Stop This Game
Words and music by robin zander and rick nielsen
Well I cant stop the music
I could stop it before
Now I dont want to hear it
Dont wanna hear it no more
No more
I cant stop the music
I could stop it before
Now I dont wanna hear it
Dont wanna hear it no more
All I wanna do is stop this game
Its gonna really end
Stop this game
Its such a touchy, touchy thing
Hey, livin with you
Is all I wanted before
Ive changed, you didnt
Dont wanna see you no more
All I wanna do is stop this game
Its gonna really end
Oh, stop this game
Its such a touchy, touchy thing
Well we were walkin before we could crawl
And you were lovin just emotion just all
Its just emotion wasnt music at all
Now I cant stop the music
Now I dont wanna hear it no more
No more, no more, no more
Stop this game
Its gonna really end
Stop this game
Its such a touchy, touchy thing
I cant stop the music (stop this game)
I could stop it before (its gonna really end)
Now I dont wanna hear it (stop this game)
Dont wanna hear it no more (its such a touchy, touchy thing)
(repeat to coda)
song performed by Cheap Trick
Added by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Touchy!
(morten harket/mags/pal waaktaar)
Donna found us in her slow and dreamy way
I cant hear a word the waiter says
Shes looking older than the colour of her hair
She walks into the room too pleased to find me there
Me Im touchy
Touchy you
Me Im touchy
And you know what to do
Me Im touchy
Touchy, touchy you
Me Im touchy and you know what to do
Both of us together in a room by ourselves
I sneeze to look around, byt theres no escape
What can I do, what can I say
Shes waiting for this moment to explain itself.
Me Im touchy
Touchy you
Me Im touchy
And you know what to do
Me Im touchy
Touchy, touchy you
Touching love is the best I can do
Hey, this time youve gone too far
You know how touchy we are
Donna found me in her slow and dreamy way
Now she reads me what the paper say
The way she laughs and what I do
Im waiting for this moment to explain itself through
Me Im touchy...etc.
song performed by A-Ha
Added by Lucian Velea
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Robin Hood And Guy Of Gisborne
When shawes been sheene, and shradds full fayre,
And leeves both large and longe,
Itt is merry, walking in the fayre forrest,
To heare the small birds songe.
The woodweele sang, and wold not cease,
Amongst the leaves a lyne:
And it is by two wight yeomen,
By deare God, that I meane.
'Me thought they did mee beate and binde,
And tooke my bow mee froe;
If I bee Robin a-live in this lande,
I'le be wrocken on both them towe.'
Sweavens are swift, master,' quoth John,
'As the wind that blowes ore a hill;
For if itt be never soe lowde this night,
To-morrow it may be still.'
'Buske yee, bowne yee, my merry men all,
For John shall goe with mee:
For I'le goe seek yond wight yeomen
In greenwood where the bee.'
^ TOP
The cast on their gowne of greene,
A shooting gone are they,
Untill they came to the merry greenwood,
Where they had gladdest bee;
There were the ware of a wight yeoman,
His body leaned to a tree.
A sword and a dagger he wore by his side,
Had beene many a man bane,
And he was cladd in his capull-hyde,
Topp, and tayle, and mayne.
'Stand you still, master,' quoth Litle John,
'Under this trusty tree,
And I will goe to yong wight yeomen,
To know his meaning trulye.'
'A, John, by me thou setts noe store,
And that's a farley thinge;
How offt send I my men beffore,
And tarry my-selfe behinde?
It is noe cunning a knave to ken,
[...] Read more
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Robin Hood And The Butcher
Come, all you brave gallants, and listen awhile,
With hey down, down, an a down,
That are in the bowers within;
For of Robin Hood, that archer good,
A song I intend for to sing.
Upon a time it chanced so,
Bold Robin in forrest did 'spy
A jolly butcher, with a bonny fine mare,
With his flesh to the market did hye.
'Good morrow, good fellow,' said jolly Robin,
'What food hast [thou]? tell unto me;
Thy trade to me tell, and where thou dost dwell,
For I like well thy company.'
