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The Abominable Snowman

I've never seen an abominable snowman,
I'm hoping not to see one,
I'm also hoping, if I do,
That it will be a wee one.

poem by Ogden Nash
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The Libelle of Englyshe Polycye

Here beginneth the Prologe of the processe of the Libelle of Englyshe polycye, exhortynge alle Englande to kepe the see enviroun and namelye the narowe see, shewynge whate profete commeth thereof and also whate worshype and salvacione to Englande and to alle Englyshe menne.

The trewe processe of Englysh polycye
Of utterwarde to kepe thys regne in rest
Of oure England, that no man may denye
Ner say of soth but it is one the best,
Is thys, as who seith, south, north, est and west
Cheryshe marchandyse, kepe thamyralte,
That we bee maysteres of the narowe see.

For Sigesmonde the grete Emperoure,
Whyche yet regneth, whan he was in this londe
Wyth kynge Herry the vte, prince of honoure,
Here moche glorye, as hym thought, he founde,
A myghty londe, whyche hadde take on honde
To werre in Fraunce and make mortalite,
And ever well kept rounde aboute the see.

And to the kynge thus he seyde, 'My brothere',
Whan he perceyved too townes, Calys and Dovere,
'Of alle youre townes to chese of one and other
To kepe the see and sone for to come overe,
To werre oughtwardes and youre regne to recovere,
Kepe these too townes sure to youre mageste
As youre tweyne eyne to kepe the narowe see'.

For if this see be kepte in tyme of werre,
Who cane here passe withought daunger and woo?
Who may eschape, who may myschef dyfferre?
What marchaundy may forby be agoo?
For nedes hem muste take truse every foo,
Flaundres and Spayne and othere, trust to me,
Or ellis hyndered alle for thys narowe see.

Therfore I caste me by a lytell wrytinge
To shewe att eye thys conclusione,
For concyens and for myne acquytynge
Ayenst God, and ageyne abusyon
And cowardyse and to oure enmyes confusione;
For iiij. thynges oure noble sheueth to me,
Kyng, shype and swerde and pouer of the see.

Where bene oure shippes, where bene oure swerdes become?
Owre enmyes bid for the shippe sette a shepe.
Allas, oure reule halteth, hit is benome.

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Snowbound

Lay your body down upon the midnight snow,
Feel the cold of winter in your hair
Here in a world of your own,
In a casing thats grown
To a childrens delight
That arrived overnight.
And here they come to play their magic games
Carving names upon your frozen hand.
Here in a world of your own,
Like a sleeper whose eyes
Sees the pain with surprise
As it smothers your cries
Theyll never never know.
Hey theres a snowman
Hey, hey what a snowman
Pray for the snowman
Ooh, ooh what a snowman
They say a snow years a good year
Filled with the love of all who lie so deep.
Smiling faces tear your body to the ground
Covered red that only we can see.
Here in a ball that they made
From the snow on the ground,
See it rolling away
Wild eyes to the sky
Theyll never, never know.
Hey theres a snowman
Hey what a snowman
Pray for the snowman
Ooh, ooh what a snowman
They say a snow years a good year
Filled with the love of all who lie so deep.
Hey there goes the snowman
Hey there what a snowman
Hey there lies the snowman
Hey he was a snowman
They say a snow years a good year
Filled with the love of all who lie so deep.

song performed by Genesis
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Drawing a Purple Blank Verse after Gelett BURGESS Purple Cow

DRAWING A PURPLE BLANK VERSE
Kindly refer to notes

I've never cowed to purple prose
know now I'll never write it,
for anyhow true writer knows
hand stretched finds critics bite it.

I've never wowed, and goodness knows
hacks lack the knack of versing,
won't bow, kowtow to backhand blows,
preferring role reverse_sing.

Ah, yes, I wrote on purple prose,
yet can't regret I penned it,
one far prefers rhyme's timeless flows,
no blush need rush defend it.

