is charged
With nations' destinies. Whoe'er of you
Longs for his land and home, his wife and child,
Seek them with sword. Here in mid battle-field,
The gods place all at stake. Our better right
Bids us expect their favour; they shall dip
Your brands in Caesar's blood, and thus shall give
Another sanction to the laws of Rome,
Our cause of battle. If for him were meant
An empire o'er the world, had they not put
An end to Magnus' life? That I am chief
Of all these mingled peoples and of Rome
Disproves an angry heaven. See here combined
All means of victory. Noble men have sought
Unasked the risks of war. Our soldiers boast
Ancestral statues. If to us were given
A Curius, if Camillus were returned,
Or patriot Decius to devote his life,
Here would they take their stand. From furthest east
All nations gathered, cities as the sand
Unnumbered, give their aid: a world complete
Serves 'neath our standards. North and south and all
Who have their being 'neath the starry vault,
Here meet in arms conjoined: And shall we not
Crush with our closing wings this paltry foe?
Few shall find room to strike; the rest with voice
Must be content to aid: for Caesar's ranks
Suffice not for us. Think from Rome's high walls
The matrons watch you with their hair unbound;
Think that the Senate hoar, too old for arms,
With snowy locks outspread; and Rome herself,
The world's high mistress, fearing now, alas!
A despot -- all exhort you to the fight.
Think that the people that is and that shall be
Joins in the prayer -- in freedom to be born,
In freedom die, their wish. If 'mid these vows
Be still found place for mine, with wife and child,
So far as Imperator may, I bend
Before you suppliant -- unless this fight
Be won, behold me exile, your disgrace,
My kinsman's scorn. From this, 'tis yours to save.
Then save! Nor in the latest stage of life,
Let Magnus be a slave.'

Then burned their souls
At these his words, indignant at the thought,
And Rome rose up within them, and to die
Was welcome.

Thus alike with hearts aflame
Moved either host to battle, one in fear
And one in hope of empire. These hands shall do
Such work as not the rolling centuries
Not all mankind though free from sword and war
Shall e'er make good. Nations that were to live
This fight shall crush, and peoples pre-ordained
To make the history of the coming world
Shall come not to the birth. The Latin names
Shall sound as fables in the ears of men,
And ruins loaded with the dust of years
Shall hardly mark her cities. Alba's hill,
Home of our gods, no human foot shall tread,
Save of some Senator at the ancient feast
By Numa's orders founded -- he compelled
Serves his high office. Void and desolate
Are Veii, Cora and Laurentum's hold;
Yet not the tooth of envious time destroyed
These storied monuments -- 'twas civil war
That rased their citadels. Where now hath fled
The teeming life that once Italia knew?
Not all the earth can furnish her with men:
Untenanted her dwellings and her fields:
Slaves till her soil: one city holds us all:
Crumbling to ruin, the ancestral roof
Finds none on whom to fall; and Rome herself,
Void of her citizens, draws within her gates
The dregs of all the world. That none might wage
A civil war again, thus deeply drank
Pharsalia's fight the life-blood of her sons.
Dark in the calendar of Rome for aye,
The days when Allia and Cannae fell:
And shall Pharsalus' morn, darkest of all,
Stand on the page unmarked? Alas, the fates!
Not plague nor pestilence nor famine's rage,
Not cities given to the flames, nor towns
Trembling at shock of earthquake shall weigh down
Such heroes lost, when Fortune's ruthless hand
Lops at one blow the gift of centuries,
Leaders and men embattled. How great art thou,
Rome, in thy fall! Stretched to the widest bounds
War upon war laid nations at thy feet
Till flaming Titan nigh to either pole
Beheld thine empire; and the furthest east
Was almost thine, till day and night and sky
For thee revolved, and all the stars could see
Throughout their course was Roman. But the fates
In one dread day of slaughter and despair
Turned back the centuries and spoke thy doom.
And now the Indian fears the axe no more
Once emblem of thy power, now no more
The girded Consul curbs the Getan horde,
Or in Sarmatian furrows guides the share:
Still Parthia boasts her triumphs unavenged:
Foul is the public life; and Freedom, fled
To furthest Earth beyond the Tigris' stream,
And Rhine's broad river, wandering at her will
'Mid Teuton hordes and Scythian, though by sword
Sought, yet returns not. Would that from the day
When Romulus, aided by the vulture's flight,
Ill-omened, raised within that hateful grove
Rome's earliest walls, down to the crimsoned field
In dire Thessalia fought, she ne'er had known
Italia's peoples! Did the Bruti strike
In vain for liberty? Why laws and rights
Sanctioned by all the annals designate
With consular titles? Happier far the Medes
And blest Arabia, and the Eastern lands
Held by a kindlier fate in despot rule!
That nation serves the worst which serves with shame.
No guardian gods watch over us from heaven:
Jove is no king; let ages whirl along
In blind confusion: from his throne supreme
Shall he behold such carnage and restrain
His thunderbolts? On Mimas shall he hurl
His fires, on Rhodope and Oeta's woods
Unmeriting such chastisement, and leave
This life to Cassius' hand? On Argos fell
At grim Thyestes' feast untimely night
By him thus hastened; shall Thessalia's land
Receive full daylight, wielding kindred swords
In fathers' hands and brothers'? Careless of men
Are all the gods. Yet for this day of doom
Such vengeance have we reaped as deities
May give to mortals; for these wars shall raise
Our parted Caesars to the gods; and Rome
Shall deck their effigies with thunderbolts,
And stars and rays, and in the very fanes
Swear by the shades of men.