The butcher he answer'd jolly Robin,
'No matter where I dwell;
For a butcher I am, and to Nottingham
I am going, my flesh to sell.'
'What's [the] price of thy flesh?' said jolly Robin,
'Come, tell it soon unto me;
And the price of thy mare, be she never so dear,
For a butcher fain would I be.'
'The price of my flesh,' the butcher repli'd,
'I soon will tell unto thee;
With my bonny mare, and they are not too dear,
Four mark thou must give unto me.'
'Four mark I will give thee,' saith jolly Robin,
'Four mark it shall be thy fee;
The mony come count, and let me mount,
For a butcher I fain would be.'
Now Robin he is to Nottingham gone,
His butchers trade to begin;
With good intent to the sheriff he went,
And there he took up his inn.
When other butchers did open their meat,
Bold Robin he then begun;
But how for to sell he knew not well,
For a butcher he was but young.
When other butchers no meat could sell,
Robin got both gold and fee;
For he sold more meat for one peny
Then others could do for three.
[...] Read more
poem by Andrew Lang
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Robin Hood's Flight
Robin Hood's mother, these twelve years now,
Has been gone from her earthly home;
And Robin has paid, he scarce knew how,
A sum for a noble tomb.
The church-yard lies on a woody hill,
But open to sun and air:
It seems as if the heaven still
Were looking and smiling there.
Often when Robin looked that way,
He looked through a sweet thin tear;
But he looked in a different manner, they say,
Towards the Abbey of Vere.
He cared not for its ill-got wealth,
He felt not for his pride;
He had youth, and strength, and health,
And enough for one beside.
But he thought of his gentle mother's cheek
How it sunk away,
And how she used to grow more weak
And weary every day;
And how, when trying a hymn, her voice
At evening would expire,
How unlike it was the arrogant noise
Of the hard throats in the quire:
And Robin thought too of the poor,
How they toiled without their share,
And how the alms at the abbey-door
But kept them as they were:
And he thought him then of the friars again,
Who rode jingling up and down
With their trappings and things as fine as the king's,
Though they wore but a shaven crown.
And then bold Robin he thought of the king,
How he got all his forests and deer,
And how he made the hungry swing
If they killed but one in a year.
And thinking thus, as Robin stood,
Digging his bow in the ground,
He was aware in Gamelyn Wood,
Of one who looked around.
[...] Read more
poem by James Henry Leigh Hunt
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Robin Hood and the Prince of Aragon
NOW Robin Hood, Will Scadlock and Little John
Are walking over the plain,
With a good fat buck which Will Scadlock
With his strong bow had slain.
`Jog on, jog on,' cries Robin Hood,
`The day it runs full fast;
For though my nephew me a breakfast gave,
I have not yet broke my fast.
`Then to yonder lodge let us take our way,
I think it wondrous good,
Where my nephew by my bold yeomen
Shall be welcomd unto the green wood.'
With that he took the bugle-horn,
Full well he could it blow;
Streight from the woods came marching down
One hundred tall fellows and mo.
`Stand, stand to your arms!' crys Will Scadlock,
`Lo! the enemies are within ken:'
With that Robin Hood he laughd aloud,
Crys, They are my bold yeomen.
Who, when they arriv'd and Robin espy'd,
Cry'd, Master, what is your will?
We thought you had in danger been,
Your horn did sound so shrill.
`Now nay, now nay,' quoth Robin Hood,
`The danger is past and gone;
I would have you to welcome my nephew here,
That hath paid me two for one.'
In feasting and sporting they passed the day,
Till Phoebus sunk into the deep;
Then each one to his quarters hy'd,
His guard there for to keep.
Long had they not walked within the green wood,
But Robin he was espy'd
Of a beautiful damsel all alone,
That on a black palfrey did ride.
Her riding-suit was of sable hew black,
Sypress over her face,
Through which her rose-like cheeks did blush,
All with a comely grace.