10 February 2009
robi03_1856_burg01_0001 PWX_IXX

Parody Gelett BURGESS The Purple Cow

Author notes

For original and variations on a theme see bekiw
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
THE PURPLE COW

I never saw a Purple Cow,
I never hope to see one,
But I can tell you anyhow,
I’d rather see than be one.

Gelett BURGESS 1866_1951
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
CONFESSION

Ah, yes! I wrote the « Purple Cow » -
I’m Sorry, now, I Wrote it,
But I can Tell you Anyhow
I’ll Kill you if you Quote it.

Gelett BURGESS 1866_1951
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
A Perfect Woman

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Tower Beyond Tragedy

I
You'd never have thought the Queen was Helen's sister- Troy's
burning-flower from Sparta, the beautiful sea-flower
Cut in clear stone, crowned with the fragrant golden mane, she
the ageless, the uncontaminable-
This Clytemnestra was her sister, low-statured, fierce-lipped, not
dark nor blonde, greenish-gray-eyed,
Sinewed with strength, you saw, under the purple folds of the
queen-cloak, but craftier than queenly,
Standing between the gilded wooden porch-pillars, great steps of
stone above the steep street,
Awaiting the King.
Most of his men were quartered on the town;
he, clanking bronze, with fifty
And certain captives, came to the stair. The Queen's men were
a hundred in the street and a hundred
Lining the ramp, eighty on the great flags of the porch; she
raising her white arms the spear-butts
Thundered on the stone, and the shields clashed; eight shining
clarions
Let fly from the wide window over the entrance the wildbirds of
their metal throats, air-cleaving
Over the King come home. He raised his thick burnt-colored
beard and smiled; then Clytemnestra,
Gathering the robe, setting the golden-sandaled feet carefully,
stone by stone, descended
One half the stair. But one of the captives marred the comeliness
of that embrace with a cry
Gull-shrill, blade-sharp, cutting between the purple cloak and
the bronze plates, then Clytemnestra:
Who was it? The King answered: A piece of our goods out of
the snatch of Asia, a daughter of the king,
So treat her kindly and she may come into her wits again. Eh,
you keep state here my queen.
You've not been the poorer for me.- In heart, in the widowed
chamber, dear, she pale replied, though the slaves
Toiled, the spearmen were faithful. What's her name, the slavegirl's?
AGAMEMNON Come up the stair. They tell me my kinsman's
Lodged himself on you.
CLYTEMNESTRA Your cousin Aegisthus? He was out of refuge,
flits between here and Tiryns.
Dear: the girl's name?
AGAMEMNON Cassandra. We've a hundred or so other
captives; besides two hundred
Rotted in the hulls, they tell odd stories about you and your
guest: eh? no matter: the ships
Ooze pitch and the August road smokes dirt, I smell like an
old shepherd's goatskin, you'll have bath-water?
CLYTEMNESTRA
They're making it hot. Come, my lord. My hands will pour it.

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poem by Robinson Jeffers
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The Edges Are No Longer Parallel

The edges are no, no longer parallel
The edges are no, no longer parallel
And there is no law of averages here
If you feel down
Then youre bound to stay down
All of the things you said
So meaningful
They are all so suddenly meaningless
And the looks you gave
So meaningful
They are all so suddenly meaningless
Oh ...
And there is no law of averages here
If you feel down
Then youre bound to stay down
My only mistake is Im hoping
Im hoping
Im hoping
My only mistake is Im hoping
Im hoping
Im hoping
My only mistake is Im hoping
Im hoping
Im hoping
My one mistake is Im hoping
Im hoping
Im hoping
My only mistake is ...
My only mistake is I keep hoping
My only mistake is I keep hoping
My only mistake is Im hoping
Im hoping
Im hoping
Im hoping
Im hoping
Im hoping
My only mistake is Im hoping
Im hoping
Im hoping

song performed by Morrissey
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The Beggar's Daughter of Bednall-Green

Part the First
Itt was a blind beggar, had long lost his sight,
He had a faire daughter of bewty most bright;
And many a gallant brave suiter had shee,
For none was soe comelye as pretty Bessee.

