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Snow

Restricted though
Desire to move more

Purity abounds
All around

Pristine white
With all its might

Embraces one
Embraces all

Mountains majestic
And pebbles at your door

poem by Sanjay Mehta
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Acid 8000

Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move
- its so easy to get acid, you can get it anywhere.
If you dont make your booty move, your booty must be dead
If you dont make your booty move, your booty must be dead
If you dont make your booty move, your booty must be dead
If you dont make your booty move, your booty must be dead
If you dont make your booty move, your booty must be dead
If you dont make your booty move, your booty must be dead
If you dont make your booty move, your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move, your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move, your booty move
Your booty move
If you dont make your booty move, your booty must be dead
If you dont make your booty move, your booty must be dead
If you dont make your booty move, your booty must be dead
If you dont make your booty move, your booty must be dead

[...] Read more

song performed by Fatboy Slim
Added by Lucian Velea
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Acid Bomb

Yeah
Move on up
Were going to the wild wild side
Ready
Hey you bomb bomb
Hey you bomb bomb
Hey you bomb bomb
Acid acid bomb (4 times)
Yeah
Move on up
Were going to the wild side
Yeah
Move on up
Were going to the wild side
Yeah
Move on up
Move on up
Move on
Going to the
Yeah
Move on up
Move on up
Move on
Wild side
Yeah
Move on up
Move on up
Move on
Going to the
Yeah
Move on up
Move on
Going to the wild side
Yeah
Move on up
Were going to the wild side
Yeah
Move on up
Were going to the wild side
Yeah
Move on up
Move on up
Move on
Going to the
Yeah
Move on up
Move on up
Move on
Wild side
Yeah

[...] Read more

song performed by Scooter
Added by Lucian Velea
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You Move Me

I like my coffee in the mornin,
Crazy bout my tea at night.
I like my coffee in the mornin,
Crazy bout my tea at night.
If I dont get my sugar three times a day,
Boy, you know I dont feel right.
Well, I know my hound dog
When I hear him bark.
Well, I know my hound dog
When I hear him bark.
And I know my baby when I feel her
In the dark.
Ya move me,
Ya move me, ya move me, ya move me baby.
Ow!
Ya move me,
Ya move me, ya move me, ya move me baby.
Ya move me,
Ya move me, ya move me, ya move me baby.
Ya move me,
Ya move me, ya move me, ya move me baby.
Well, Im here
And Im ready and able to move.
Every thing that I need,
Ya know Im ready to groove,
Even though Im tired,
Im weary and wasted and worn.
Well, I just cant seem,
I cant seem to leave you alone.
Know why?
Ya move me,
Ya move me, ya move me, ya move me baby.
Ow!
Ya move me,
Ya move me, ya move me, ya move me baby.
Ya move me,
Ya move me, ya move me, ya move me baby.
Ya move me,
Ya move me, ya move me, ya move me baby.
[break it down boy.]
Well, Im a secretive guy,
Ya know I like to keep things hid.
Well, Im a secretive guy,
Ya know I like to keep things hid.
Well, I love you baby
When ya call me the jellyroll kid.
Ow!
Ya move me,
Ya move me, ya move me, ya move me baby.
Ow!

[...] Read more

song performed by Van Morrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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‘A Good Deed'! !

Pebbles and her hero friend were in shock,
When they called at the local pet shop.
Lip-More and his pal' were enraged,
Seeing all those animals caged.
Some thing had to be done,
So the pair hatched a cunning plan.!
Lip-More didn't need any one else for the job,
He trusted his mate Pebbles the Dog.
In and out, SAS style, during the daylight Sun,
All was prepared for operation ‘freedom'.
Suddenly the job came around too soon,
Then the operation was on one afternoon.
They causally entered the shop door,
Masks and Capes were worn by Pebbles and Lip-more.
Our hero, his crow bar was ready knowing what he had to do,
Pebbles had practiced her vital job too.
She snarled her teeth and kept the staff at bay,
Whilst Lip-More, the cage latches he started to bray.
She barked and growled like a ‘wind up' torch a bit,
Lip-More continued to liberate each cage and cabinet.