[...] Read more
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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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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Dontcha Wanna
If you had the chance I know you, surely would
And anytime I want it baby, I could
Said youd never saw it coming, did you dear
But you cant run from everything you fear
Hey, dont you wanna fall in love?
(dont you wanna, dont you wanna, dont you wanna fall in love with me? )
Ahha yeah
Oh baby you and i
(dont you wanna, dont you wanna, dont you wanna fall in love? )
Hey
Why dont you push your precious pride aside?
(dont you wanna, dont you wanna, dont you wanna fall in love with me? )
Hey yeah oh yeah
Dont you wanna
cause you cant let your whole life pass you by
Oooh
Sure that you aint had nothing like, this before
You can be the same if I give, anymore
I dont wanna waste any of your, precious time
But you wont have no choice but to be mine
Baby dont you wanna play it, on the line?
(dont you wanna, dont you wanna, dont you wanna fall in love with me? )
Yeah yeah yeah ooh
Dont you wanna, ooh
(dont you wanna, dont you wanna, dont you wanna fall in love? )
In love
Dont you wanna fall in love?
(dont you wanna, dont you wanna, dont you wanna fall in love with me? )
Hey yeah yeah yeah yeah
cause you cant let your whole life pass you by
Oooh whoo ooooh
(you cant put nothing before your pride)
I said nothing, nothing
(but baby what I give)
Whoo, you can lay your pride aside
Whoo ooooooh
(baby dont you wanna fall in love with me? )
(cause we can take it all night and Ill make you see)
Fall in love with me
(but baby let me know, dont you wanna fall? )
He haha haha
Dont you wanna?
(dont you wanna fall in love with me? )
(cause we can take it all noight and Ill make you see)
Heeey yeah hey
(but baby let me know, dont you wanna fall? )
I wanna fall in love!
(baby dont you wanna fall in love with me? )
(dont you wanna, dont you wanna, dont you wanna fall in love with me? )
(cause we can take it all night and Ill make you see)
[...] Read more
song performed by Anastacia
Added by Lucian Velea
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Robin Hood, A Child.
It was the pleasant season yet,
When the stones at cottage doors
Dry quickly, while the roads are wet,
After the silver showers.
The green leaves they looked greener still,
And the thrush, renewing his tune,
Shook a loud note from his gladsome bill
Into the bright blue noon.
Robin Hood's mother looked out, and said
"It were a shame and a sin
For fear of getting a wet head
To keep such a day within,
Nor welcome up from his sick bed
Your uncle Gamelyn."
And Robin leaped, and thought so too;
And so he has grasped her gown,
And now looking back, they have lost the view
Of merry sweet Locksley town.
Robin was a gentle boy,
And therewithal as bold;
To say he was his mother's joy,
It were a phrase too cold.
His hair upon his thoughtful brow
Came smoothly clipped, and sleek,
But ran into a curl somehow
Beside his merrier cheek.
Great love to him his uncle too
The noble Gamelyn bare,
And often said, as his mother knew,
That he should be his heir.
Gamelyn's eyes, now getting dim,
Would twinkle at his sight,
And his ruddy wrinkles laugh at him
Between his locks so white:
For Robin already let him see
He should beat his playmates all
At wrestling, running, and archery,
Yet he cared not for a fall.