And though shee was of favor most faire,
Yett seing shee was but a poor beggars heyre,
Of ancyent housekeepers despised was shee,
Whose sonnes came as suitors to prettye Bessee.

Wherefore in great sorrow faire Bessy did say,
'Good father, and mother, let me goe away
To seeke out my fortune, whatever itt bee.'
This suite then they granted to prettye Bessee.

Then Bessy, that was of bewtye soe bright,
All cladd in gray russett, and late in the night
From father and mother alone parted shee,
Who sighed and sobbed for prettye Bessee.

Shee went till shee came to Stratford-le-Bow,
Then knew shee not whither, nor which way to goe;
With teares shee lamented her hard destinie,
So sadd and soe heavy was pretty Bessee.

Shee kept on her journey untill it was day,
And went unto Rumford along the hye way;
Where at the Queenes Armes entertained was shee,
Soe faire and wel favoured was pretty Bessee.

Shee had not beene there a month to an end,
But master and mistres and all was her friend;
And every brave gallant that once did her see
Was straight-way enamoured of pretty Bessee.

Great gifts they did send her of silver and gold,
And in their songs daylye her love was extold;
Her beawtye was blazed in every degree,
Soe faire and soe comelye was pretty Bessee.

The young men of Rumford in her had their joy;
Shee shewed herself courteous, and modestlye coye,
And at her commandment still wold they bee,
Soe fayre and so comelye was pretty Bessee.

Foure suitors att once unto her did goe,
They craved her favor, but still she sayd noe;
'I wild not wish gentles to marry with mee,-'
Yett ever they honored pretty Bessee.

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Ælla, A Tragical Interlude - Act III

SCENE I.
BRISTOWE.
BIRTHA.
Gentle Egwina, do notte preche me joie;
I cannotte joie ynne anie thynge botte weere .
Oh! yatte aughte schulde oure selynesse destroie,
Floddynge the face wythe woe, and brynie teare!
EGWINA.
You muste, you muste endeavour for to cheere
Youre harte unto somme cherisaunied reste.
Youre loverde from the battelle wylle appere,
Ynne honnoure, and a greater love, be dreste:
Botte I wylle call the mynstrelles roundelaie;
Perchaunce the swotie sounde maie chase your wiere awaie.

MYNSTRELLES SONGE.
O! synge untoe mie roundelaie,
O! droppe the blynie teare wythe mee,
Daunce ne moe atte hallie daie,
Lycke a reyneynge ryver bee;
Mie love ys dedde,
Gon to hys death-bedde,
Al under the wyllowe tree.
Blacke hys cryne as the wynter nyghte,
Whyte hys rode as the sommer snowe,
Rodde hys face as the morning lyghte,
Cale he lyes ynne the grave belowe;
Mie love ys dedde,
Gon to hys death-bedde,
Al under the wyllowe tree.
Swote hys tynge as the throstles note,
Quycke ynn daunce as thoughte canne bee,
Defte hys taboure, codgelle stote,
O! hee lyes bie the wyllowe tree:
Mie love ys dedde,
Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,
Alle underre the wyllowe tree.
Harke! the ravenne flappes hys wynge,
In the briered delle belowe;
Harke! the dethe-owle loude dothe synge,
To the nyghte-mares as heie goe;
Mie love ys dedde,
Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,
Al under the wyllowe tree.
See! the whyte moone sheenes onne hie;
Whyterre ys mie true loves shroude;
Whyterre yanne the mornynge skie,
Whyterre yanne the evenynge cloude;
Mie love ys dedde,
Gon to hys deathe-bedde,

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poem by Thomas Chatterton
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Sensuous Whisper