With swift advance
They seize the space that yet delays the fates
Till short the span dividing. Then they gaze
For one short moment where may fall the spear,
What hand may deal their death, what monstrous task
Soon shall be theirs; and all in arms they see,
In reach of stroke, their brothers and their sires
With front opposing; yet to yield their ground
It pleased them not. But all the host was dumb
With horror; cold upon each loving heart,
Awe-struck, the life-blood pressed; and all men held
With arms outstretched their javelins for a time,
Poised yet unthrown. Now may th' avenging gods
Allot thee, Crastinus, not such a death
As all men else do suffer! In the tomb
May'st thou have feeling and remembrance still!
For thine the hand that first flung forth the dart,
Which stained with Roman blood Thessalia's earth.
Madman! To speed thy lance when Caesar's self
Still held his hand! Then from the clarions broke
The strident summons, and the trumpets blared
Responsive signal. Upward to the vault
The sound re-echoes where nor clouds may reach
Nor thunder penetrate; and Haemus' slopes
Reverberate to Pelion the din;
Pindus re-echoes; Oeta's lofty rocks
Groan, and Pangaean cliffs, till at their rage
Borne back from all the earth they shook for fear.

Unnumbered darts they hurl, with prayers diverse;
Some hope to wound: others, in secret, yearn
For hands still innocent. Chance rules supreme,
And wayward Fortune upon whom she wills
Makes fall the guilt. Yet for the hatred bred
By civil war suffices spear nor lance,
Urged on their flight afar: the hand must grip
The sword and drive it to the foeman's heart.
But while Pompeius' ranks, shield wedged to shield,
Were ranged in dense array, and scarce had space
To draw the blade, came rushing at the charge
Full on the central column Caesar's host,
Mad for the battle. Man nor arms could stay
The crash of onset, and the furious sword
Clove through the stubborn panoply to the flesh,
There only stayed. One army struck -- their foes
Struck not in answer; Magnus' swords were cold,
But Caesar's reeked with slaughter and with guilt.
Nor Fortune lingered, but decreed the doom
Which swept the ruins of a world away.

Soon as withdrawn from all the spacious plain,
Pompeius' horse was ranged upon the flanks;
Passed through the outer files, the lighter armed
Of all the nations joined the central strife,
With divers weapons armed, but all for blood
Of Rome athirst: then blazing torches flew,
Arrows and stones. and ponderous balls of lead
Molten by speed of passage through the air.
There Ituraean archers and the Mede
Winged forth their countless shafts till all the sky
Grew dark with missiles hurled; and from the night
Brooding above, Death struck his victims down,
Guiltless such blow, while all the crime was heaped
Upon the Roman spear. In line oblique
Behind the standards Caesar in reserve
Had placed some companies of foot, in fear
The foremost ranks might waver. These at his word,
No trumpet sounding, break upon the ranks
Of Magnus' horsemen where they rode at large
Flanking the battle. They, unshamed of fear
And careless of the fray, when first a steed
Pierced through by javelin spurned with sounding hoof
The temples of his rider, turned the rein,
And through their comrades spurring from the field
In panic, proved that not with warring Rome
Barbarians may grapple. Then arose
Immeasurable carnage: here the sword,
There stood the victim, and the victor's arm
Wearied of slaughter. Oh, that to thy plains,
Pharsalia, might suffice the crimson stream
From hosts barbarian, nor other blood
Pollute thy fountains' sources! these alone
Shall clothe thy pastures with the bones of men!
Or if thy fields must run with Roman blood
Then spare the nations who in times to come
Must be her peoples!

Now the terror spread
Through all the army, and the favouring fates
Decreed for Caesar's triumph: and the war
Ceased in the wider plain, though still ablaze
Where stood the chosen of Pompeius' force,
Upholding yet the fight. Not here allies
Begged from some distant king to wield the sword:
Here were the Roman sons, the sires of Rome,
Here the last frenzy and the last despair:
Here, Caesar, was thy crime: and here shall stay
My Muse repelled: no poesy of mine
Shall tell the horrors of the final strife,
Nor for the coming ages paint the deeds
Which civil war permits. Be all obscured
In deepest darkness! Spare the useless tear
And vain lament, and let the deeds that fell
In that last fight of Rome remain unsung.

But Caesar adding fury to the breasts
Already flaming with the rage of war,
That each might bear his portion of the guilt
Which stained the host, unflinching through the ranks
Passed at his will. He looked upon the brands,
These reddened only at the point, and those
Streaming with blood and gory, to the hilt:
He marks the hand which trembling grasped the sword,
Or held it idle, and the cheek that grew
Pale at the blow, and that which at his words
Glowed with the joy of battle: midst the dead
He treads the plain and on each gaping wound
Presses his hand to keep the life within.
Thus Caesar passed: and where his footsteps fell
As when Bellona shakes her crimson lash,
Or Mavors scourges on the Thracian mares
When shunning the dread face on Pallas' shield,
He drives his chariot, there arose a night
Dark with huge slaughter and with crime, and groans
As of a voice immense, and sound of alms
As fell the wearer, and of sword on sword
Crashed into fragments. With a ready hand
Caesar supplies the weapon and bids strike
Full at the visage; and with lance reversed
Urges the flagging ranks and stirs the fight.
Where flows the nation's blood, where beats the heart,
Knowing, he bids them spare the common herd,
But seek the senators -- thus Rome he strikes,
Thus the last hold of Freedom. In the fray,
Then fell the nobles with their mighty names
Of ancient prowess; there Metellus' sons,
Corvini, Lepidi, Torquati too,
Not once nor twice the conquerors of kings,
First of all men, Pompeius' name except,
Lay dead upon the field.