Merriest he was of merry boys,
And would set the old helmets bobbing;
If his uncle asked about the noise,
[...] Read more
poem by James Henry Leigh Hunt
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Rockin Robin
(thomas)
Twiddley dee, twiddley diddley dee
Twiddley dee, twiddley diddley dee
Twiddley dee, twiddley diddley dee
Tweet, tweet, twiddley de
He rocks in the treetops all the day long
Hoppin and a-boppin and a-singing this song
Every little bird, every little bee
Loves to hear the robin go tweet-tweet-tweet
Rockin robin, tweet, twiddley dee
Rockin robin, tweet, twiddley dee
Yeah go rockin robin, really gonna rock tonight
Every little swallow, every chick-a-dee
Every little bird in the old oak tree
Wise old owl, big black crow
Put out their wings singing go bird go
Rockin robin, tweet, twiddley dee
Rockin robin, tweet, twiddley dee
Yeah go rockin robin, really gonna rock tonight
The chief bird standing at the birdbath stand
Taught him how to do the bop and it was grand
Start goin steady and bless my soul,
He out-bopped the buzzard and the oriole
He rocks in the treetops all the day long
Hoppin and a-boppin and a-singing this song
Every little bird, every little bee
Loves to hear the robin go tweet-tweet-tweet
Rockin robin, tweet, twiddley dee
Rockin robin, tweet, twiddley dee
Yeah go rockin robin, really gonna rock tonight
Break
The chief bird standing at the birdbath stand
Taught him how to do the bop and it was grand
Start goin steady and bless my soul,
He out-bopped the buzzard and the oriole
He rocks in the treetops all the day long
Hoppin and a-boppin and a-singing this song
Every little bird, every little bee
Loves to hear the robin go tweet-tweet-tweet
Rockin robin, tweet, twiddley dee
Rockin robin, tweet, twiddley dee
Yeah go rockin robin, really gonna rock tonight
Twiddley dee, twiddley diddley dee
Twiddley dee, twiddley diddley dee
Twiddley dee, twiddley diddley dee
Tweet, tweet, twiddley de
song performed by Hollies
Added by Lucian Velea
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Madge: Ye Hoyden
At Madge, ye hoyden, gossips scofft,
Ffor that a romping wench was shee--
"Now marke this rede," they bade her oft,
"Forsooken sholde your folly bee!"
But Madge, ye hoyden, laught & cried,
"Oho, oho," in girlish glee,
And noe thing mo replied.
II
No griffe she had nor knew no care,
But gayly rompit all daies long,
And, like ye brooke that everywhere
Goes jinking with a gladsome song,
Shee danct and songe from morn till night,--
Her gentil harte did know no wrong,
Nor did she none despight.
III
Sir Tomas from his noblesse halle
Did trend his path a somer's daye,
And to ye hoyden he did call
And these ffull evill words did say:
"O wolde you weare a silken gown
And binde your haire with ribands gay?
Then come with me to town!"
IV
But Madge, ye hoyden, shoke her head,--
"I'le be no lemman unto thee
For all your golde and gownes," shee said,
"ffor Robin hath bespoken mee."
Then ben Sir Tomas sore despight,
And back unto his hall went hee
With face as ashen white.
V
"O Robin, wilt thou wed this girl,
Whenas she is so vaine a sprite?"
So spak ffull many an envious churle
Unto that curteyse countrie wight.
But Robin did not pay no heede;
And they ben wed a somer night
& danct upon ye meade.
VI
[...] Read more
poem by Eugene Field
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Rain
Well I wope up one morning
Seen my baby fly away
Sugar dont go
She said I dont be treatin her
Right by the things I say
Sugar dont go
Dont go, I feel Ill be left alone
And Ill cry
Oh in the rain
Early one morning I packed her bags
She said she gotta leave me now
Ive done her wrong
I said baby Im gonna change
Gonna change for the better
Sugar dont go
You cant be leaving me so alone
And Ill cry in the rain
In the rain
Oh in the rain
In the rain
Sugar go
Now sugar go you leave me alone
As you packed your bags
Youve got your plane on the road
I said oh whyd you leave
Oh whyd you leave
You gotta leave me alone
Im feeling sad
Im feeling sad
You gotta back off
Baby you treat me
Baby you treat me
My life and I could take my time
I lose it
What I have
Is what I have
Is what I give to you
And I feel Im gone
Ive been crying
What you gonna do
Who you gonna see
Where you gonna pack your bags
And where you gonna stay
Say where you gonna go
Who you gonna ho
Where you gonna lay your hat today
I said what you gotta change what you gonna do
Where you gonna lay your mines down
What you gonna do
What you gonna take
[...] Read more
song performed by Candlebox
Added by Lucian Velea
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Robin Hood
Now here’s the tale of a Derbyshire boy by the name of Robin Dean
who was born near to Buxton where the hills are so green.