There was one hell of a noisy racket,
Squawks, barks, meows, hisses and a swearing parrot.
Pebbles was doing her part and kept her cool,
Some of the staff tried to run but Pebbles was no fool.
She headed them off and stood at the door,
None of them dared to try any more.!
Lip-More completely emptied the place,
He double checked every cage and case.
Our hero wished the shop staff 'good day',
Pebbles ‘marked' her patch which was the same in a way.!
Out the door, the ‘pets' were now running free,
Hamsters, Guinea Pigs, and reptiles fled from captivity.

Pebbles lead the charge of freedom on to the streets,
Followed be Parrots, Budgies, Canaries and Ferrets.
Snakes slithered as fast as they could along the ground,
Above were Parakeets and Macaws each with a screeching sound.
Along with Gerbils, Mice, Dogs and Rats,
Love birds, Stick insects, and baby Cats.
Spiders spun webs as they fled,
The reptiles stopped awhile in the Sun and smiled instead.
Pebbles rallied the animals and orchestrated,
With her barks, growls and tail she directed.

Lip-More redirected the traffic,
So the animals wouldn't get harmed.
And reassured the worried public.
Some were getting quite alarmed.
After all there were creepy crawlies around their feet,

[...] Read more

poem by Guy Lipmore
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The House Of Dust: Complete

I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.

II.

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Thurso’s Landing

I
The coast-road was being straightened and repaired again,
A group of men labored at the steep curve
Where it falls from the north to Mill Creek. They scattered and hid
Behind cut banks, except one blond young man
Who stooped over the rock and strolled away smiling
As if he shared a secret joke with the dynamite;
It waited until he had passed back of a boulder,
Then split its rock cage; a yellowish torrent
Of fragments rose up the air and the echoes bumped
From mountain to mountain. The men returned slowly
And took up their dropped tools, while a banner of dust
Waved over the gorge on the northwest wind, very high
Above the heads of the forest.
Some distance west of the road,
On the promontory above the triangle
Of glittering ocean that fills the gorge-mouth,
A woman and a lame man from the farm below
Had been watching, and turned to go down the hill. The young
woman looked back,
Widening her violet eyes under the shade of her hand. 'I think
they'll blast again in a minute.'
And the man: 'I wish they'd let the poor old road be. I don't
like improvements.' 'Why not?' 'They bring in the world;
We're well without it.' His lameness gave him some look of age
but he was young too; tall and thin-faced,
With a high wavering nose. 'Isn't he amusing,' she said, 'that
boy Rick Armstrong, the dynamite man,
How slowly he walks away after he lights the fuse. He loves to
show off. Reave likes him, too,'
She added; and they clambered down the path in the rock-face,
little dark specks
Between the great headland rock and the bright blue sea.

II
The road-workers had made their camp
North of this headland, where the sea-cliff was broken down and
sloped to a cove. The violet-eyed woman's husband,
Reave Thurso, rode down the slope to the camp in the gorgeous
autumn sundown, his hired man Johnny Luna
Riding behind him. The road-men had just quit work and four
or five were bathing in the purple surf-edge,
The others talked by the tents; blue smoke fragrant with food
and oak-wood drifted from the cabin stove-pipe
And slowly went fainting up the vast hill.
Thurso drew rein by
a group of men at a tent door
And frowned at them without speaking, square-shouldered and
heavy-jawed, too heavy with strength for so young a man,
He chose one of the men with his eyes. 'You're Danny Woodruff,

[...] Read more

poem by Robinson Jeffers
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The Door Of Humility

ENGLAND
We lead the blind by voice and hand,
And not by light they cannot see;
We are not framed to understand
The How and Why of such as He;

But natured only to rejoice
At every sound or sign of hope,
And, guided by the still small voice,
In patience through the darkness grope;

Until our finer sense expands,
And we exchange for holier sight
The earthly help of voice and hands,
And in His light behold the Light.

I

Let there be Light! The self-same Power
That out of formless dark and void
Endued with life's mysterious dower
Planet, and star, and asteroid;

That moved upon the waters' face,
And, breathing on them His intent,
Divided, and assigned their place
To, ocean, air, and firmament;

That bade the land appear, and bring
Forth herb and leaf, both fruit and flower,
Cattle that graze, and birds that sing,
Ordained the sunshine and the shower;

That, moulding man and woman, breathed
In them an active soul at birth
In His own image, and bequeathed
To them dominion over Earth;

That, by whatever is, decreed
His Will and Word shall be obeyed,
From loftiest star to lowliest seed;-
The worm and me He also made.

