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Motion & Heart

Everything is as it should be
From motion and heart to the scenery
From make do and mend to the new paris trend
You said that you learnt but it happens again
Whats a heart that refuses to be
Fortunes gained lost on the street
I couldnt believe this would happen again
The things you said and I called you my friend
Each time we tried we failed as before
>from laissez faire to the knock on the door
But everything is as it should be
When you give your heart to me
From mo mo mo mo motion and heart
To heart heart heart heart heart and move
From mo mo mo mo motion and heart
To heart heart heart heart heart and move

song performed by Omd
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Call It Evil (demo)

I've been around watching little late shows
Drink a lot of beer
Like playing cards with my friends
Call it evil
Call it pain
It goes knock, knock, knock-knock-knock-knock, on my door
It goes knock, knock, knock-knock-knock-knock, on my door
That rock and rock, yeah, call it evil
That rock and rock, yeah, call it evil
Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, on my door, Yeah!
Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, on my door
Going to get as my babe.
It goes knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, on my door
Playing sopwith in the back of my head
What you trying to be crazy?
People look at me, they look at me, but you're dead
Call it evil
Call it pain
It goes knock, knock, knock-knock-knock-knock, on my door
It goes knock, knock, knock-knock-knock-knock, come on
Knock-knock-knock-knock, one more
Knock-knock-knock-knock
That rock and rock, yeah, call it evil
That rock and rock, yeah, call it evil
Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, on my door
Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, on my door
Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, on my door
Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, on my door

song performed by Alice Cooper
Added by Lucian Velea
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Knockin On Heavens Door

Mama take this badge off of me
I cant wear it anymore
Its getting too dark, too dark to see
And I feel like im
Feel Im knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
I feel like, I feel like im
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
I said i, I feel im
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Mama mama mama
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Oh
Take these guns and put em to the ground
I cant, I cant, I cant
I just cant shoot them anymore
Theres a long black cloud
Theres a long black cloud
You know its a, its a comin down
I feel i, I feel i, I feel im
I feel Im knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Now I said mama mama
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Oh now
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Oh
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Wipe this blood from my face
I cant see through the walls
Six white horses coming to carry me away
I feel Im knockin on heavens door
Im
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Gonna take me, gonna take me, gonna take me now
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Wipe this, wipe this, wipe this, wipe this
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Oh mama im
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Mama take these chains off of me
Cause I dont, I dont want them anymore
Theyre getting too damn heavy
And Im crawling across the floor
I feel like, I feel like Im knockin on heavens door
Oh mama
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Ah mama mama mama
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Gonna take me, gonna take me, gonna take me

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song performed by Indigo Girls
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Knockin On Heavens Door

Mama take this badge off of me
I cant use it any more
Its gettin dark, too dark to see
I feel like Im knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Mama, wipe the blood from my face
Im sick and tired of the war
[...]
I feel like Im knockin on heaves door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door
Knock, knock, knockin on heavens door

song performed by George Harrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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Would you ever believe

WOULD YOU EVER believe if I called a nondescript table of teakwood; as a vivacious bird soaring high in the sky,

Would you ever believe if I called a ruffled sheet of paper; as a chunk of glittering gold,

Would you ever believe if I called a grandiloquent watch embodied with diamonds; as a lump of bedraggled stone,

Would you ever believe if I called a mountain of compacted mud; as a switchboard of pugnacious electricity,

Would you ever believe if I called a resplendent rainbow in the sky; as a broomstick with incongruous bristles,

Would you ever believe if I called a rusty canister of dilapidated iron; as a mesmerizing rose growing in the garden,

Would you ever believe if I called a pink tablet of luxury soap; as a mosquito hovering acrimoniously in the cloistered room,

Would you ever believe if I called a boat rollicking merrily on the undulating waves; as a rustic jungle spider,

Would you ever believe if I called a valley profusely embedded with snow; as an unscrupulous dog on the street,

Would you ever believe if I called a pair of luscious lips; as a disdainfully fetid shoe,