His parents struggled to find enough food to feed their family,
so Robin and his brothers stole food regularly.
The gaunt looking Robin was caught stealing at the age of ten
and was sentenced to a life of servitude in the Hall at Elvasten.
He scrubbed floors, washed pots and pans, and cleaned cutlery,
but he dreamed of becoming the Earl’s Master of Archery.
At the age of twelve years he had to learn the ways of the land
and the gamekeeper made sure he was a reliable hand.
Before long he became a maker of longbows and arrows
he then as an archer won prizes at county shows.
King Richard asked his noblemen for men to fight the crusades,
he wanted the best archers and those who could swing blades.
Robin Dean was equipped and sent to fight the Lion Heart’s cause
he became honoured in battle, and won the King’s applause.
Time and time again he produced his archery long-range skills
and was knighted Sir Robin Dean of the Derbyshire Hills.
The King gave him land on the Derbyshire and Nottingham border
to provide a suitable income for a knight of the highest order.
After seven hard years of fighting, the crusades were not going well
King Richard had been captured and imprisoned in a cell.
He was put up for ransom and the cost was highest ever asked,
so the soldiers returned to England to raise gold by the cask.
A storm in the English Channel forced the ship Robin Dean was on
to sail up the coast and dock in the port of Lincoln’s Boston.
He travelled across the county to the land which belonged to him,
but in Nottingham he entered and gained an Archery Tournament win.
This caused eyebrows to be raised throughout the tournament day,
the Nobles didn’t like a stranger taking their prize money away.
Sir Robin Dean the archer, became well known from there on
and he was offered a place to stay at the Castle in Donington.
At supper the Baron asked many questions about the life of his guest,
but Robin said little, which left the Baron to guess.
They eventually said goodnight and went to their bedrooms to retire
and before the sun rose, Robin had left for his estate in Derbyshire.
Sir Robin’s estate bordered into a part of the huge Sherwood Forest
where he was held by robbers demanding the purse from his vest.
Though outnumbered he drew his sword and put up a courageous fight,
but they over powered him, and took him to their forest camp site.
[...] Read more
poem by Orlando Belo
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Robin and Makyne
ROBIN sat on gude green hill,
Kepand a flock of fe:
Mirry Makyne said him till
'Robin, thou rew on me:
I haif thee luvit, loud and still,
Thir yeiris twa or thre;
My dule in dern bot gif thou dill,
Doutless but dreid I de.'
Robin answerit 'By the Rude
Na thing of luve I knaw,
But keipis my scheip undir yon wud:
Lo, quhair they raik on raw.
Quhat has marrit thee in thy mude,
Makyne, to me thou shaw;
Or quhat is luve, or to be lude?
Fain wad I leir that law.'
'At luvis lair gif thou will leir
Tak thair ane A B C;
Be heynd, courtass, and fair of feir,
Wyse, hardy, and free:
So that no danger do thee deir
Quhat dule in dern thou dre;
Preiss thee with pain at all poweir
Be patient and previe.'
Robin answerit hir agane,
'I wat nocht quhat is lufe;
But I haif mervel in certaine
Quhat makis thee this wanrufe:
The weddir is fair, and I am fain;
My scheip gois haill aboif;
And we wald prey us in this plane,
They wald us baith reproif.'
'Robin, tak tent unto my tale,
And wirk all as I reid,
And thou sall haif my heart all haill,
Eik and my maiden-heid:
Sen God sendis bute for baill,
And for murnyng remeid,
In dern with thee bot gif I daill
Dowtles I am bot deid.'