And when, for nuptials of the Spring
With Summer, on the vestal thorn
The bridal veil hung flowering,
A cry was heard, and I was born.

II

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Austin
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White Light, White Heat

(as heard on the ziggy farwell concert lp.)
White light - white light gonna drive me out of my brain
White light - white light gonna make me feel so insane
White heat - white heat shapin them down to my toes
White light - white lights got it now, goodness knows
White light - white light gonna drive me out of my mind
White light - white lights surely gonna make me blind
White heat - white heat shaping way down to my toes
White light - white light could kill me now, goodness knows
Oh, oh, white light
Oh, oh, white light
Oh, oh, white heat
Oh, oh, white heat
White light - white light gonna drive me out of my brain
White light - white light gonna make me feel so insane
White heat - white heat shapin them down to my toes
White light - white lights got it now, goodness knows
White light - white light gonna drive me out of my mind
White light - white lights surely gonna make me blind
White heat - white heat shaping way down to my toes
White light - white light could kill me now, goodness knows
Oh, oh, white light
Oh, oh, white light
Oh, oh, white heat
Oh, oh, white heat
Oh, oh, white light
Oh, oh, white light
Oh, oh, white heat
Oh, oh, white heat
White lights a-flashing
White light
Still feels right
Whats that sound, whats that sound
Dont turn on, be dead or alive
No feeling
Here she comes
Oww, yeah
(oh, oh, oh, oh) here she comes
(oh, oh, oh, oh)
(oh, oh, oh, oh)
(ah, ah, ah, ah)

song performed by David Bowie
Added by Lucian Velea
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Narrative And Dramatic The Wanderings Of Oisin

BOOK I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[...] Read more

poem by William Butler Yeats
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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.

[...] Read more

poem by Robinson Jeffers
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The Four Seasons : Summer

From brightening fields of ether fair disclosed,
Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes,
In pride of youth, and felt through Nature's depth:
He comes attended by the sultry Hours,
And ever fanning breezes, on his way;
While, from his ardent look, the turning Spring
Averts her blushful face; and earth, and skies,
All-smiling, to his hot dominion leaves.
Hence, let me haste into the mid-wood shade,
Where scarce a sunbeam wanders through the gloom;
And on the dark-green grass, beside the brink
Of haunted stream, that by the roots of oak
Rolls o'er the rocky channel, lie at large,
And sing the glories of the circling year.
Come, Inspiration! from thy hermit-seat,
By mortal seldom found: may Fancy dare,
From thy fix'd serious eye, and raptured glance
Shot on surrounding Heaven, to steal one look
Creative of the Poet, every power
Exalting to an ecstasy of soul.
And thou, my youthful Muse's early friend,
In whom the human graces all unite:
Pure light of mind, and tenderness of heart;
Genius, and wisdom; the gay social sense,
By decency chastised; goodness and wit,
In seldom-meeting harmony combined;
Unblemish'd honour, and an active zeal
For Britain's glory, liberty, and Man:
O Dodington! attend my rural song,
Stoop to my theme, inspirit every line,
And teach me to deserve thy just applause.
With what an awful world-revolving power
Were first the unwieldy planets launch'd along
The illimitable void! thus to remain,
Amid the flux of many thousand years,
That oft has swept the toiling race of men,
And all their labour'd monuments away,
Firm, unremitting, matchless, in their course;
To the kind-temper'd change of night and day,
And of the seasons ever stealing round,
Minutely faithful: such the All-perfect hand!
That poised, impels, and rules the steady whole.
When now no more the alternate Twins are fired,
And Cancer reddens with the solar blaze,
Short is the doubtful empire of the night;
And soon, observant of approaching day,
The meek'd-eyed Morn appears, mother of dews,
At first faint-gleaming in the dappled east:
Till far o'er ether spreads the widening glow;
And, from before the lustre of her face,