But, Brutus, where,
Where was thy sword? 'Veiled by a common helm
Unknown thou wanderest. Thy country's pride,
Hope of the Senate, thou (for none besides);
Thou latest scion of that race of pride,
Whose fearless deeds the centuries record,
Tempt not the battle, nor provoke the doom!
Awaits thee on Philippi's fated field
Thy Thessaly. Not here shalt thou prevail
'Gainst Caesar's life. Not yet hath he surpassed
The height of power and deserved a death
Noble at Brutus' hands -- then let him live,
Thy fated victim!

There upon the field
Lay all the honour of Rome; no common stream
Mixed with the purple tide. And yet of all
Who noble fell, one only now I sing,
Thee, brave Domitius. Whene'er the day
Was adverse to the fortunes of thy chief
Thine was the arm which vainly stayed the fight.
Vanquished so oft by Caesar, now 'twas thine
Yet free to perish. By a thousand wounds
Came welcome death, nor had thy conqueror power
Again to pardon. Caesar stood and saw
The dark blood welling forth and death at hand,
And thus in words of scorn: 'And dost thou lie,
Domitius, there? And did Pompeius name
Thee his successor, thee? Why leavest thou then
His standards helpless?' But the parting life
Still faintly throbbed within Domitius' breast,
Thus finding utterance: 'Yet thou hast not won
Thy hateful prize, for doubtful are the fates;
Nor thou the master, Caesar; free as yet,
With great Pompeius for my leader still,
Warring no more, I seek the silent shades,
Yet with this hope in death, that thou subdued
To Magnus and to me in grievous guise
May'st pay atonement.' So he spake: no more;
Then closed his eyes in death.

'Twere shame to shed,
When thus a world was perishing, the tear
Meet for each fate, or sing the wound that reft
Each life away. Through forehead and through throat
The pitiless weapon clove its deadly path,
Or forced the entrails forth: one fell to earth
Prone at the stroke; one stood though shorn of limb;
Glanced from this breast unharmed the quivering spear;
That it transfixed to earth. Here from the veins
Spouted the life-blood, till the foeman's arms
Were crimsoned. One his brother slew, nor dared
To spoil the corse, till severed from the neck
He flung the head afar. Another dashed
Full in his father's teeth the fatal sword,
By murderous frenzy striving to disprove
His kinship with the slain. Yet for each death
We find no separate dirge, nor weep for men
When peoples fell. Thus, Rome, thy doom was wrought
At dread Pharsalus. Not, as in other fields,
By soldiers slain, or captains; here were swept
Whole nations to the death; Assyria here,
Achaia, Pontus; and the blood of Rome
Gushing in torrents forth, forbade the rest
To stagnate on the plain. Nor life was reft,
Nor safety only then; but reeled the world
And all her manifold peoples at the blow
In that day's battle dealt; nor only then
Felt, but in all the times that were to come.
Those swords gave servitude to every age
That shall be slavish; by our sires was shaped
For us our destiny, the despot yoke.
Yet have we trembled not, nor feared to bare
Our throats to slaughter, nor to face the foe:
We bear the penalty for others' shame.
Such be our doom; yet, Fortune, sharing not
In that last battle, 'twas our right to strike
One blow for freedom ere we served our lord.

Now saw Pompeius, grieving, that the gods
Had left his side, and knew the fates of Rome
Passed from his governance; yet all the blood
That filled the field scarce brought him to confess
His fortunes fled. A little hill he sought
Whence to descry the battle raging still
Upon the plain, which when he nearer stood
The warring ranks concealed. Thence did the chief
Gaze on unnumbered swords that flashed in air
And sought his ruin; and the tide of blood
In which his host had perished. Yet not as those
Who, prostrate fallen, would drag nations down
To share their evil fate, Pompeius did.
Still were the gods thought worthy of his prayers
To give him solace, in that after him
Might live his Romans. 'Spare, ye gods,' he said,
'Nor lay whole peoples low; my fall attained,
The world and Rome may stand. And if ye need
More bloodshed, here on me, my wife, and sons
Wreak out your vengeance -- pledges to the fates
Such have we given. Too little for the war
Is our destruction? Doth the carnage fail,
The world escaping? Magnus' fortunes lost,
Why doom all else beside him?' Thus he cried,
And passed amid his standards, and recalled
His vanquished host that rushed on fate declared.
Not for his sake such carnage should be wrought.
So thought Pompeius; nor the foeman's sword
He feared, nor death; but lest upon his fall
To quit their chief his soldiers might refuse,
And o'er his prostrate corpse a world in arms
Might find its ruin: or perchance he wished
From Caesar's eager eyes to veil his death.
In vain, unhappy! for the fates decree
He shall behold, shorn from the bleeding trunk,
Again thy visage. And thou, too, his spouse,
Beloved Cornelia, didst cause his flight;
Thy longed-for features; yet he shall not die
When thou art present.

Then upon his steed,
Though fearing not the weapons at his back,
Pompeius fled, his mighty soul prepared
To meet his destinies. No groan nor tear,
But solemn grief as for the fates of Rome,
Was in his visage, and with mien unchanged
He saw Pharsalia's woes, above the frowns
Or smiles of Fortune; in triumphant days
And in his fall, her master. The burden laid
Of thine impending fate, thou partest free
To muse upon the happy days of yore.
Hope now has fled; but in the fleeting past
How wast thou great! Seek thou the wars no more,
And call the gods to witness that for thee
Henceforth dies no man. In the fights to come
On Afric's mournful shore, by Pharos' stream
And fateful Munda; in the final scene
Of dire Pharsalia's battle, not thy name
Doth stir the war and urge the foeman's arm,
But those great rivals biding with us yet,
Caesar and Liberty; and not for thee
But for itself the dying Senate fought,
When thou had'st fled the combat.