Ive seen you, I saw you, I see you
Without little notice, if any at all
Of you knowing me watchin you
You walking, you talking, you smiling
You styling in everything your body wears
And thats not just a point of view
Theyre painting, theyre ranting, theyre raving
About miss lovely got it going on
From head down to her toes
And no one knows better than I know
Cause Ive been listening to the spirit of
Your body, mind and soul
Its a sensuous whisper
That makes my body weak
Its that sensuous whisper
Thats sweeter than the sweetest sweet
Its that sensuous whisper
That makes my psyche say
Ooh we, ooh wee, ooh we, ooh we, ooh we, ooh we, ooh we, ooh we
Can feel you, can smell you, can taste you
Though my senses never had the pleasure of
That lovely wonderment
But I start to shaking, I shiver, to think that little sparkle in your eye
Means you are giving me some kind of hint
Im ready, Im willing, Im able
In fact those words are at the tip of my tongue
Eagerly waiting for me to say
Then you smile and whisper how are you?
But when I move my lips and try to speak the words just go away
Its a sensuous whisper
That makes my body weak
Its that sensuous whisper
Thats sweeter than the sweetest sweet
Its that sensuous whisper
That makes my psyche say
Ooh wee, ooh we, ooh we, ooh we, ooh we, ooh we, ooh we
Its that sensuous whisper thats got me trippin out
Its that sensuous whisper
That I dont wanna do without
Its that sensuous whisper
That makes me want to shout
Ooh we, ooh wee, ooh we, ooh we, ooh we, ooh we, ooh we, ooh we
I dont even care how long it takes
As long as I have you lying next to me
Cause to wait forever and a day
Is a small price to pay if its you Im getting
If its you Im getting, Im not quitting
And that is how Im living
Im clinging, not dreaming, but scheming
With my nose against the grind and both my eyes focused upon the prize

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song performed by Stevie Wonder
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Ælla, A Tragical Interlude - Act II

SCENE I
MAGNUS, HURRA, and HIE PREESTE, wyth the ARMIE, neare Watchette.
MAGNUS.
Swythe lette the offrendes to the Goddes begynne,
To knowe of hem the issue of the fyghte.
Potte the blodde-steyned sword and pavyes ynne;
Spreade swythyn all arounde the hallie lyghte.
HIE PREESTE syngeth.
Yee, who hie yn mokie ayre
Delethe seasonnes foule or fayre,
Yee, who, whanne yee weere agguylte,
The mone yn bloddie gytelles hylte,
Mooved the starres, and dyd unbynde
Everyche barriere to the wynde;
Whanne the oundynge waves dystreste,
Storven to be overest,
Sockeynge yn the spyre-gyrte towne,
Swolterynge wole natyons down;
Sendynge dethe, on plagues astrodde,
Moovynge lyke the erthys Godde;
To mee send your heste dyvyne,
Lyghte eletten all myne eyne,
Thatt I maie now undevyse
All the actyonnes of th'emprize.

Thus sayethe the Goddes; goe, yssue to the playne;
Forr there shall meynte of mytte menn be slayne.
MAGNUS.
Whie, soe there evere was, whanne Magnus foughte.
Efte have I treynted noyance throughe the hoaste,
Athorowe swerdes, alyche the Queed dystraughte,
Have Magnus pressynge wroghte hys foemen loaste.
As whanne a tempeste vexethe soare the coaste,
The dyngeynge ounde the sandeie stronde doe tare,
So dyd I inne the warre the javlynne toste,
Full meynte a champyonnes breaste received mie spear.
Mie sheelde, lyche sommere morie gronfer droke,
Mie lethalle speere, alych a levyn-mylted oke.
Thus sayethe the Goddes; goe, yssue to the playne;
Forr there shall meynte of mytte menn be slayne.
MAGNUS.
Whie, soe there evere was, whanne Magnus foughte.
Efte have I treynted noyance throughe the hoaste,
Athorowe swerdes, alyche the Queed dystraughte,
Have Magnus pressynge wroghte hys foemen loaste.
As whanne a tempeste vexethe soare the coaste,
The dyngeynge ounde the sandeie stronde doe tare,
So dyd I inne the warre the javlynne toste,
Full meynte a champyonnes breaste received mie spear.
Mie sheelde, lyche sommere morie gronfer droke,

