An Old Soldier's Closet
The old soldier's closet holds memorabilia
in which he enjoys to reminisce and browse,
and thoughts of his military service to the
Nation gradually begins to rouse.
This is a closet where moth balls abound
with hangers of uniforms from former bases
still neatly pressed and offering him
an imaginary trip to former world places.
The old soldier's uniforms hanging there
suggests an earlier military styling
and instantly his present thoughts
with his past service is reconciling.
Staring at all the military paraphernalia
transfers him from this modern plane -
with teary eyes and a spirit of humbleness,
he is a dedicated soldier again.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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Related quotes
Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society
Epigraph
Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.
I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.
You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning (1871)
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Got You By The Balls
Hey mister businessman
Head of the company
Are you looking for a lady
One who likes to please?
Hey mister businessman
This one likes to tease
With a special service
In french quantities
But she wont sacrifice
What you want tonight
She wont come across
Unless theres money in her hand
And shes calling all the shots
She got you by the balls
She got you by the balls
She got you by the balls
She got you by the balls
She got you by the balls
Hey mister businessman
High society
She can play the school girl
And spank you all you please
But she wont sacrifice
What you want tonight
She wont come across
Unless theres money in her hand
She dont go overtime
She got you by the balls
She got you by the balls
She got you by the balls
She got you by the balls
She got you by the balls
(kiss your balls goodbye)
Hang it left, hang it right,
Got you by the balls
Got your shorts, got your curlies
Got you - by the balls
She got you by the balls
She got you by the balls
She got you by the balls
Yeah, yeah
She got you by the balls
She got you by the balls
She got you by the balls
She got you by the balls
She got you by the balls
song performed by AC-DC
Added by Lucian Velea
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XI. Guido
You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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“Mathew” 6: 9-13
“our father in heaven”
(ode to the man who has children,
sitting around in an imaginary
place envied by other members
of the brainwashed)
“hallowed be your name”
(the sheep that baaaaa in unison
believe that there is a sound made
by all the simultaneous crying in
desperation which has then been
construed as a “name” then given
to the imaginary listener in said
imaginary place)
“your kingdom come”
(evidently, this wondrous trailer
park in the sky is something that is
supposed to be open to anyone sad
enough to submit their will to the pool
of simultaneous sheep baaaaa ing away
at the wall in hopes that the imaginary
listener in this imaginary place will
say something back)
“your will be done”
(those committed to baaaaa ing & to the
spread of this act of yelling to the sky in
hopes that said imaginary listener in said
imaginary trailer park will say something
back, wrote a lot of their babbling fiction
down & apparently there is where the aspiring
brainwashed can find the how to manual
for walking on four legs, growing a thick
coat of bustling hair & chewing grass)
“on earth as it is in heaven”
(and once you drink the kool aid, there is
no going back according to the sheep
gazing at the stars, baaaaa ing in unison
hoping for the trailer park in the sky
where they can continue to baaaaa
together, grow their coats together &
chew grass together obliviously)
“give us this day our daily bread”
(baaaaa ing loud enough at the sky is
supposed to bring 3 square meals back to
the sheep who have done so, because
after having created an imaginary listener
[...] Read more
poem by Andrew Delapruch
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Tom Zart's 52 Best Of The Rest America At War Poems
SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF WORLD WAR III
The White House
Washington
Tom Zart's Poems
March 16,2007
Ms. Lillian Cauldwell
President and Chief Executive Officer
Passionate Internet Voices Radio
Ann Arbor Michigan
Dear Lillian:
Number 41 passed on the CDs from Tom Zart. Thank you for thinking of me. I am thankful for your efforts to honor our brave military personnel and their families. America owes these courageous men and women a debt of gratitude, and I am honored to be the commander in chief of the greatest force for freedom in the history of the world.
Best Wishes.
Sincerely,
George W. Bush
SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF WORLD WAR III
Our sons and daughters serve in harm's way
To defend our way of life.
Some are students, some grandparents
Many a husband or wife.
They face great odds without complaint
Gambling life and limb for little pay.
So far away from all they love
Fight our soldiers for whom we pray.
The plotters and planners of America's doom
Pledge to murder and maim all they can.
From early childhood they are taught
To kill is to become a man.
They exploit their young as weapons of choice
Teaching in heaven, virgins will await.
Destroying lives along with their own
To learn of their falsehoods too late.
The fearful cry we must submit
And find a way to soothe them.
Where defenders worry if we stand down
The future for America is grim.
[...] Read more
poem by Tom Zart
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The Young British Soldier
When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East
'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast,
An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased
Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier.
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
So-oldier ~OF~ the Queen!
Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day,
You shut up your rag-box an' 'ark to my lay,
An' I'll sing you a soldier as far as I may:
A soldier what's fit for a soldier.
Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . .
First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts,
For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your guts --
Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your butts --
An' it's bad for the young British soldier.
Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . .
When the cholera comes -- as it will past a doubt --
Keep out of the wet and don't go on the shout,
For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out,
An' it crumples the young British soldier.
Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier . . .
But the worst o' your foes is the sun over'ead:
You ~must~ wear your 'elmet for all that is said:
If 'e finds you uncovered 'e'll knock you down dead,
An' you'll die like a fool of a soldier.
Fool, fool, fool of a soldier . . .
If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind,
Don't grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind;
Be handy and civil, and then you will find
That it's beer for the young British soldier.
Beer, beer, beer for the soldier . . .
Now, if you must marry, take care she is old --
A troop-sergeant's widow's the nicest I'm told,
For beauty won't help if your rations is cold,
Nor love ain't enough for a soldier.
'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a soldier . . .
If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loath
To shoot when you catch 'em -- you'll swing, on my oath! --
Make 'im take 'er and keep 'er: that's Hell for them both,
An' you're shut o' the curse of a soldier.
Curse, curse, curse of a soldier . . .
[...] Read more
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Mother’s Cry of Late
Where for art thou, soldier?
Out East? West? –
And when? –
What part your rabid history?
And why? –
What wrought your destiny? –
For whom
You’d wreak your enmity –
I crave your fate to pen!
What comprehension of the
Order? –
‘Listen up! you men!
Raze to ground the taken land!
See they die and e’er you’ll stand, for
Death is but a grain of sand –
The mighty triumph, medal grand!
Now go you well!
Amen! ’
What sight upon the bloody lie
Of war? – your doubtful fate.
‘Where for art thou, soldier? ’ –
Your mother’s cry of late.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
[...] Read more
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Soldier's Ghost
I bled for you - would you for me?
I blessed a skin in blazing fuel
Then took a bullet in a duel of
‘He or I to Die.'
I often question ‘Why? '
Do you?
My country was my life to give -
Would you for country cease to live?
Sinking in a mire of death,
You have no choice -
So while you're still alive,
Rejoice!
I cried in failure - did you care?
And as I waned, were you aware of
What I did -?
Fighting for my country while you hid
Behind your comfort back at home?
Still relaxed?
My wife and child are fading at the tomb.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
[...] Read more
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi
Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Soccer Under 20
soccer teams close to pa
soccer teams cartoons
soccer teams england
soccer teams aurora co age 11
soccer teams for ren jacksonville fl
soccer teams for girls in atlanta
soccer teams for ren
soccer teams aurora co
soccer teams fo age 11
soccer teams from europe
soccer teams for toddlers
soccer teams from spain
soccer teams girls massachusetts
soccer teams in alberta
soccer teams for women in massachusetts
soccer teams for women n massachusetts
soccer teams for the facup 2007
soccer teams for toddlers in california
soccer teams from colombia and argentina
soccer teams for winfield
soccer teams games in sarasota florida
soccer teams hotels brescia
soccer teams for s in delaware
soccer teams in allen texas
soccer teams for undder 14s girls
soccer teams in 1987 varsity
soccer teams from mexico
soccer teams for s
soccer teams for youth in newark
soccer teams in clifton new jersey
soccer teams in chaicago
soccer teams in brazil
soccer teams in around chicago
soccer teams in cocoa
soccer teams in central america
soccer teams in chamblee georgia
soccer teams in chula vista
soccer teams in carrollton tx
soccer teams in canada
soccer teams in central valley
soccer teams in charlotte nc
soccer teams in athens greece
soccer teams in charlotte
soccer teams in chile
soccer teams in argintina
soccer teams in arizona
soccer teams in argentina and chile
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soccer teams in concord mass
soccer teams in dundee il
[...] Read more
poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Reminisce
I can remember when
We had
We had it all
(reminisce on the love we had)
You and i
You and i
(reminisce on the love we had)
You know
You know we had it all
You and i
(reminisce on the love we had)
Chorus
Lets make the time tonight
While the feelings right
Reminisce on the love we had
Lets make the time tonight
While the feelings right
Reminisce on the love we had
Verse 1
I know that weve been here before
The candle light and you walking softly through my door
Come on in my sweet
How have you been?