Find'st thou not
Some solace thus in parting from the fight
Nor seeing all the horrors of its close?
Look back upon the dead that load the plain,
The rivers turbid with a crimson stream;
Then pity thou thy victor. How shall he
Enter the city, who on such a field
Finds happiness? Trust thou in Fortune yet,
Her favourite ever; and whate'er, alone
In lands unknown, an exile, be thy lot,
Whate'er thy sufferings 'neath the Pharian king,
'Twere worse to conquer. Then forbid the tear,
Cease, sounds of woe, and lamentation cease,
And let the world adore thee in defeat,
As in thy triumphs. With unfaltering gaze,
Look on the suppliant kings, thy subjects still;
Search out the realms and cities which they hold,
Thy gift, Pompeius; and a fitting place
Choose for thy death.

First witness of thy fall,
And of thy noble bearing in defeat,
Larissa. Weeping, yet with gifts of price
Fit for a victor, from her teeming gates
Poured forth her citizens, their homes and fanes
Flung open; wishing it had been their lot
With thee to share disaster. Of thy name
Still much survives, unto thy former self
Alone inferior, still could'st thou to arms
All nations call and challenge fate again.
But thus he spake: 'To cities nor to men
Avails the conquered aught; then pledge your faith
To him who has the victory.' Caesar trod
Pharsalia's slaughter, while his daughter's spouse
Thus gave him kingdoms; but Pompeius fled
'Mid sobs and groans and blaming of the gods
For this their fierce commandment; and he fled
Full of the fruits and knowledge of the love
The peoples bore him, which he knew not his
In times of happiness.

When Italian blood
Flowed deep enough upon the fatal field,
Caesar bade halt, and gave their lives to those
Whose death had been no gain. But that their camp
Might not recall the foe, nor calm of night
Banish their fears, he bids his cohorts dash,
While Fortune glowed and terror filled the plain,
Straight on the ramparts of the conquered foe.
Light was the task to urge them to the spoil;
'Soldiers,' he said, 'the victory is ours,
Full and triumphant: there doth lie the prize
Which you have won, not Caesar; at your feet
Behold the booty of the hostile camp.
Snatched from Hesperian nations ruddy gold,
And all the riches of the Orient world,
Are piled within the tents. The wealth of kings
And of Pompeius here awaits its lords.
Haste, soldiers, and outstrip the flying foe;
E'en now the vanquished of Pharsalia's field
Anticipate your spoils.' No more he said,
But drave them, blind with frenzy for the gold,
To spurn the bodies of their fallen sires,
And trample chiefs in dashing on their prey.
What rampart had restrained them as they rushed
To seize the prize for wickedness and war
And learn the price of guilt? And though they found
In ponderous masses heaped for need of war
The trophies of a world, yet were their minds
Unsatisfied, that asked for all. Whate'er
Iberian mines or Tagus bring to day,
Or Arimaspians from golden sands
May gather, had they seized; still had they thought
Their guilt too cheaply sold. When pledged to them
Was the Tarpeian rock, for victory won,
And all the spoils of Rome, by Caesar's word,
Shall camps suffice them?

Then plebeian limbs
On senators' turf took rest, on kingly couch
The meanest soldier; and the murderer lay
Where yesternight his brother or his sire.
In raving dreams within their waking brains
Yet raged the battle, and the guilty hand
Still wrought its deeds of blood, and restless sought
The absent sword-hilt. Thou had'st said that groans
Issued from all the plain, that parted souls
Had breathed a life into the guilty soil,
That earthly darkness teemed with gibbering ghosts
And Stygian terrors. Victory foully won
Thus claimed its punishment. The slumbering sense
Already heard the hiss of vengeful flames
As from the depths of Acheron. One saw
Deep in the trances of the night his sire
And one his brother slain. But all the dead
In long array were visioned to the eyes
Of Caesar dreaming. Not in other guise
Orestes saw the Furies ere he fled
To purge his sin within the Scythian bounds;
Nor in more fierce convulsions raged the soul
Of Pentheus raving; nor Agave's mind
When she had known her son. Before his gaze
Flashed all the javelins which Pharsalia saw,
Or that avenging day when drew their blades
The Roman senators; and on his couch,
Infernal monsters from the depths of hell
Scourged him in slumber. Thus his guilty mind
Brought retribution. Ere his rival died
The terrors that enfold the Stygian stream
And black Avernus, and the ghostly slain
Broke on his sleep.

Yet when the golden sun
Unveiled the butchery of Pharsalia's field
He shrank not from its horror, nor withdrew
His feasting gaze. There rolled the streams in flood
With crimson carnage; there a seething heap
Rose shrouding all the plain, now in decay
Slow settling down; there numbered he the host
Of Magnus slain; and for the morn's repast
That spot he chose whence he might watch the dead,
And feast his eyes upon Emathia's field
Concealed by corpses; of the bloody sight
Insatiate, he forbad the funeral pyre,
And cast Emathia in the face of heaven.
Nor by the Punic victor was he taught,
Who at the close of Cannae's fatal fight
Laid in the earth the Roman consul dead,
To find fit burial for his fallen foes;
For these were all his countrymen, nor yet
His ire by blood appeased. Yet ask we not
For separate pyres or sepulchres apart
Wherein to lay the ashes of the fallen:
Burn in one holocaust the nations slain;
Or should it please thy soul to torture more
Thy kinsman, pile on high from Oeta's slopes
And Pindus' top the woods: thus shall he see
While fugitive on the deep the blaze that marks
Thessalia. Yet by this idle rage
Nought dost thou profit; for these corporal frames
Bearing innate from birth the certain germs
Of dissolution, whether by decay
Or fire consumed, shall fall into the lap
Of all-embracing nature. Thus if now
Thou should'st deny the pyre, still in that flame
When all shall crumble, earth and rolling seas
And stars commingled with the bones of men,
These too shall perish. Where thy soul shall go
These shall companion thee; no higher flight
In airy realms is thine, nor smoother couch
Beneath the Stygian darkness; for the dead
No fortune favours, and our Mother Earth
All that is born from her receives again,
And he whose bones no tomb or urn protects
Yet sleeps beneath the canopy of heaven.
And thou, proud conqueror, who would'st deny
The rites of burial to thousands slain,
Why flee thy field of triumph? Why desert
This reeking plain? Drink, Caesar, of the streams,
Drink if thou can'st, and should it be thy wish
Breathe the Thessalian air; but from thy grasp
The earth is ravished, and th' unburied host,
Routing their victor, hold Pharsalia's field.