Would you ever believe if I called a fluorescent rod of light; as a jagged bush of cactus growing in the sweltering desert,

Would you ever believe if I called the blazing sun; as a pudgy bar of delectable chocolate,
Would you ever believe if I called an angular sculptured bone; as acid bubbling in a swanky bottle,

Would you ever believe if I called a scintillating oyster; as an inarticulate matchstick coated with lead,

Would you ever believe if I called a cluster of bells jingling from the ceiling; as a sordid cockroach philandering beside the lavatory seat,

Would you ever believe if I called a fruit of succulent coconut; as a dead mans morbid tooth,

Would you ever believe If I called a steaming cup of filter coffee; as gaudily colored water emanating from the street fountains,

Would you ever believe if I called the majestic statue of a revered historian; as a slab of tangy peanut butter,

Would you ever believe if I called a vibrant shirt; as a protuberant pigeon discerningly pecking its beak at grains scattered on the floor,

Would you ever believe if I called a flocculent bud of cotton; as a camouflaged lizard transgressing through wild projections of grass,

Would you ever believe if I called a photograph depicting the steep gorges; as a gutter inundated with obnoxious sewage,

Would you ever believe if I called a lanky giraffe; as a convict nefariously lurking through solitary streets of the city,

Would you ever believe if I called a pair of flamboyant sunglasses; as a weird tattoo to be adhered to the chest,

Would you ever believe if I called a chicken’s egg; as logs of sooty charcoal abundantly stashed in the colossal warehouse,

Would you ever believe if I called a biscuit replete with golden honey; as a ominously slithering reptile in the jungles,

Would you ever believe if I called a bald man possessing a profoundly tonsured scalp; as a gas balloon floating in insipid air,

[...] Read more

poem by Nikhil Parekh
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The Faerie Queene, Book III, Canto VI

THE THIRD BOOKE OF THE FAERIE QUEENE
Contayning
THE LEGENDE OF BRITOMARTIS
OR OF CHASTITIECANTO VI
The birth of faire Belphoebe and
Of Amoret is told.
The Gardins of Adonis fraught
With pleasures manifold.

i
Well may I weene, faire Ladies, all this while
Ye wonder, how this noble Damozell
So great perfections did in her compile,
Sith that in salvage forests she did dwell,
So farre from court and royall Citadell,
The great schoolmistresse of all curtesy:
Seemeth that such wild woods should far expell
All civill usage and gentility,
And gentle sprite deforme with rude rusticity.

ii

But to this faire Belphoebe in her berth
The heavens so favourable were and free,
Looking with myld aspect upon the earth,
In th'Horoscope of her nativitee,
That all the gifts of grace and chastitee
On her they poured forth of plenteous horne;
Jove laught on Venus from his soveraigne see,
And Phoebus with faire beames did her adorne,
And all the Graces rockt her cradle being borne.

iii

Her berth was of the wombe of Morning dew,
And her conception of the joyous Prime,
And all her whole creation did her shew
Pure and unspotted from all loathly crime,
That is ingenerate in fleshly slime.
So was this virgin borne, so was she bred,
So was she trayned up from time to time,
In all chast vertue, and true bounti-hed
Till to her dew perfection she was ripened.

iv

Her mother was the faire Chrysogonee,
The daughter of Amphisa, who by race
A Faerie was, yborne of high degree,

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poem by Edmund Spenser
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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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III. The Other Half-Rome

