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Buried Treasure

Now if the aim in your life is to settle me down
I couldnt change my point of view
I got a lady in red at the back of my head
But the women in white is you
Do you wanna be the only one
Fade away in the morning sun
I could love you all of my life
You are my wife
Havent I let you know
We dont need no buried treasure
No buried treasure - we dont need it
We dont stand on ceremony
I love you only - Im proud of it
You can never be all you wanna be
When youre living for gold
We dont need no buried treasure
I still got you
I still go you in my soul
Well its a long way down and you gotta get up
You got to figure on a master plan

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song performed by Bee Gees
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sleeper

Sleep that half dead,
sleep the body not the head.

Sleep that bad said,
Poor owns that bed,
Dreams are found on that herd.

Sleep while awake,
Sleep that dead not closed eye fake.

Sleep that weak,
Tommorow u gona take.
Eat that sleep and enjoy its steak.

Sleep still stands,
None to overtake.
Sleep that height dare for cake.

Sleep that stress and have the bless,
Sleep to confess as she do to embrance,

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poem by Abdallah Mpogole
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A Christmas Lullabay

A Christmas Lullaby
Sleep, baby, sleep! The Mother
sings:
Heaven's angels kneel and fold
their wings.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
With swathes of scented hay Thy
bed
By Mary's hand at eve was
spread.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
At midnight came the shepherds,
they
Whom seraphs wakened by the
way.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
And three kings from the East
afar,
Ere dawn came, guided by the
star.

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poem by Akingbehin Daniel Murphy
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A Goodnight

Go to sleep--though of course you will not--
to tideless waves thundering slantwise against
strong embankments, rattle and swish of spray
dashed thirty feet high, caught by the lake wind,
scattered and strewn broadcast in over the steady
car rails! Sleep, sleep! Gulls' cries in a wind-gust
broken by the wind; calculating wings set above
the field of waves breaking.
Go to sleep to the lunge between foam-crests,
refuse churned in the recoil. Food! Food!
Offal! Offal! that holds them in the air, wave-white
for the one purpose, feather upon feather, the wild
chill in their eyes, the hoarseness in their voices--
sleep, sleep . . .

Gentlefooted crowds are treading out your lullaby.
Their arms nudge, they brush shoulders,
hitch this way then that, mass and surge at the crossings--
lullaby, lullaby! The wild-fowl police whistles,
the enraged roar of the traffic, machine shrieks:

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poem by William Carlos Williams
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Rock Myself To Sleep

Written by k.rew and v. de la cruz
Everynight I rock myself to sleep
Everynight I rock myself to sleep
Everynight I rock myself to sleep
Thinkin about you
Thinkin about you
Now I wanna say
Its not the same since you went away
And its not right
Youre not here with me tonite
And its a crime
Just a lying here wasting my precious time
Im so lonely and Im so blue
Thinkin bout the things I could do to you
Everynight I rock myself to sleep
Everynight I rock myself to sleep
Everynight I rock myself to sleep
Thinkin about you
Thinkin about you
And I wanna know

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song performed by April Wine
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Rosalind and Helen: a Modern Eclogue

ROSALIND, HELEN, and her Child.

SCENE. The Shore of the Lake of Como.

HELEN
Come hither, my sweet Rosalind.
'T is long since thou and I have met;
And yet methinks it were unkind
Those moments to forget.
Come, sit by me. I see thee stand
By this lone lake, in this far land,
Thy loose hair in the light wind flying,
Thy sweet voice to each tone of even
United, and thine eyes replying
To the hues of yon fair heaven.
Come, gentle friend! wilt sit by me?
And be as thou wert wont to be
Ere we were disunited?
None doth behold us now; the power
That led us forth at this lone hour

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poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Buried Treasure

Now if the aim in your life is to settle me down I couldn't change my point of view
I got a lady in red at the back of my head but the woman in white is you
Do you wanna be the only one, fade away in the mornin' sun
I could love you all of my life, you are my wife, haven't I let you know-ow
We don't need no buried treasure, no buried treasure, we don't need it
We don't stand on ceremony but life is phony in spite of it
You can never be all you wanna be when you're searchin' for gold
We don't need no buried treasure, I've still got you (still got you, still got you)
I've still got you in my sou-ou-oul
Well it's a long way down and you gotta get up, you gotta figure on a master plan
You couldn't do it, if you don't get ready, you'll be beaten by the other man
Do you wanna be the last one in, play the game that you just don't win
I can see me makin' you cry, sayin' goodbye, but I could never let you go-o
We don't need no buried treasure, no buried treasure, we don't need it
We don't stand on ceremony but life is phony in spite of it
You can never be all you wanna be when you're searchin' for gold
We don't need no buried treasure, I've still got you (still got you, still got you)
I've still got you in my sou-ou-oul
Well you're takin' my life in the palm of your hand, make you mine for another day
Ain't nobody doesn't need anybody when the good times turn away

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song performed by Kenny Rogers
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Castle Of Indolence

The castle hight of Indolence,
And its false luxury;
Where for a little time, alas!
We lived right jollily.

O mortal man, who livest here by toil,
Do not complain of this thy hard estate;
That like an emmet thou must ever moil,
Is a sad sentence of an ancient date:
And, certes, there is for it reason great;
For, though sometimes it makes thee weep and wail,
And curse thy star, and early drudge and late;
Withouten that would come a heavier bale,
Loose life, unruly passions, and diseases pale.
In lowly dale, fast by a river's side,
With woody hill o'er hill encompass'd round,
A most enchanting wizard did abide,
Than whom a fiend more fell is no where found.
It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground;
And there a season atween June and May,

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poem by James Thomson
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Grondad's Lullaby

Sleep bonny babby, thi grondad is near,
Noa harm can touch thee, sleep withaat fear;
Innocent craytur, soa helpless an waik,
Grondad wod give up his life for thy sake,
Sleep little beauty,
Angels thee keep,
Grondad is watchin,
Sleep, beauty, sleep.

Through the thick mist of past years aw luk back,
Vainly aw try to discover the track
Buried, alas! for no trace can aw see,
Ov the way aw once trod when as sinless as thee,
Sleep little beauty,
Angels thee keep,
Grondad is watchin,
Sleep, beauty, sleep.

Smilin in slumber,--dreamin ov bliss,
Feelin in fancy a fond mother's kiss;

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poem by John Hartley
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Quatrains Of Life

What has my youth been that I love it thus,
Sad youth, to all but one grown tedious,
Stale as the news which last week wearied us,
Or a tired actor's tale told to an empty house?

What did it bring me that I loved it, even
With joy before it and that dream of Heaven,
Boyhood's first rapture of requited bliss,
What did it give? What ever has it given?

'Let me recount the value of my days,
Call up each witness, mete out blame and praise,
Set life itself before me as it was,
And--for I love it--list to what it says.

Oh, I will judge it fairly. Each old pleasure
Shared with dead lips shall stand a separate treasure.
Each untold grief, which now seems lesser pain,
Shall here be weighed and argued of at leisure.

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poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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