Then to the ghastly harvest of the war
Came all the beasts of earth whose facile sense
Of odour tracks the bodies of the slain.
Sped from his northern home the Thracian wolf;
Bears left their dens and lions from afar
Scenting the carnage; dogs obscene and foul
Their homes deserted: all the air was full
Of gathering fowl, who in their flight had long
Pursued the armies. Cranes who yearly change
The frosts of Thracia for the banks of Nile,
This year delayed their voyage. As ne'er before
The air grew dark with vultures' hovering wings,
Innumerable, for every grove and wood
Sent forth its denizens; on every tree
Dripped from their crimsoned beaks a gory dew.
Oft on the conquerors and their impious arms
Or purple rain of blood, or mouldering flesh
Fell from the lofty heaven; or limbs of men
From weary talons dropped. Yet even so
The peoples passed not all into the maw
Of ravening beast or fowl; the inmost flesh
Scarce did they touch, nor limbs -- thus lay the dead
Scorned by the spoiler; and the Roman host
By sun and length of days, and rain from heaven,
At length was mingled with Emathia's plain.

Ill-starred Thessalia! By what hateful crime
Didst thou offend that thus on thee alone
Was laid such carnage? By what length of years
Shalt thou be cleansed from the curse of war?
When shall the harvest of thy fields arise
Free from their purple stain? And when the share
Cease to upturn the slaughtered hosts of Rome?
First shall the battle onset sound again,
Again shall flow upon thy fated earth
A crimson torrent. Thus may be o'erthrown
Our sires' memorials; those erected last,
Or those which pierced by ancient roots have spread
Through broken stones their sacred urns abroad.
Thus shall the ploughman of Haemonia gaze
On more abundant ashes, and the rake
Pass o'er more frequent bones. Wert, Thracia, thou.
Our only battlefield, no sailor's hand
Upon thy shore should make his cable fast;
No spade should turn, the husbandman should flee
Thy fields, the resting-place of Roman dead;
No lowing kine should graze, nor shepherd dare
To leave his fleecy charge to browse at will
On fields made fertile by our mouldering dust;
All bare and unexplored thy soil should lie,
As past man's footsteps, parched by cruel suns,
Or palled by snows unmelting! But, ye gods,
Give us to hate the lands which bear the guilt;
Let not all earth be cursed, though not all
Be blameless found.

'Twas thus that Munda's fight
And blood of Mutina, and Leucas' cape,
And sad Pachynus, made Philippi pure.

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Happy Engagement Tara and Ezra

To two good friends
May happiness be with you always.

Love has sometimes a strange way
of bonding people together.
It has to sometimes show them
what they would be like
without one another.
My friends know only too well this is true
and the heartaches it brings.

Then getting back together,
they find love stronger than before.
Love cements this bond
with an engagement,
a commitment to one another
to journey on into future happiness.

In a world filled with troubles and strife
no road into the future
is only filled with happiness.
Sometimes that road maybe rocky
and other times heaven sent.

No matter what the road may be like,
you can ride out any storm,
so long as you remember,
every storm can bring love closer
than it was before.
You will find more happiness
than you realised you had.
The deeper love grows the longer it will last.

Therefore my two friends
I dedicate this poem to you.
May your lives be filled
with the happiness you both so richly deserve.
Happy Engagement to you both
and a long and prosperous life together.
It comes with love,
from David and Vera

12 June 2008

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Alll I Want For Christmas Is You

I don't want a lot for Christmas
There's just one thing I need
I don't care about presents
Underneath the Christmas tree
I just want you for my own
More than you could ever know
Make my wish come true...
All I want for Christmas
Is you...
I don't want a lot for Christmas
There is just one thing I need
I don't care about presents
Underneath the Christmas tree
I don't need to hang my stocking
There upon the fireplace
Santa Claus won't make me happy
With a toy on Christmas day
I just want you for my own
More than you could ever know
Make my wish come true
All I want for Christmas is you...
You baby
I won't ask for much this Christmas
I won't even wish for snow
I'm just gonna keep on waiting
Underneath the mistletoe
I won't make a list and send it
To the North Pole for Saint Nick
I won't even stay awake to
Hear those magic reindeer click
'Cause I just want you here tonight
Holding on to me so tight
What more can I do
Baby all I want for Christmas is you
You...
All the lights are shining
So brightly everywhere
And the sound of children's
Laughter fills the air
And everyone is singing
I hear those sleigh bells ringing
Santa won't you bring me the one I really need
Won't you please bring my baby to me
Oh I don't want a lot for Christmas
This is all I'm asking for
I just want to see baby
Standing right outside my door
Oh I just want him for my own
More than you could ever know
Make my wish come true
Baby all I want for Christmas is
You
All I want for Christmas is you baby
[repeat]

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A Day In The Castle Of Envy

The castle walls are full of eyes,
And not a mouse may creep unseen.
All the window slits are spies;
And the towers stand sentinel
High above the gardens green.
Not a lizard lurking close
In the brambles of the dell;
Not a beetle as he goes,
Toiling in the dust, may tell
The least secret of his woes
To the idle butterflies;
Not a privet moth may flit,
But the castle looketh wise,
But the old king knoweth it.