Your so nice but tonight
Were gonna be more than just friends
I recall the days and ways of love we made
I still feel the heat when we shared each other
Dont you feel the magic
The mysterys in the air
Lets go down to lovers lane
With the love we shared
Chorus
Verse 2
I can see you standing there alone
Like an angel
Tryin to find his way home
I dont remember how we fell apart
Here we are again, come on
Right into my heart
I recall the days in ways of love we made
I still feel the heat when we shared each other
Dont you feel the magic
The mysterys in the air
Lets go down to lovers lane
With the love we shared
Chorus
Make the time tonight
The feelings oh so right
Reminisce on the love we had
Make the time tonight
[...] Read more
song performed by Mary J Blige
Added by Lucian Velea
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Custer
BOOK FIRST.
I.
ALL valor died not on the plains of Troy.
Awake, my Muse, awake! be thine the joy
To sing of deeds as dauntless and as brave
As e'er lent luster to a warrior's grave.
Sing of that noble soldier, nobler man,
Dear to the heart of each American.
Sound forth his praise from sea to listening sea-
Greece her Achilles claimed, immortal Custer, we.
II.
Intrepid are earth's heroes now as when
The gods came down to measure strength with men.
Let danger threaten or let duty call,
And self surrenders to the needs of all;
Incurs vast perils, or, to save those dear,
Embraces death without one sigh or tear.
Life's martyrs still the endless drama play
Though no great Homer lives to chant their worth to-day.
III.
And if he chanted, who would list his songs,
So hurried now the world's gold-seeking throngs?
And yet shall silence mantle mighty deeds?
Awake, dear Muse, and sing though no ear heeds!
Extol the triumphs, and bemoan the end
Of that true hero, lover, son and friend
Whose faithful heart in his last choice was shown-
Death with the comrades dear, refusing flight alone.
IV.
He who was born for battle and for strife
Like some caged eagle frets in peaceful life;
So Custer fretted when detained afar
From scenes of stirring action and of war.
And as the captive eagle in delight,
When freedom offers, plumes himself for flight
And soars away to thunder clouds on high,
With palpitating wings and wild exultant cry,
V.
So lion-hearted Custer sprang to arms,
And gloried in the conflict's loud alarms.
[...] Read more
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Three Women
My love is young, so young;
Young is her cheek, and her throat,
And life is a song to be sung
With love the word for each note.
Young is her cheek and her throat;
Her eyes have the smile o' May.
And love is the word for each note
In the song of my life to-day.
Her eyes have the smile o' May;
Her heart is the heart of a dove,
And the song of my life to-day
Is love, beautiful love.
Her heart is the heart of a dove,
Ah, would it but fly to my breast
Where love, beautiful love,
Has made it a downy nest.
Ah, would she but fly to my breast,
My love who is young, so young;
I have made her a downy nest
And life is a song to be sung.
1
I.
A dull little station, a man with the eye
Of a dreamer; a bevy of girls moving by;
A swift moving train and a hot Summer sun,
The curtain goes up, and our play is begun.
The drama of passion, of sorrow, of strife,
Which always is billed for the theatre Life.
It runs on forever, from year unto year,
With scarcely a change when new actors appear.
It is old as the world is-far older in truth,
For the world is a crude little planet of youth.
And back in the eras before it was formed,
The passions of hearts through the Universe stormed.
Maurice Somerville passed the cluster of girls
Who twisted their ribbons and fluttered their curls
In vain to attract him; his mind it was plain
Was wholly intent on the incoming train.
That great one eyed monster puffed out its black breath,
Shrieked, snorted and hissed, like a thing bent on death,
[...] Read more
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Skeletons
(ian hunter/darrel bath/honest john plain)
(transcribed by adrian perkins; corrections by colin ford)
Bimbo, flirts, sluts in skirts - muscles brightly glisten
Conversation's full of filth - let's all have a listen
Oh dear oh dear we live in fear
Media bulbs a poppin'
If you're bent, they're on your scent
There can be no stoppin'
Peroxide blondes, vagabonds, into 'eavy metal
Your hair looks like its been done by a dyke with a score to settle
Mud needs raking, photos taken of your murky past
Haunts you, taunts you, love it don't you
Hey hey the gang's all here
Pimps 'n' pervs, straights 'n' queers
Enquiring minds want to sneer at the skeletons in your closet
Sunday morning in the park,
Down the pub or in the bath
We'll all have a good old laugh
At the skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
It's bloody marvellous - innit?
It's bloody marvellous - innit?
Juicy bits, saucy snips, there's gold in them there gutters
Blue rinse mob on the job, curtains all a-flutter
It's cheapo culture, bleeding ulcers, burnt out by the score
Lurid tales never fails to shock you to the core
Kinky boots 'n' rubbber suits,
It's all going on next door!
Caught you, taught you, love it don't you
If you've had your face re-done
If you spank your girlfriend's bum
We can all join in the fun
At the skeletons in your closet
What's the world coming to?