[...] Read more

poem by James Thomson
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Tamar

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

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

[...] Read more

poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Restricted Area

High voltage in the air
No way to know its good or bad
Dont try to trick it down
Otherwise you could be dead
So just look out
It may be mean
Just cant be too afraid of this machine
A hole in the middle of the night
In the middle of the night
Restricted area
A hole in the middle of the night
Restricted area
Your brains been mesmerized
And in your mind this place is full of steel,
So full of steel
So shift to overdrive
Crash away the gang with the men from another space
So be aware
Just leave the scene
The worlds been metallized by this machine
A hole in the middle of the night
In the middle of the night
Restricted area
A hole in the middle of the night
Restricted area
A hole in the middle of the night
In the middle of the night
Restricted area
A hole in the middle of the night
In the middle of the night
Restricted area
A hole in the middle of the night
In the middle of the night
The worlds been metallized
A hole in the middle of the night
Restricted area
A hole in the middle of the night
In the middle of the night
Its a restricted area
Hold on - hold on - hold on
Your brains been mesmerized
A hole in the middle of the night
In the middle of the night
Youre heavy metallized
A hole in the middle of the night

song performed by U. D. O.
Added by Lucian Velea
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Your Move

Written by terry shaddick and steve kipner, 1983
Found on your move and the very best of america.
I don't understand it 'cause you won't say yes
But you don't say no
Sayin' no we shouldn't you keep holdin' out
But you don't let go
I'm givin' up on trying
To sell you things that you ain't buying
It's your move (your move)
I played all of mine
Time (ah) is running out
Make your move (your move)
Or we can't go on
Till (ah) you understand
It's all in your hands
It's your move
You're giving me the business with that old come on
But you don't come across
You get me so excited don't you know you're such a tease
When i think you're gettin' hot, you're not
(oo) so what's the problem, what's wrong
This kiss and miss you know it can't go on
It's your move (your move)
I played all of mine
Time (ah) is running out
Make your move (your move)
Or we can't go on
Till (ah) you understand
It's all in your hands
It's your move
(know it can't go on) go on
I'm givin' up on trying now it's (your move)
Girl, if you ain't buyin' now it's (your move)
I gave it all i got now it's (your move)
I thought you were hot but you're not so it's (your move, your move, your move)
It's your move (your move, ah)
I played all of mine
Time is running out
Make your move (ah, oh)
Or we can't go on
Till you understand
It's all in your hands
It's your move
It's your move (your move, ah)
I played all of mine
Time is running out
Make your move (ah, oh)
Or we can't go on
Till you understand
It's all in your hands

[...] Read more

song performed by America
Added by Lucian Velea
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She Said

One - two - three - four - five - six - seven -
Eight - nine - ten - eleven - twelve - yes!
Yeeah! yeeah! yeeah! yeah! yeah! yeah! yeah! yeah! yeah! yeah! yeah!
She said move, move, move to the rythm!
She said move, move, move to the rythm!
She said move, move, move to the rythm!
She said move, move, move to the rythm!
She said move to the rhythm!
Get down!
She said move!
Allright!
Im just rocking to the, rocking to the rythm of a groovy,
Rocking to the, rocking to the beat i, beat i,
Rocking to the, rocking to the, rocking to the beat i,
Rocking to the rythm of a groovy beat, beat, beat, beat,
Beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat.
Rocking to the, rocking to the beat i, beat i,
Rocking to the, rocking to the, rocking to the beat i,
Rocking to the rythm of a groovy beat, beat, beat, beat,
Beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat.
Im just rocking to the, rocking to the rythm of a groovy,
Rocking to the, rocking to the beat i, beat i,
Rocking to the, rocking to the, rocking to the beat i,
Rocking to the rythm of a groovy beat, beat, beat, beat,
Beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat.
She said move, move, move to the rythm!
She said move, move, move to the rythm!
She said move to the rythm!
Get down!
She said move!
Shake it, shake it, shake it, shake it,
Shake it, shake it, shake it, shake it!
Shake it, shake it, shake it, shake it,
Shake it, shake it, shake it, shake it!
She said move, move, move to the rythm!
She said move, move, move to the rythm!
She said move to the rythm!
She said move!
Are there any questions?

song performed by Scooter
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Ballad of the White Horse

DEDICATION

Of great limbs gone to chaos,
A great face turned to night--
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
Sight of strong lords and light?

Where seven sunken Englands
Lie buried one by one,
Why should one idle spade, I wonder,
Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder
To smoke and choke the sun?

In cloud of clay so cast to heaven
What shape shall man discern?
These lords may light the mystery
Of mastery or victory,
And these ride high in history,
But these shall not return.