All day long the garden gates
Open stand for who will in,
For the old king loveth well
The reek of human loves and hates.
Most of all he loveth sin,
All that sendeth souls to Hell;
All that hath the earthy smell
Of a joy that soon shall die.
And he sitteth there and saith:
``Every creature that hath breath
Goeth with the taint of death.''

There he waiteth overhead,
Spieth out what he may spy,
Like an evil--omened gled.
From the morning till the night,
There is nothing which doth move,
There is nothing which can lie
Still and hidden out of sight,
But he seeth it above,
But he feeleth all the pleasure
Of its basking in the sun.
And his wisdom taketh measure
Of the sorrow which shall come
When the summer days are done.
Life and love are quickly run.
So he watcheth silently,
Waiting till the end shall be.

There he sitteth at the dawn
When the world begins to rouse;
And the daisies on the lawn
Open wide their stainless eyes;
Then he feeleth as in pain
For the wrinkles on his brows.
He doth envy the sunrise,
That it maketh all things gay;
And his jealous ear hath heard
The first piping of a bird;
And he curseth at the day.
But his curses are in vain
For the world grows young again.

From the shadow of the rocks,
Stealing out and stealing in,
Creeps the hungry foot--pad fox,
On the wild fowls nestled close.
Then a weirdly smile and thin
Curleth on his lip and nose,
As the red beast winds the flocks.
And there is an evil mirth,
In the glitter of his eye;
For the sun hath warmed the earth,
And he seeth something stir
In the grass and then awake,
Turn and stretch her stealthily;
And he hisseth at the snake,
As the heat unfoldeth her.

There he bideth through the noon,
While the pine tops clash together,
Till deep silence, like a tune,
Wrappeth all the earth and air;
And the old king dreamily
Noddeth his great heron feather,
As he sitteth in his chair.
For sleep cometh upon all,
Rock and castle, flower and tree;
And the turrets wave and quiver;
And the battlemented wall
Bendeth in the haze of noon,
And the fir--cones one by one,
Split like thunder in the heat;
And the old king hearing it,
Saith, ``It is the angry sun.''

But, as noontide slowly wears,
From the hollows underneath
Solemn ravens cross in pairs,
Drop a hollow croak and pass,
Which the king, who listeneth,
Readeth for the name of Death.
And he mocketh at the sound,
Croaketh back a croak as hoarse:
For he knoweth they are bound
To the dell where, on the grass,
There is that which was a corse.

Suddenly a merry noise
In the garden makes him glad,
For he knoweth well what joys
Noise and merriment shall bring.
They are children come to tread
The young daisies on the head;
And he loveth well their play,
For they take the butterflies
And they tear them wing from wing;
And the old king looketh wise
At the footstep on the bed,
And the broken myrtle spray;
And he readeth all the lies
Which their innocence shall tell.
Well it pleaseth him such eyes
Should have learned the speech of Hell.

But at evening, lovers walk
Underneath the ilex trees;
And the king hath heard their talk,
And the vows which they have spoken;
And he knoweth too the tale
Of the vows which they have broken,
And the name and history,
And the secret which doth lie
Underneath their smiling pale;
And the hidden tale of sorrow
Of the maiden as she goes,
And the pleasures she doth borrow,
That her grief may learn to die.
And he laugheth at her woes
As his red eye reads the scrawl
Love once wrote upon the wall,
Love grown cold, whose tasting is
Like the last lees of a kiss.

Thus he sitteth till the sun
Sendeth out long shadows slant
Till the fish--tanks down beneath
Hidden lie in vapour dun;
And the castle rising gaunt
Slowly stretcheth out its limbs,
Like a drowsy--headed Hun.
But when all is deep in shade,
And the broad sun on the sea
Lieth on his flaming bed,
Twisteth, writheth in agony,
Like a wizard fiery clad,
Tortured and about to die,
Then the old king goeth mad.

And he curseth loud thereat;
Curseth at the setting sun;
Curseth at the coming night;
Curseth at the flitting bat,
And the stars which cannot see;
Curseth at the pale moonrise,
And her solemn mockery
Of a daylight which is done;
Thinketh, though he should curse the skies,
Every hour till night is gone
Naught his curses may devise
For the pale moon's sorceries,
Or the darkness which shall be.
This the thought which tortureth him
That, for all he watcheth close,
Though his eyes be bright alway,
And, for all that he is king,
All the knowledge of all he knows
Telleth not what night may bring,
Telleth not what steps may stray.

Then he sendeth forth a scout,
Biddeth shut the garden gate:
And there is a sudden rout
Of the children and the lovers
Whom the warder's eye discovers
In the twilight lurking late,
Lovers who are loath to part.
But their prayers avail them not,
And the maiden's witching pout
Cannot melt the warder's heart.
Straightway he hath turned them out.
For along the castle wall
Go the archers stout and tall,
And the king, who sitteth still,
In the darkness of the tower,
Waiteth till the seneschal,
With his stalwart serving--men,
Bear him out against his will
In his chair, while curses shower.

To the banquet he is borne,
While the cracked bell tolleth slow.
And the king doth beat his breast
Slowly to that chime forlorn;
Beateth on his beard of snow,
First in anger then in jest,
First in mirth and then in scorn;
Singeth low, ``Ring bravely, bell,
For thy voice is loud and dry.
Such a tongue as thine is good
To out--talk the chimes of Hell.
Laugh we bravely, thou and I,
While the world is in laughing mood.
We may live to laugh its knell.''