Ain't we got nothin' better to do?
To spend all day sifting through
The skeletons in your closet
Hey hey the gang's all here
Pimps 'n' pervs, straights 'n' queers
Enquiring minds want to sneer
At the skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
song performed by Ian Hunter
Added by Lucian Velea
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Skeletons (In Your Closet)
(ian hunter/darrel bath/honest john plain)
(transcribed by adrian perkins; corrections by colin ford)
Bimbo, flirts, sluts in skirts - muscles brightly glisten
Conversations full of filth - lets all have a listen
Oh dear oh dear we live in fear
Media bulbs a poppin
If youre bent, theyre on your scent
There can be no stoppin
Peroxide blondes, vagabonds, into eavy metal
Your hair looks like its been done by a dyke with a score to settle
Mud needs raking, photos taken of your murky past
Haunts you, taunts you, love it dont you
Hey hey the gangs all here
Pimps n pervs, straights n queers
Enquiring minds want to sneer at the skeletons in your closet
Sunday morning in the park,
Down the pub or in the bath
Well all have a good old laugh
At the skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Its bloody marvellous - innit?
Its bloody marvellous - innit?
Juicy bits, saucy snips, theres gold in them there gutters
Blue rinse mob on the job, curtains all a-flutter
Its cheapo culture, bleeding ulcers, burnt out by the score
Lurid tales never fails to shock you to the core
Kinky boots n rubbber suits,
Its all going on next door!
Caught you, taught you, love it dont you
If youve had your face re-done
If you spank your girlfriends bum
We can all join in the fun
At the skeletons in your closet
Whats the world coming to?
Aint we got nothin better to do?
To spend all day sifting through
The skeletons in your closet
Hey hey the gangs all here
Pimps n pervs, straights n queers
Enquiring minds want to sneer
At the skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
song performed by Ian Hunter
Added by Lucian Velea
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Dynamite Satchel Of Pain
Lets write a song, baby
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
Now sit your ass in the chair and I'll tell you my name,
My daddy always told me that he didn't wanna hear me complain,
That's why my balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
I hope this song will explain,
Just why my balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
Well I was born in the back of a truck on the fourth of july,
I was raised by a Portuguese ninja who taught me to fly,
A business man pulled over and he asked if I needed a ride,
I had to eat that business man for lunch cos I wanted his tie,
Damn I look good in that tie,
Air born Portuguese ninja eats man for his tie,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My daddy always told me that he didn't wanna hear me complain,
That's why my balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain.
song performed by Wheatus
Added by Lucian Velea
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Dynomite Satchel Of Pain
Lets write a song, baby
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
Now sit your ass in the chair and I'll tell you my name,
My daddy always told me that he didn't wanna hear me complain,
That's why my balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
I hope this song will explain,
Just why my balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
Well I was born in the back of a truck on the fourth of july,
I was raised by a Portuguese ninja who taught me to fly,
A business man pulled over and he asked if I needed a ride,
I had to eat that business man for lunch cos I wanted his tie,
Damn I look good in that tie,
Air born Portuguese ninja eats man for his tie,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My daddy always told me that he didn't wanna hear me complain,
That's why my balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain.
song performed by Wheatus
Added by Lucian Velea
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Pharsalia - Book VIII: Death Of Pompeius
Now through Alcides' pass and Tempe's groves
Pompeius, aiming for Haemonian glens
And forests lone, urged on his wearied steed
Scarce heeding now the spur; by devious tracks
Seeking to veil the footsteps of his flight:
The rustle of the foliage, and the noise
Of following comrades filled his anxious soul
With terrors, as he fancied at his side
Some ambushed enemy. Fallen from the height
Of former fortunes, still the chieftain knew
His life not worthless; mindful of the fates:
And 'gainst the price he set on Caesar's head,
He measures Caesar's value of his own.
Yet, as he rode, the features of the chief
Made known his ruin. Many as they sought
The camp Pharsalian, ere yet was spread
News of the battle, met the chief, amazed,
And wondered at the whirl of human things:
Nor held disaster sure, though Magnus' self
Told of his ruin. Every witness seen
Brought peril on his flight: 'twere better far
Safe in a name obscure, through all the world
To wander; but his ancient fame forbad.
Too long had great Pompeius from the height
Of human greatness, envied of mankind,
Looked on all others; nor for him henceforth
Could life be lowly. The honours of his youth
Too early thrust upon him, and the deeds
Which brought him triumph in the Sullan days,
His conquering navy and the Pontic war,
Made heavier now the burden of defeat,
And crushed his pondering soul. So length of days
Drags down the haughty spirit, and life prolonged
When power has perished. Fortune's latest hour,
Be the last hour of life! Nor let the wretch
Live on disgraced by memories of fame!