'Makyne, to-morn this ilka tyde
And ye will meit me heir,
Peraventure my scheip may gang besyde,
Quhyle we haif liggit full neir;
But mawgre haif I, and I byde,
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Henryson
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Luggage Canada
b ean bag stoer
bed liner motorcycle bags
bern aby bag
bed in a bag ty pennington
beetle bags roadstar midnight star
bean bag chairs burbank
bedroom in a bag justine
bean bag guns for purchase
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bed in a bag pink paisley
belt bag tool belt
biasia byoux bags
beer corn hole bags
beg borrow steal bags
bennington golf travel bag
bible verse shoulder hand bags
bean bag stuffing material
bean bag plastic pellets
beijo business bags pastel blue
belkin messenger bag
b ean bag simba
bean bag toss game specifications
bean bag chairs reno nv
bean bag herb alpert
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bella hand bags
bean bag chair video
bean bag door stops
beretta nra approved gun bag
ben hogan kapalua golf bag
bes pak freezer bags
bean bag furniture paypal
bean bags chair ladybug
bean bag tossing game
betty boop gift bags
bean bag tic tac toe
bettz designs knitting tote bags
bean bag toss rules
beth any bag
bean bag chair indigo denim print
bean bag pillows microfiber
be an foam bag
bible buy loaf bag
bebe handbag bag
beverage delivery bags
betty boop harley bag
bichon frise gift bags
ben hogan golf mystique stand bag
bicyce crossbar bag
bean bag shells shotgun
[...] Read more
poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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The Witch's frolic
[Scene, the 'Snuggery' at Tappington.-- Grandpapa in a high-backed cane-bottomed elbow-chair of carved walnut-tree, dozing; his nose at an angle of forty-five degrees,--his thumbs slowly perform the rotatory motion described by lexicographers as 'twiddling.'--The 'Hope of the family' astride on a walking-stick, with burnt-cork mustachios, and a pheasant's tail pinned in his cap, solaceth himself with martial music.-- Roused by a strain of surpassing dissonance, Grandpapa Loquitur. ]
Come hither, come hither, my little boy Ned!
Come hither unto my knee--
I cannot away with that horrible din,
That sixpenny drum, and that trumpet of tin.
Oh, better to wander frank and free
Through the Fair of good Saint Bartlemy,
Than list to such awful minstrelsie.
Now lay, little Ned, those nuisances by,
And I'll rede ye a lay of Grammarye.
[Grandpapa riseth, yawneth like the crater of an extinct volcano, proceedeth slowly to the window, and apostrophizeth the Abbey in the distance.]
I love thy tower, Grey Ruin,
I joy thy form to see,
Though reft of all,
Cell, cloister, and hall,
Nothing is left save a tottering wall,
That, awfully grand and darkly dull,
Threaten'd to fall and demolish my skull,
As, ages ago, I wander'd along
Careless thy grass-grown courts among,
In sky-blue jacket and trowsers laced,
The latter uncommonly short in the waist.
Thou art dearer to me, thou Ruin grey,
Than the Squire's verandah over the way;
And fairer, I ween,
The ivy sheen
That thy mouldering turret binds,
Than the Alderman's house about half a mile off,
With the green Venetian blinds.
Full many a tale would my Grandam tell,
In many a bygone day,
Of darksome deeds, which of old befell
In thee, thou Ruin grey!
And I the readiest ear would lend,
And stare like frighten'd pig;
While my Grandfather's hair would have stood up an end,
Had he not worn a wig.
One tale I remember of mickle dread--
Now lithe and listen, my little boy Ned!
Thou mayest have read, my little boy Ned,
Though thy mother thine idlesse blames,
In Doctor Goldsmith's history book,
Of a gentleman called King James,
In quilted doublet, and great trunk breeches,
[...] Read more
poem by Richard Harris Barham
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Robin Suicide
A robin committed suicide today
dead against my living room window pane;
flying fast in chilly mid-November;
perhaps heading south.
The sound; wings blurred; a thump!
he went straight to ground.
He should have missed the house,
it's large, the window is below the roof,
he was not flying blind
or forgot to look.
Like a jet with no flaps down,
he hit the window full-throttle;
smashing pain.
I got up took a look
expecting him to fly or stir
but he didn't move below; lay quiet.
I went down to see.
Robin, older, neck awry
didn't stir, didn't move.
no silent cry.
Neck broken.
Instant Death.