Gored on the Norman gonfalon
The Golden Dragon died:
We shall not wake with ballad strings
The good time of the smaller things,
We shall not see the holy kings
Ride down by Severn side.

Stiff, strange, and quaintly coloured
As the broidery of Bayeux
The England of that dawn remains,
And this of Alfred and the Danes
Seems like the tales a whole tribe feigns
Too English to be true.

Of a good king on an island
That ruled once on a time;
And as he walked by an apple tree
There came green devils out of the sea
With sea-plants trailing heavily
And tracks of opal slime.

Yet Alfred is no fairy tale;
His days as our days ran,
He also looked forth for an hour
On peopled plains and skies that lower,
From those few windows in the tower
That is the head of a man.

But who shall look from Alfred's hood

[...] Read more

poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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The Idols

An Ode
Luce intellettual, piena d' amore

Prelude
Lo, the spirit of a pulsing star within a stone
Born of earth, sprung from night!
Prisoned with the profound fires of the light
That lives like all the tongues of eloquence
Locked in a speech unknown!
The crystal, cold and hard as innocence,
Immures the flame; and yet as if it knew
Raptures or pangs it could not but betray,
As if the light could feel changes of blood and breath
And all--but--human quiverings of the sense,
Throbs of a sudden rose, a frosty blue,
Shoot thrilling in its ray,
Like the far longings of the intellect
Restless in clouding clay.

Who has confined the Light? Who has held it a slave,
Sold and bought, bought and sold?
Who has made of it a mystery to be doled,
Or trophy, to awe with legendary fire,
Where regal banners wave?
And still into the dark it sends Desire.
In the heart's darkness it sows cruelties.
The bright jewel becomes a beacon to the vile,
A lodestar to corruption, envy's own:
Soiled with blood, fought for, clutched at; this world's prize,
Captive Authority. Oh, the star is stone
To all that outward sight,
Yet still, like truth that none has ever used,
Lives lost in its own light.

Troubled I fly. O let me wander again at will
(Far from cries, far from these
Hard blindnesses and frozen certainties!)
Where life proceeds in vastness unaware
And stirs profound and still:
Where leafing thoughts at shy touch of the air
Tremble, and gleams come seeking to be mine,
Or dart, like suddenly remembered youth,
Like the ache of love, a light, lost, found, and lost again.
Surely in the dusk some messenger was there!
But, haunted in the heart, I thirst, I pine.--
Oh, how can truth be truth
Except I taste it close and sweet and sharp
As an apple to the tooth?

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poem by Robert Laurence Binyon
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White Light/white Heat

Only one recording of this song by gary numan is known, and no official
Lyrics are available. it seems that gary has combined elements from two
Different versions of the song - the original velvet underground version
And the david bowie cover - and then added some of his own, which is why
Ive elected to credit all three musicians.
Original velvet underground version
White light, go on messing up my mind
Dont you know its gonna make me go blind?
White heat, it tickles me down to my toes
Have mercy, white light, have it, goodness knows
White light, go on messing up my brain
White light, its gonna drive me insane
White heat, it tickles me down to my toes
White light I said now, goodness knows, do it
I surely do love to watch that stuff shooting itself in
Watch that side, watch that side, dont you know, gonna be dead and bright
Yeah, foxy mama, watch her walking down the street
Come upside, your heads gonna make a dead end on your street
White light, move in me and drain my brain
White heat, it tickles me down to my toes
White light, I said now, goodness knows
White light is lighting up my eyes
Dont you know it fills me up with surprise?
White heat, tickle me down to my toes
White light, I tell you now, goodness knows
Oh, she surely do move, speed
Watch that speed freak, watch that speed freak,
Everybody gonna make it every week
Sputter mutter, everbodys gonna kill their mother
Here she comes, here she comes, everybody get it, gonna make me run, do it
Higher
David bowies version
White light - white light gonna drive me out of my brain
White light - white light gonna make me feel so insane
White heat - white shapin them down to my toes
White light - white lights got it now, goodness knows
White light - white light gonna drive me out of my mind
White light - white lights surely gonna make me blind
White heat - white shaping way down to my toes
White light - white light could kill me now, goodness knows
Oh, oh, white light
Oh, oh, white light
Oh, oh, white heat
Oh, oh, white heat
Verse 1
Verse 2
Chorus (twice)
White lights a-flashing
White light
Still feels right