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Execution, The : A Sporting Anecdote Hon. Mr. Sucklethumbkin's Story

My Lord Tomnoddy got up one day;
It was half after two,
He had nothing to do,
So his Lordship rang for his cabriolet.

Tiger Tim
Was clean of limb,
His boots were polish'd, his jacket was trim
With a very smart tie in his smart cravat,
And a smart cockade on the top of his hat;
Tallest of boys, or shortest of men,
He stood in his stockings just four foot ten
And he ask'd, as he held the door on the swing,
'Pray, did your Lordship please to ring?'

My Lord Tomnoddy he raised his head,
And thus to Tiger Tim he said,
'Malibran's dead,
Duvernay's fled,
Taglioni has not yet arrived in her stead;
Tiger Tim, come tell me true,
What may a Nobleman find to do?--

Tim look'd up, and Tim look'd down,
He paused, and he put on a thoughtful frown,
And he held up his hat, and he peep'd in the crown;
He bit his lip, and he scratch'd his head,
He let go the handle, and thus he said,
As the door, released, behind him bang'd:
'An't please you, my Lord, there 's a man to be hang'd.

My Lord Tomnoddy jump'd up at the news,
'Run to M'Fuze,
And Lieutenant Tregooze,
And run to Sir Carnaby Jenks, of the Blues.
Rope-dancers a score
I've seen before --
Madame Sacchi, Antonio, and Master Blackmore;
But to see a man swing
At the end of a string,
With his neck in a noose, will be quite a new thing!'

My Lord Tomnoddy stept into his cab --
Dark rifle green, with a lining of drab;
Through street and through square,
His high-trotting mare,
Like one of Ducrow's, goes pawing the air.
Adown Piccadilly and Waterloo Place
Went the high-trotting mare at a very quick pace;
She produced some alarm,
But did no great harm,
Save frightening a nurse with a child on her arm,
Spattering with clay
Two urchins at play,
Knocking down -- very much to the sweeper's dismay --
An old woman who wouldn't get out of the way,
And upsetting a stall
Near Exeter Hall,
Which made all the pious Church-Mission folks squall.
But eastward afar,
Through Temple Bar,
My Lord Tomnoddy directs his car;
Never heeding their squalls,
Or their calls, or their bawls,
He passes by Waithman's Emporium for shawls,
And, merely just catching a glimpse of St. Paul's,
Turns down the Old Bailey,
Where in front of the gaol, he
Pulls up at the door of the gin-shop, and gaily
Cries, 'What must I fork out to-night, my trump,
For the whole first-floor of the Magpie and Stump?'


The clock strikes Twelve -- it is dark midnight --
Yet the Magpie and Stump is one blaze of light.
The parties are met;
The tables are set;
There is 'punch,' 'cold without,' 'hot with,' 'heavy wet,'
Ale-glasses and jugs,
And rummers and mugs,
And sand on the floor, without carpets or rugs,
Cold fowl and cigars,
Pickled onions in jars,
Welsh rabbits and kidneys -- rare work for the jaws!--
And very large lobsters, with very large claws;And there is M'Fuze,
And Lieutenant Tregooze,
And there is Sir Carnaby Jenks, of the Blues,
All come to see a man 'die in his shoes!'

The clock strikes One
Supper is done,
And Sir Carnaby Jenks is full of his fun,
Singing 'Jolly companions every one!'
My Lord Tomnoddy
Is drinking gin-toddy,
And laughing at ev'ry thing, and ev'ry body.--
The clock strikes Two! and the clock strikes Three!
--' Who so merry, so merry as we?'
Save Captain M'Fuze,
Who is taking a snooze,
While Sir Carnaby Jenks is busy at work,
Blacking his nose with a piece of burnt cork.

The clock strikes Four!-- Round the debtors' door
Are gather'd a couple of thousand or more,
As many await
At the press-yard gate,
Till slowly its folding doors open, and straight
The mob divides, and between their ranks
A waggon comes loaded with posts and with planks.

The clock strikes Five!
The Sheriffs arrive,
And the crowd is so great that the street seems alive;
But Sir Carnaby Jenks
Blinks, and winks,
A candle burns down in the socket, and stinks.
Lieutenant Tregooze
Is dreaming of Jews,
And acceptances all the bill-brokers refuse;
My Lord Tomnoddy
Has drunk all his toddy,
And just as the dawn is beginning to peep,
The whole of the party are fast asleep.

Sweetly, oh! sweetly, the morning breaks,
With roseate streaks,
Like the first faint blush on a maiden's cheeks;
Seem'd as that mild and clear blue sky
Smiled upon all things far and nigh,
On all -- save the wretch condemn'd to die!
Alack! that ever so fair a Sun
As that which its course has now begun,
Should rise on such a scene of misery!--
Should gild with rays so light and free
That dismal, dark-frowning Gallows-tree!And hark!-- a sound comes, big with fate;
The clock from St. Sepulchre's tower strikes -- Eight!--
List to that low funereal bell:
It is tolling, alas! a living man's knell!--
And see!-- from forth that opening door
They come -- HE steps that threshold o'er
Who never shall tread upon threshold more!
-- God! 'tis a fearsome thing to see
That pale wan man's mute agony,--
The glare of that wild, despairing eye,
Now bent on the crowd, now turn'd to the sky,
As though 'twere scanning, in doubt and in fear,
The path of the Spirit's unknown career;
Those pinion'd arms, those hands that ne'er
Shall be lifted again,-- not even in prayer;
That heaving chest!-- Enough --' tis done!
The bolt has fallen!-- the spirit is gone --
For weal or for woe is known but to One!--
-- Oh! 'twas a fearsome sight!-- Ah me!
A deed to shudder at,-- not to see.