Another day that finds her living yet,
Little Pompilia, with the patient brow
And lamentable smile on those poor lips,
And, under the white hospital-array,
A flower-like body, to frighten at a bruise
You'd think, yet now, stabbed through and through again,
Alive i' the ruins. 'T is a miracle.
It seems that, when her husband struck her first,
She prayed Madonna just that she might live
So long as to confess and be absolved;
And whether it was that, all her sad life long
Never before successful in a prayer,
This prayer rose with authority too dread,—
Or whether, because earth was hell to her,
By compensation, when the blackness broke
She got one glimpse of quiet and the cool blue,
To show her for a moment such things were,—
Or else,—as the Augustinian Brother thinks,
The friar who took confession from her lip,—
When a probationary soul that moved
From nobleness to nobleness, as she,
Over the rough way of the world, succumbs,
Bloodies its last thorn with unflinching foot,
The angels love to do their work betimes,
Staunch some wounds here nor leave so much for God.
Who knows? However it be, confessed, absolved,
She lies, with overplus of life beside
To speak and right herself from first to last,
Right the friend also, lamb-pure, lion-brave,
Care for the boy's concerns, to save the son
From the sire, her two-weeks' infant orphaned thus,
And—with best smile of all reserved for him—
Pardon that sire and husband from the heart.
A miracle, so tell your Molinists!

There she lies in the long white lazar-house.
Rome has besieged, these two days, never doubt,
Saint Anna's where she waits her death, to hear
Though but the chink o' the bell, turn o' the hinge
When the reluctant wicket opes at last,
Lets in, on now this and now that pretence,
Too many by half,—complain the men of art,—
For a patient in such plight. The lawyers first
Paid the due visit—justice must be done;
They took her witness, why the murder was.
Then the priests followed properly,—a soul
To shrive; 't was Brother Celestine's own right,
The same who noises thus her gifts abroad.
But many more, who found they were old friends,
Pushed in to have their stare and take their talk

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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VII. Pompilia

I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.

All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.

Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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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:

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poem by Robert Browning (1871)
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Give The Po Man A Break

Give po man a break
Give po man a break
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a

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song performed by Fatboy Slim
Added by Lucian Velea
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Une Nuit A Paris

Part one: one night in paris
Bonjour monsieur
Paris really welcomes you
Its the best room in the house
Its forty francs a night, alright.
Its crazy, it isnt worth a centime
Ill take it!
Merci monsieur
Rouged lips in the gaslight
A great view of the hall
Thats the way the croissant crumbles after all
Paris is only one step away
Les girls are out on bail
Tres bien theres love for sale
Oh my cheri, wish you were mine
And Ill show you a wonderful time
For the price of a cheap champagne
Ill show it you once again
One night in paris
Is like a year in any other place
One night in paris
Will wipe the smile off your pretty face
One girl in paris
Is like loving every woman
One night in paris
One night in paris
One night in paris
May be your last!!!
Part two: the same night in paris
Is he gonna buy?
You wanna little culture?
Is he gonna pay?
Maybe monsieur is into photographs, non?
Or is he gonna fall in love
The all american way?
I got a watch wiz a beautiful swiss movement
Is he gonna buy?
Forget the watch, Ill show you a good time!'
Is he gonna pay?
Le connoisseur, want something different?
Or is he gonna fall in love
The all american way?
Oh you know you aint no casanova
You cant even do the bossa nova
Or the tango or the samba!
Though you are so very charming
No you aint no casanova
Is he gonna buy?
Is he gonna pay?
Or is he gonna fall in love

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song performed by 10 Cc
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It Can Happen

You can fool yourself
You can cheat until youre blind
You can cut your heart
It can happen
You can mend the wires
You can feed the soul apart
You reach
It can happen to you
It can happen to me
It can happen to everyone eventually
Its a constant fight
A constant fight
Youre pushing the needle to the red
Black and white
Who knows whos right
No substitute youre born youre dead
Fly by night
Created out of fantasy
Our destinations call
Look up - look down
Look out - look around
Look up - look down
Theres a crazy world outside
Were not about to lose our pride
It can happen to you
It can happen to me
It can happen to everyone eventually
As you happen to say
It can happen today
As it happens
It happens in every way
This world I like
We architects of life
A song a sigh
Developing words that linger
Through fields of green through open eyes
This for us to see
Look up - look down
Look out - look around
So look up - look down
Theres a crazy world outside
Were not about to lose our pride
It can happen to you
It can happen to me
It can happen to everyone eventually
As you happen to say
It can happen today
As it happens
It happens in every way
As you happen to see