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poem by Thomas Chatterton
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The Whistle Of Sandy McGraw

You may talk o' your lutes and your dulcimers fine,
Your harps and your tabors and cymbals and a',
But here in the trenches jist gie me for mine
The wee penny whistle o' Sandy McGraw.
Oh, it's: "Sandy, ma lad, will you lilt us a tune?"
And Sandy is willin' and trillin' like mad;
Sae silvery sweet that we a' throng aroun',
And some o' it's gay, but the maist o' it's sad.
Jist the wee simple airs that sink intae your hert,
And grup ye wi' love and wi' longin' for hame;
And ye glour like an owl till you're feelin' the stert
O' a tear, and you blink wi' a feelin' o' shame.
For his song's o' the heather, and here in the dirt
You listen and dream o' a land that's sae braw,
And he mak's you forget a' the harm and the hurt,
For he pipes like a laverock, does Sandy McGraw.

* * * * *

At Eepers I mind me when rank upon rank
We rose from the trenches and swept like the gale,
Till the rapid-fire guns got us fell on the flank
And the murderin' bullets came swishin' like hail:
Till a' that were left o' us faltered and broke;
Till it seemed for a moment a panicky rout,
When shrill through the fume and the flash and the smoke
The wee valiant voice o' a whistle piped out.
`The Campbells are Comin'': Then into the fray
We bounded wi' bayonets reekin' and raw,
And oh we fair revelled in glory that day,
Jist thanks to the whistle o' Sandy McGraw.

* * * * *

At Loose, it wis after a sconnersome fecht,
On the field o' the slain I wis crawlin' aboot;
And the rockets were burnin' red holes in the nicht;
And the guns they were veciously thunderin' oot;
When sudden I heard a bit sound like a sigh,
And there in a crump-hole a kiltie I saw:
"Whit ails ye, ma lad? Are ye woundit?" says I.
"I've lost ma wee whustle," says Sandy McGraw.
"'Twas oot by yon bing where we pressed the attack,
It drapped frae ma pooch, and between noo and dawn
There isna much time so I'm jist crawlin' back. . . ."
"Ye're daft, man!" I telt him, but Sandy wis gone.
Weel, I waited a wee, then I crawled oot masel,
And the big stuff wis gorin' and roarin' around,
And I seemed tae be under the oxter o' hell,
And Creation wis crackin' tae bits by the sound.

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poem by Robert William Service
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Appletree

I'd like to dedicate this to all of the Creator's righteous children.
I have some food in my bag for you.
Not that edible food -- the food you eat?
No. I have some food for thought.
Since knowledge is infinite it has infinitely fell on me.
So umm...

It was a stormy night
you know the kind where the lightning strike
and I was hangin' out wit some of my "artsy" friends
ooh wee ooh wee oooh
The night was long the night went on
people coolin' out until the break of dawn
incense was burnin' so I'm feelin right -- ah'ight

See I picks my friends like I pick my fruit
and Ganny told me that when I was only a youth
I don't go 'round trying to be what I'm not
I don't waste my time trying ta get what you got
I work at pleasin' me cause I can't please you
and that's why I do what I do
My soul flies free like a willow tree
doo wee doo wee do wee

And if you don't want to be down with me
You don't want to pick from my appletree
And if you don't want to be down with me
Then you don't want to pick from my appletree
And if you don't want to be down with me
Then you don't want to pick from my appletree
And if you don't want to be down with me
You just don't want to be down

I have a ho
and I take it everywhere I go
Cause I'm planting seeds
so I reaps What I sow -- ya know
Oh on and on and on and on
my cipher keeps movin' like a rollin' stone
I can't control the soul flowin' in me
ooh wee

See I picks my friends like I pick my fruit
and Ganny told me that when I was only a youth
I don't walk around trying to be what I'm not
I don't waste my time trying ta get what you got
I work at pleasin' me cause I can't please you
and that's why I do what I do
My soul flies free like a willow tree
doo wee doo wee do wee

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song performed by Erykah Badu from Baduizm
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Salut Au Monde

O TAKE my hand, Walt Whitman!
Such gliding wonders! such sights and sounds!
Such join'd unended links, each hook'd to the next!
Each answering all--each sharing the earth with all.