But for the boon of death, who'd dare the sea
Of prosperous chance?
Upon the ocean marge
By red Peneus blushing from the fray,
Borne in a sloop, to lightest wind and wave
Scarce equal, he, whose countless oars yet smote
Upon Coreyra's isle and Leucas point,
Lord of Cilicia and Liburnian lands,
Crept trembling to the sea. He bids them steer
For the sequestered shores of Lesbos isle;
For there wert thou, sharer of all his griefs,
[...] Read more
poem by Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
Added by Poetry Lover
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Satan Absolved
(In the antechamber of Heaven. Satan walks alone. Angels in groups conversing.)
Satan. To--day is the Lord's ``day.'' Once more on His good pleasure
I, the Heresiarch, wait and pace these halls at leisure
Among the Orthodox, the unfallen Sons of God.
How sweet in truth Heaven is, its floors of sandal wood,
Its old--world furniture, its linen long in press,
Its incense, mummeries, flowers, its scent of holiness!
Each house has its own smell. The smell of Heaven to me
Intoxicates and haunts,--and hurts. Who would not be
God's liveried servant here, the slave of His behest,
Rather than reign outside? I like good things the best,
Fair things, things innocent; and gladly, if He willed,
Would enter His Saints' kingdom--even as a little child.
[Laughs. I have come to make my peace, to crave a full amaun,
Peace, pardon, reconcilement, truce to our daggers--drawn,
Which have so long distraught the fair wise Universe,
An end to my rebellion and the mortal curse
Of always evil--doing. He will mayhap agree
I was less wholly wrong about Humanity
The day I dared to warn His wisdom of that flaw.
It was at least the truth, the whole truth, I foresaw
When He must needs create that simian ``in His own
Image and likeness.'' Faugh! the unseemly carrion!
I claim a new revision and with proofs in hand,
No Job now in my path to foil me and withstand.
Oh, I will serve Him well!
[Certain Angels approach. But who are these that come
With their grieved faces pale and eyes of martyrdom?
Not our good Sons of God? They stop, gesticulate,
Argue apart, some weep,--weep, here within Heaven's gate!
Sob almost in God's sight! ay, real salt human tears,
Such as no Spirit wept these thrice three thousand years.
The last shed were my own, that night of reprobation
When I unsheathed my sword and headed the lost nation.
Since then not one of them has spoken above his breath
Or whispered in these courts one word of life or death
Displeasing to the Lord. No Seraph of them all,
Save I this day each year, has dared to cross Heaven's hall
And give voice to ill news, an unwelcome truth to Him.
Not Michael's self hath dared, prince of the Seraphim.
Yet all now wail aloud.--What ails ye, brethren? Speak!
Are ye too in rebellion? Angels. Satan, no. But weak
With our long earthly toil, the unthankful care of Man.
Satan. Ye have in truth good cause.
Angels. And we would know God's plan,
His true thought for the world, the wherefore and the why
Of His long patience mocked, His name in jeopardy.
[...] Read more
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Skeletons In The Closet
Woah-oh, woah-oh
Skeletons in my closet
Woah-oh, woah-oh yeah
Skeletons in my closet
Skeletons in my closet
Skeletons in my shoes
Skeletons I can only see
I said woah-oh, woah-oh
I got skeletons in my closet
I said woah-oh, woah-oh yeah
Skeletons in my closet
Skeletons I can lose
Skeletons in my basement
Loitering on my streets
Wearing my best pajamas
Sandwiched between my sheets
I said woah-oh, woah-oh yeah
Skeletons in my closet
I said woah-oh, woah-oh yeah
Skeletons in my closet
Ooh, I see bones
I see bones, icy bones
Ooh, I see bones
Say say bones - say boys don't you see them bones?
Rattle them bones at midnight
Shaking my bed, no sleep
I find fingers in my coat pocket
Skeletons from the deep
I said woah-oh, woah-oh
I got skeletons in my closet
I said woah-oh, woah woah-oh
I got skeletons in my closet
Ooh, I see bones
I see bones, s-see bones
Ooh, I see bones
I see bones
Say boys don't you see them bones?
No?
Heart bones, leg bones, ankle bones, arm bones,
finger bones, dogie bones, head bones
Skeletons in my closet
They even know when I'm in my closet
It's my.. my closet
Not your closet
My closet
You can have it though
Alice we want you
Alice
Alice
A-Alice
[...] Read more
song performed by Alice Cooper
Added by Lucian Velea
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