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song performed by Yes
Added by Lucian Velea
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It Can Happen

You can fool yourself
You can cheat until youre blind
You can cut your heart
It can happen
You can mend the wires
You can feed the soul apart
You reach
It can happen to you
It can happen to me
It can happen to everyone eventually
Its a constant fight
A constant fight
Youre pushing the needle to the red
Black and white
Who knows whos right
No substitute youre born youre dead
Fly by night
Created out of fantasy
Our destinations call
Look up - look down
Look out - look around
Look up - look down
Theres a crazy world outside
Were not about to lose our pride
It can happen to you
It can happen to me
It can happen to everyone eventually
As you happen to say
It can happen today
As it happens
It happens in every way
This world I like
We architects of life
A song a sigh
Developing words that linger
Through fields of green through open eyes
This for us to see
Look up - look down
Look out - look around
So look up - look down
Theres a crazy world outside
Were not about to lose our pride
It can happen to you
It can happen to me
It can happen to everyone eventually
As you happen to say
It can happen today
As it happens
It happens in every way
As you happen to see

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song performed by Yes
Added by Lucian Velea
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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,

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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V. Count Guido Franceschini

Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Knockin On Heavens Door

I remember playin my guitar in the projects
Playin in the pjs
A product of the environment
Pour some liquor for those who passed away
I told my mom ima get up out of da hood
Mama
My dad taught me the american dream, baby
You can be anything that you wanna be
If I did it yall could do it
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Mama, take these guns away from here
Mama, I cant shoot them anymore
Cease fire
I feel a dark cloud coming over
So poor, so dark
It feels like Im knockin on the heavens door
To biggie smalls and tupac
Knock, knock, knockin on the heavens door
Hip hop
To freaky ty and big heavy
Lost boy
Knock, knock, knockin on the heavens door
Yeah
And to the princess aaliyah
Were knock, knock, knockin on the heavens door
To my brother big pun
Terror squad
Were knock, knock, knockin on the heavens door
Oh lord, oh lord
Would someone take these guns away from here
Take these guns from the street, lord
I cant shoot my brothers anymore
I seen a thug cry
I feel a dark cloud coming over me
Over me
It feels like
It feels like Im knockin on the heavens door
So sing along street children
Were knock, knock, knockin on the heavens door
And to my daddy that passed away
Rest in peace
Knock, knock, knockin on the heavens door
To the god, fred jordan, were
And put the fugees on
Knock, knock, knockin on the heavens door
To my people doin time
Were
Locked up
Knock, knock, knockin on the heavens door
Crypts and bloods, latin peace

[...] Read more

song performed by Wyclef Jean
Added by Lucian Velea
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Knockin On Heavens Door

I remember playin my guitar in the projects
Playin in the pjs
A product of the environment
Pour some liquor for those who passed away
I told my mom ima get up out of da hood
Mama
My dad taught me the american dream, baby
You can be anything that you wanna be
If I did it yall could do it
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Mama, take these guns away from here
Mama, I cant shoot them anymore
Cease fire
I feel a dark cloud coming over
So poor, so dark
It feels like Im knockin on the heavens door
To biggie smalls and tupac
Knock, knock, knockin on the heavens door
Hip hop
To freaky ty and big heavy
Lost boy
Knock, knock, knockin on the heavens door
Yeah
And to the princess aaliyah
Were knock, knock, knockin on the heavens door
To my brother big pun
Terror squad
Were knock, knock, knockin on the heavens door
Oh lord, oh lord
Would someone take these guns away from here
Take these guns from the street, lord
I cant shoot my brothers anymore
I seen a thug cry
I feel a dark cloud coming over me
Over me
It feels like
It feels like Im knockin on the heavens door
So sing along street children
Were knock, knock, knockin on the heavens door
And to my daddy that passed away
Rest in peace
Knock, knock, knockin on the heavens door
To the god, fred jordan, were
And put the fugees on
Knock, knock, knockin on the heavens door
To my people doin time
Were
Locked up
Knock, knock, knockin on the heavens door
Crypts and bloods, latin peace