What widens within you, Walt Whitman?
What waves and soils exuding?
What climes? what persons and lands are here?
Who are the infants? some playing, some slumbering?
Who are the girls? who are the married women?
Who are the groups of old men going slowly with their arms about each
other's necks?
What rivers are these? what forests and fruits are these?
What are the mountains call'd that rise so high in the mists?
What myriads of dwellings are they, fill'd with dwellers?

Within me latitude widens, longitude lengthens;
Asia, Africa, Europe, are to the east--America is provided for in the
west;
Banding the bulge of the earth winds the hot equator,
Curiously north and south turn the axis-ends;
Within me is the longest day--the sun wheels in slanting rings--it
does not set for months;
Stretch'd in due time within me the midnight sun just rises above the
horizon, and sinks again;
Within me zones, seas, cataracts, plants, volcanoes, groups,
Malaysia, Polynesia, and the great West Indian islands.

What do you hear, Walt Whitman?

I hear the workman singing, and the farmer's wife singing;
I hear in the distance the sounds of children, and of animals early
in the day;
I hear quick rifle-cracks from the riflemen of East Tennessee and
Kentucky, hunting on hills;
I hear emulous shouts of Australians, pursuing the wild horse;
I hear the Spanish dance, with castanets, in the chestnut shade, to
the rebeck and guitar;
I hear continual echoes from the Thames;
I hear fierce French liberty songs;
I hear of the Italian boat-sculler the musical recitative of old
poems;
I hear the Virginia plantation-chorus of negroes, of a harvest night,
in the glare of pine-knots;
I hear the strong baritone of the 'long-shore-men of Mannahatta;
I hear the stevedores unlading the cargoes, and singing;
I hear the screams of the water-fowl of solitary north-west lakes;
I hear the rustling pattering of locusts, as they strike the grain
and grass with the showers of their terrible clouds;
I hear the Coptic refrain, toward sundown, pensively falling on the

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poem by Walt Whitman
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The Mother's Lesson

Come hither an' sit on my knee, Willie,
Come hither an' sit on my knee,
An' list while I tell how your brave brither fell,
Fechtin' for you an' for me:
Fechtin' for you an' for me, Willie,
Wi' his guid sword in his han'.
Hech, but ye'll be a brave man, Willie,
Hech, but ye'll be a brave man!

Ye min' o' your ain brither dear, Willie,
Ye min' o' your ain brither dear,
How he pettled ye aye wi' his pliskies an' play,
An' was aye sae cantie o' cheer:
Aye sae cantie o' cheer, Willie,
As he steppit sae tall an' sae gran',
Hech, but ye'll be a brave man, Willie,
Hech, but ye'll be a brave man.

D'ye min' when the bull had ye doun, Willie,
D'ye min' when the bull had ye doun?
D'ye min' wha grippit ye fra the big bull,
D'ye min' o' his muckle red woun'?
D'ye min' o' his muckle red woun', Willie,
D'ye min' how the bluid doun ran?
Hech, but ye'll be a brave man, Willie,
Hech, but ye'll be a brave man.

D'ye min' when we a' wanted bread, Willie,
the year when we a' wanted bread?
How he smiled when he saw the het parritch an' a',
An' gaed cauld an' toom to his bed:
Gaed awa' toom to his bed, Willie,
For the love o' wee Willie an' Nan?
Hech, but ye'll be a brave man, Willie,
Hech, but ye'll be a brave man!

Next simmer was bright but an' ben, Willie,
Next simmer was bright but an' ben,
When there cam a gran' cry like a win' strang an' high
By loch, an' mountain, an' glen:
By loch, an' mountain, an' glen, Willie,
The cry o' a far forrin lan',
An' up loupit ilka brave man, Willie,
Up loupit ilka brave man.