Instant Oblivion,
I looked for mourners.
There were none.
This Robin was solo in Death as we all are;
on his own.
It didn't seem fitting
to conduct a garbage-can burial,
I said a few words, cursed,
and decided to bury him in dirt.
Picked him up by his tail plumage
took him to the back yard;
dug a shallow grave, mumbled something;
lay him down in there;
patted the top of his dirt pyre
my good deed done.
[...] Read more
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Handles Bermuda
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[...] Read more
poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Robin Redbreast
Good-bye, good-bye to Summer!
For Summer's nearly done;
The garden smiling faintly,
Cool breezes in the sun;
Our Thrushes now are silent,
Our Swallows flown away, --
But Robin's here, in coat of brown,
With ruddy breast-knot gay.
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
Robin singing sweetly
In the falling of the year.
Bright yellow, red, and orange,
The leaves come down in hosts;
The trees are Indian Princes,
But soon they'll turn to Ghosts;
The scanty pears and apples
Hang russet on the bough,
It's Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late,
'Twill soon be Winter now.
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
And welaway! my Robin,
For pinching times are near.
The fireside for the Cricket,
The wheatstack for the Mouse,
When trembling night-winds whistle
And moan all round the house;
The frosty ways like iron,
The branches plumed with snow, --
Alas! in Winter, dead and dark,
Where can poor Robin go?
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
And a crumb of bread for Robin,
His little heart to cheer.
poem by William Allingham
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Were Not Gonna Take It
Tommy: welcome to the camp,
Tommy: welcome to the camp,
I guess you all know why were here.
I guess you all know why were here.
My name is tommy
My name is tommy
And I became aware this year
And I became aware this year
If you want to follow me,
If you want to follow me,
Youve got to play pinball.
Youve got to play pinball.
And put in your earplugs
And put in your earplugs
Put on your eyeshades
Put on your eyeshades
You know where to put the caulk
You know where to put the caulk
Hey you getting drunk, so sorry!
Hey you getting drunk, so sorry!
Ive got you sussed.
Ive got you sussed.
Hey you smoking mother nature!
Hey you smoking mother nature!
This is a bust!
This is a bust!
Hey hung up old mr. normal,
Hey hung up old mr. normal,
Dont try to gain my trust!
Dont try to gain my trust!
cause you aint gonna follow me any of those ways
cause you aint gonna follow me any of those ways
Although you think you must
Although you think you must
Guests:
Guests:
Were not gonna take it
Were not gonna take it
Were not gonna take it
Were not gonna take it
Were not gonna take it
Were not gonna take it
Were not gonna take it
Were not gonna take it
Were not gonna take it
Were not gonna take it
Never did and never will
Never did and never will
Were not gonna take it
Were not gonna take it
[...] Read more
song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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Soccer–Passion Song
Soccer–Passion Song
Soccer in the evening;
Soccer in the morning;
Soccer in spring and fall.
Soccer in the raining;
Soccer in the snowing;
Soccer in winter and summer.
Soccer in between my feet,
where I walk;
Soccer in my heart and mind,
how I live;
Soccer my love and life.
Soccer I wake up and play;
Soccer I hold it to sleep;
Soccer my work and rest.
Soccer I sing a new song;
Soccer I dance the magic steps;
Soccer my tears and joy.
Soccer my Mom buys it for me to play;
Soccer my Dad brings me to the game;
Soccer my dear Love watches me to score.
Soccer I dribble and shoot;
Soccer I pass and fall;
Soccer my glory and downfall.
Soccer I strike to attack;
Soccer I tackle to defend;
Soccer my struggle and survival.
Soccer I receive the flags and the whistles;
Soccer I get the yellow and red card;
Soccer my moves and stop.
Soccer I meet my friends;
Soccer I make my enemies;
Soccer my conflict and peace.
Soccer I play and watch;
Soccer I watch but cannot play;
Soccer my dream and reality.
Soccer I learn the rights;
Soccer I confess the fouls;
[...] Read more
poem by Laijon Liu
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