[...] Read more

song performed by Wyclef Jean
Added by Lucian Velea
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Knock On Wood

I dont want to lose the good thing that Ive got
If I do, I will surely, I will lose a lot
For your love is better than any love other Ive know
Its like thunder, lightning
The way you love me is frightening
I better knock on wood
Baby
I got superstitious about you, but I cant take change
You got me spinning, baby, spinning in a trance
But your love is better than any other love Ive known
Its like thunder, lightning
The way you love me is frightening
You better knock on wood
Its no secret, but that woman fills my lovin cup
She sees, so ready, that I get enough
And her love is better than any other love Ive known
Its like thunder
Its like lightning
The way you love me is frightening
I better knock on wood
Baby
Better, yes, better
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) yes, I better
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) oh, knock on wood
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) you know I would, would
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) its no secret
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) no, oh, better
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) hangin above me
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) I cant leave her
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) oh no, baby
Knock on wood, woo!

song performed by David Bowie
Added by Lucian Velea
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Knock It Down

Knock it down,
All the hurting.
Knock it down,
All the pain.
Knock it down,
From your vision.
Knock it off your name!

Knock it down,
All the hurting.
Knock it down,
All the pain.
Knock it down,
From your vision.
And knock it off your name.

Take that load,
Off those shoulders you hold.
And knock it down to the ground.
Don't try to reload.

Take those burdens,
And snatch them off your back.
And knock them down to the ground...
With a skit to see them scat.

Take that load,
Off those shoulders you hold.
And knock it down to the ground.
Don't try to reload.

Knock it down,
All the hurting.
Knock it down,
All the pain.
Knock it down,
From your vision.
Knock it off your name!

Take that load,
Off those shoulders you hold.
Knock it down,
All the hurting.
Knock it down,
All the pain.

Take those burdens,
And snatch them off your back.
Knock them down,
Out of vision.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Eighth Book

ONE eve it happened when I sate alone,
Alone upon the terrace of my tower,
A book upon my knees, to counterfeit
The reading that I never read at all,
While Marian, in the garden down below,
Knelt by the fountain (I could just hear thrill
The drowsy silence of the exhausted day)
And peeled a new fig from that purple heap
In the grass beside her,–turning out the red
To feed her eager child, who sucked at it
With vehement lips across a gap of air
As he stood opposite, face and curls a-flame
With that last sun-ray, crying, 'give me, give,'
And stamping with imperious baby-feet,
(We're all born princes)–something startled me,–
The laugh of sad and innocent souls, that breaks
Abruptly, as if frightened at itself;
'Twas Marian laughed. I saw her glance above
In sudden shame that I should hear her laugh,
And straightway dropped my eyes upon my book,
And knew, the first time, 'twas Boccaccio's tales,
The Falcon's,–of the lover who for love
Destroyed the best that loved him. Some of us
Do it still, and then we sit and laugh no more.
Laugh you, sweet Marian! you've the right to laugh,
Since God himself is for you, and a child!
For me there's somewhat less,–and so, I sigh.

The heavens were making room to hold the night,
The sevenfold heavens unfolding all their gates
To let the stars out slowly (prophesied
In close-approaching advent, not discerned),
While still the cue-owls from the cypresses
Of the Poggio called and counted every pulse
Of the skyey palpitation. Gradually
The purple and transparent shadows slow
Had filled up the whole valley to the brim,
And flooded all the city, which you saw
As some drowned city in some enchanted sea,
Cut off from nature,–drawing you who gaze,
With passionate desire, to leap and plunge,
And find a sea-king with a voice of waves,
And treacherous soft eyes, and slippery locks
You cannot kiss but you shall bring away
Their salt upon your lips. The duomo-bell
Strikes ten, as if it struck ten fathoms down,
So deep; and fifty churches answer it
The same, with fifty various instances.
Some gaslights tremble along squares and streets
The Pitti's palace-front is drawn in fire:

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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