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poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Little croodlin doo

Ho, pretty bee, did you see my croodlin doo?
Ho, little lamb, is she jinkin' on the lea?
Ho, bonnie fairy, bring my dearie back to me--
Got a lump o' sugar an' a posie for you,
Only bring back my wee, wee croodlin doo!

Why, here you are, my little croodlin doo!
Looked in er cradle, but didn't find you there,
Looked f'r my wee, wee croodlin doo ever'where;
Ben kind lonesome all er day withouten you;
Where you ben, my little wee, wee croodlin doo?

Now you go balow, my little croodlin doo;
Now you go rockaby ever so far,--
Rockaby, rockaby, up to the star
That's winkin' an' blinkin' an' singin' to you
As you go balow, my wee, wee croodlin doo!

poem by Eugene Field
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Eat The Meek

Y mussed oui stay wear wee dont bee longe
Y mussed oui stay wear wee dont bee longe
Because theres never gonna be enough space
So eat the meek, enjoy the waste
Its always gonna be a delicacy
Lick your chops and eat the meek
Y mussed oui stay wear wee dont bee longe
Y mussed oui stay wear wee dont bee longe
The factory mass producing fear, bottled,
Capped, distributed near and far
Sold for a reasonable price
And the people, they love it, they feed it
Brush with it, bathe with it, breathe it
Inject it direct to the blood
It seems to be replacing love
Y mussed oui stay wear wee dont bee longe
Y mussed oui stay wear wee dont bee longe
Because theres always gonna be token truth
Forgotten code discarded youth
You know theres always gonna be pedigree
One own the air one pay to breathe
Y mussed oui stay wear wee dont bee longe
Y mussed oui stay wear wee dont bee longe

song performed by NOFX
Added by Lucian Velea
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Frosty The Snowman

Frosty the Snowman

Was a jolly happy soul

With a corncob pipe and a button nose

And two eyes made out of coal
Frosty the Snowman

Is a fairytale they say

He was made of snow

But the children know

How he came to life one day
There must have been some magic

In that old silk hat they found

For when they placed it on his head

He began to dance around
Frosty the Snowman

Was alive as he could be

And the children say

He could laugh and play

Just the same as you and me
Frosty the Snowman

Knew the sun was hot that day

So he said let's run

And we'll have some fun

Now before I melt away
Down to the village

With a broomstick in his hand

Running here and there all around the square

Saying catch me if you can
He led them down the streets of town

[...] Read more

song performed by Ella Fitzgerald
Added by Lucian Velea
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Frosty The Snowman

Frosty the snowman
Was a jolly happy soul
With a corn-cob pipe and a button nose
And two eyes made out of coal
Frosty the snowman
Is a fairy tale they say
He was made of snow
But the children know
How he came to life one day
There must have been some magic
In that old silk hat they found
For when they placed it on his head
He began to dance around
Frosty the snowman
Was alive as he could be
And the children say
He could laugh and play
Just the same as you and me
Frosty the snowman
Knew the sun was hot that day
So he said, lets run
And well have some fun
Now before I melt away
Down to the village
With a broomstick in his hand
Running here and there
All around the square
Saying, catch me if you can
He led them down
The streets of town
Right to the traffic cop
And he only paused a moment
When he heard them holler, stop!
Frosty the snowman
Had to hurry on his way
But he waved goodbye
Saying, dont you cry
Ill be back again some day

song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Frosty The Snowman

Frosty the snowman was a jolly happy soul
With a corn cop pipe and a button nose
And two eyes made out of coal
Frosty the snowman is a fairy tale they say
He was made out of snow
But the children know how he came to life one day
There must of been some magic in
That ol silk cap they found
For when they placed it on his head
He began to dance around
Frosty the snowman was alive as he could be
And the children say he could laugh and play
Just the same as you and me
Frosty the snowman knew the snow was hot that day
So he said lets run and have some fun before I melt away
Down to the village with a broom stick in his hand
Runnin here and there all around the square
Sayin catch me if you can
He led them down the streets of town
Right to the traffic cop
And he only paused a moment when he heard him holler stop
Frosty the snowman
Had to hurry on his way
But he waved goodbye sayin please dont cry
Ill be back again some day

song performed by George Strait
Added by Lucian Velea
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I Keep Hoping