Again that clock! 'tis time, 'tis time!
The hour is past: with its earliest chime
The cord is severed, the lifeless clay
By 'dungeon villains' is borne away:
Nine!--'twas the last concluding stroke!
And then -- my Lord Tomnoddy awoke!
And Tregooze and Sir Carnaby Jenks arose,
And Captain M'Fuze, with the black on his nose:
And they stared at each other, as much as to say
'Hollo! Hollo!
Here's a rum Go!
Why, Captain!-- my Lord!-- Here 's the devil to pay!
The fellow's been cut down and taken away!
What's to be done?
We've miss'd all the fun!--
Why, they'll laugh at and quiz us all over the town,
We are all of us done so uncommonly brown!'

What was to be done?--' twas perfectly plain
That they could not well hang the man over again:
What was to be done?-- The man was dead!
Nought could be done -- nought could be said;
So -- my Lord Tomnoddy went home to bed

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Life & Soul

Written by kim wilde & tony swain
Yeah yeah alright
Life and soul
They say that its a fact of life well die
But I say the fact of life is life
And as I breathe the air of another lonely day
Theres something Ive been meaning to say to you
I know I let you down (trust in me)
Didnt realise what Id found (trust in me)
All I need is for you to know
Oooh youre in my soul
Love is a lesson hard to learn
Pain is a fire that keeps on burning
Come back baby (Im gonna give you)
Oooh oooh
Pride is a wall that we can climb
Baby hold on together well find
Life and soul
Ayone who hurts you hurts me too
And all I want is
That life is good to you
And whether I am near or far away
Im with you every, everyday
I know I let you down (trust in me)
Didnt realise what Id found (trust in me)
All I need is for you to know
Youre in my soul
Love is a lesson hard to learn
Pain is a fire that keeps on burning
Come back baby (Im gonna give you)
Oooh oooh
Pride is a wall that we can climb
Baby hold on together well find
Life and soul

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All I want is YOU

All I want is you,
When you ask me I will say I do.
All I want is you now,
Hope you don't cry when it's time for me to recite my vow,
All I want is you.

Your style is always on point,
I agree with you when you say that you are blunt.

Always looking sexy and neat,
Cliché words 'I think you're sweet'.
Hope one day I can see you smile in your sleep,
It's weird but you got beautiful teeth.
Your smile is so bright,
So bright I have to dim the light,
You've gracefully brighten my life.

I could never still and have a silent stare,
It's jitters so happy to have you here.

All I want is you,
Never again you'll have to say, ' You are to good to be true'.

All I want is you.
I promise to repay my I.O.U's,
Trust and either Anastasia or Djalo who'll look just like you.
You're one of my aim,
I don't want your fame,
I intend to get your last name.

We are so intimate,
Our kisses are so passionate.
Everything we do are in sync,
So much so we don't have to label it.

All I want is you.
We have times of intimacy,
In that moment I want to kiss you slowly.
I want to hold you tightly,
I know you are a man, My Man...
No matter what you'll always be my baby.

All I want is you.
It's going to happen, I'm just waiting for you to realize it too.
All I want is you.

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Comfort Me

I was found after losing my way,
Safe and sound after many a day.
I was lost in a world of madness,
Please take me from all of this sadness.
Chorus
Comfort me, in whatever I do.
Comfort me, and Ill comfort you too.
Follow me, cause Im trying to love you.
Cant figure out whats wrong with my head,
I used to think I wish I was dead.
You took me from all of that sorrow,
My futures bright, I cant wait till tomorrow.
Chorus
There aint nothin to it, anyone can do it,
Its easy when youre feelin right.
I know that I feel good, and I know that you should,
Stop not doin what you know is right.
Dont know what it is thats causing this feeling,
What ever it is Im touching the ceiling.
I wont let go of this beautiful sound,
I once was lost but now I am found.
Chorus
I just dont want to be your friend, yeah.
You can trust me till the very end, yeah.
I know just what Im talkin about, yeah, yeah.
Im talkin bout the love that you cant live without, no, no.

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The War In You

Stealing is wrong,
But try to give out what you have in order to help someone else;
For you spent 99 days in Agege and someone else spent 99 years in prison.
Stop the war in you and do the right thing always,
For that which was sweet is now sour! !
But let your 'no' be 'no' and your 'yes' be 'yes',
And respecting others rights benefits you and as well as them.

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All I Want For Christmas

All I want for Christmas,
Is my dignity.
My dignity,
You took from me!

All I want for Christmas,
Is my dignity.
Freed from a greed,
You deceived!

'You wicked lowlife slithering leeches.'

All I want for Christmas,
Is my dignity.
My dignity,
You took from me!

All I want for Christmas,
Is my dignity.
Freed from a greed,
You deceived!

~Daddy?
Do you think that is an appropriate song for Santa?
Maybe 'Jingle Bells'?
You can do 'Jingle Bells' and I'll send 'that'
With my letter to the North Pole.
Record it over, please Daddy, please.~

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The Hero To You Not A Hero To Me

Suppose we all do look at things differently
The hero to you not a hero to me
Your hero renowned for his skills at football
Yet the hero to some not a hero to all
If on everything we did happen to agree
How utterly boring indeed we would be
Our different ways makes us more interesting as some like to say
No two look at life in exactly in the same way
You have your own hero and that suits me fine
But your sort of hero could never be mine
Of our different views on life I am all too aware
And so little in common we do have to share
We don't share common friends or we don't share common foes
Which makes us seem more interesting one would have to suppose.

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