[...] Read more

song performed by Gary Numan
Added by Lucian Velea
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Solomon

As thro' the Psalms from theme to theme I chang'd,
Methinks like Eve in Paradice I rang'd;
And ev'ry grace of song I seem'd to see,
As the gay pride of ev'ry season, she.
She gently treading all the walks around,
Admir'd the springing beauties of the ground,
The lilly glist'ring with the morning dew,
The rose in red, the violet in blew,
The pink in pale, the bells in purple rows,
And tulips colour'd in a thousand shows:
Then here and there perhaps she pull'd a flow'r
To strew with moss, and paint her leafy bow'r;
And here and there, like her I went along,
Chose a bright strain, and bid it deck my song.

But now the sacred Singer leaves mine eye,
Crown'd as he was, I think he mounts on high;
Ere this Devotion bore his heav'nly psalms,
And now himself bears up his harp and palms.
Go, saint triumphant, leave the changing sight,
So fitted out, you suit the realms of light;
But let thy glorious robe at parting go,
Those realms have robes of more effulgent show;
It flies, it falls, the flutt'ring silk I see,
Thy son has caught it and he sings like thee,
With such election of a theme divine,
And such sweet grace, as conquers all but thine.

Hence, ev'ry writer o'er the fabled streams,
Where frolick fancies sport with idle dreams,
Or round the sight enchanted clouds dispose,
Whence wanton cupids shoot with gilded bows;
A nobler writer, strains more brightly wrought,
Themes more exulted, fill my wond'ring thought:
The parted skies are track'd with flames above,
As love descends to meet ascending love;
The seasons flourish where the spouses meet,
And earth in gardens spreads beneath their feet.
This fresh-bloom prospect in the bosom throngs,
When Solomon begins his song of songs,
Bids the rap'd soul to Lebanon repair,
And lays the scenes of all his action there,
Where as he wrote, and from the bow'r survey'd
The scenting groves, or answ'ring knots he made,
His sacred art the sights of nature brings,
Beyond their use, to figure heav'nly things.

Great son of God! whose gospel pleas'd to throw
Round thy rich glory, veils of earthly show,
Who made the vineyard oft thy church design,

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Parnell
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The Four Seasons : Autumn

Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf,
While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain,
Comes jovial on; the Doric reed once more,
Well pleased, I tune. Whate'er the wintry frost
Nitrous prepared; the various blossom'd Spring
Put in white promise forth; and Summer-suns
Concocted strong, rush boundless now to view,
Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme.
Onslow! the Muse, ambitious of thy name,
To grace, inspire, and dignify her song,
Would from the public voice thy gentle ear
A while engage. Thy noble cares she knows,
The patriot virtues that distend thy thought,
Spread on thy front, and in thy bosom glow;
While listening senates hang upon thy tongue,
Devolving through the maze of eloquence
A roll of periods, sweeter than her song.
But she too pants for public virtue, she,
Though weak of power, yet strong in ardent will,
Whene'er her country rushes on her heart,
Assumes a bolder note, and fondly tries
To mix the patriot's with the poet's flame.
When the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days,
And Libra weighs in equal scales the year;
From Heaven's high cope the fierce effulgence shook
Of parting Summer, a serener blue,
With golden light enliven'd, wide invests
The happy world. Attemper'd suns arise,
Sweet-beam'd, and shedding oft through lucid clouds
A pleasing calm; while broad, and brown, below
Extensive harvests hang the heavy head.
Rich, silent, deep, they stand; for not a gale
Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain:
A calm of plenty! till the ruffled air
Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow.
Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky;
The clouds fly different; and the sudden sun
By fits effulgent gilds the illumined field,
And black by fits the shadows sweep along.
A gaily chequer'd heart-expanding view,
Far as the circling eye can shoot around,
Unbounded tossing in a flood of corn.
These are thy blessings, Industry! rough power!
Whom labour still attends, and sweat, and pain;
Yet the kind source of every gentle art,
And all the soft civility of life:
Raiser of human kind! by Nature cast,
Naked, and helpless, out amid the woods
And wilds, to rude inclement elements;
With various seeds of art deep in the mind

[...] Read more

poem by James Thomson
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