As I gather my thoughts
With the pieces of my heart
Tell me, how long is forever
Im not afraid and I wont be torn apart
Weve had our time together
Now I make my new beginnings
Ill start again at any cost
Ive learned a lot from losing you
But Ive got nothing if Im lost
And I keep hoping
And I still believe in love
If I wait long enough
I know Ill be strong enough
Yeah, I keep hoping
I believe in faith and trust
Im gonna find a way
There are better days still ahead of us
I keep hoping
Now this candle burns low
It wont last through the night
But Ive found peace
And I know its all right
I try to understand
Whats been missing in my life
Between the darkness and the daylight
No Im not expecting miracles
Ive got my doubts like any other one
Ive learned a lot from losing you
But Ive got nothing if Im lost
And I keep hoping
I still believe in love
If I wait long enough
I know Ill be strong enough
And I keep hoping
I believe, I believe in faith and trust
There are better days, better days, around of us now, still ahead of us, aaah
I keep hoping, I keep hoping
I keep hoping
I keep hoping and praying baby, oooh
And I still believe in love
I keep hoping, I keep hoping baby, oooh
Im gonna find a way
I keep hoping, I keep hoping baby
There are better days, ooh, better days
I keep hoping, hoping and praying
And I still believe in love
I keep hoping, I keep hoping
I keep hoping . . .

song performed by Foreigner
Added by Lucian Velea
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Goddwyn; A Tragedie

PERSONS REPRESENTED.
HAROLDE, bie T. Rowleie, the Aucthoure.
GODDWYN, bie Johan de Iscamme.
ELWARDE, bie Syrr Thybbot Gorges.
ALSTAN, bie Syrr Alan de Vere.
KYNGE EDWARD; bie Mastre Wilyam Canynge.
Odhers bie Knyghtes Mynnstrells.

PROLOGUE
WHYLOMME bie pensmenne moke ungentle name
Have upon Goddwynne Erle of Kente bin layde,
Dherebie benymmynge hymme of faie and fame;
Unliart divinistres haveth saide,
Thatte he was knowen toe noe hallie wurche ;
Botte thys was all hys faulte, he gyfted ne the churche.
The aucthoure of the piece whiche we enacte,
Albeytte a clergyon trouthe wyll wrytte.
Inne drawynge of hys menne no wytte ys lackte;
Entyn a kynge mote bee full pleased to nyghte.
Attende, and marcke the partes nowe to be done;
Wee better for toe doe do champyon anie onne.

GODDWYN; A TRAGEDIE.
ACT I.
GODDWYN AND HAROLDE.
GODDWYN.
HAROLDE!
HAROLDE.
M ie loverde!
GODDWYN.
O! I weepe to thyncke,
What foemen riseth to isrete the londe.
Theie batten onne her fleshe, her hartes bloude dryncke,
And all ys graunted from the roieal honde.
HAROLDE.
Lette notte this agreme blyn ne aledge stonde;
Bee I toe wepe, I wepe in teres of gore.
Am I betrassed , syke shulde mie burlie bronde
Depeyncte the wronges on hym from whom I bore.
GODDWYN.
I ken thie spryte ful welle; gentle thou art,
Stringe , ugsomme rou as smethynge armyes seeme;
Yett efte , I feare, thie chefes toe grete a parte,
And that thie rede bee efte borne downe bie breme .
What tydynges from the kynge?
HAROLDE.
His Normans know.
I make noe compheeres of the shemrynge trayne.
GODDWYN.
Ah Harolde! tis a syghte of myckle woe,

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Chatterton
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