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Veils & Visions

I crash so hard
Fall so low
Just when things look right
That's when you know that I'm alone
I take the chance
To lose it all
Take a look around me
And you'll see where I have stalled
This is the last time that I'm sayin'
And here's the end
Of the night
Of the line
Won't somebody save me?
Here's the time
Time for more
Time for everything and anything
It's alright
It's alright
And we go on and on and on and on again
The rooms on fire

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song performed by Zebrahead
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Avowyng of Arthur

He that made us on the mulde,
And fair fourmet the folde,
Atte His will, as He wold,
The see and the sande,
Giffe hom joy that will here
Of dughti men and of dere,
Of haldurs that before us were,
That lifd in this londe.
One was Arther the Kinge,
Wythowtun any letting;
Wyth him was mony lordinge
Hardi of honde.
Wice and war ofte thay were,
Bold undur banere,
And wighte weppuns wold were,
And stifly wold stond.

This is no fantum ne no fabull;
Ye wote wele of the Rowun Tabull,
Of prest men and priveabull,

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The Home of Death

'Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?'
'I bide in ilka breath,'
Quo' Death;
'No i' the pyramids,
No whaur the wormie rids
'Neth coffin-lids;
I bidena whaur life has been,
An' whaur's nae mair to be dune.'

'Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?'
'Wi' the leevin, to dee 'at are laith,'
Quo' Death;
'Wi' the man an' the wife
'At loo like life,
Bot strife;
Wi' the bairns 'at hing to their mither,
Wi' a' 'at loo ane anither.'

'Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?'
'Abune an' aboot an' aneth,'

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poem by George MacDonald
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Take The Black

The moon is full you can not see
There's something in the air
Sound asleep you're into deep
Protecting your own lair
The lion roar into the night
Yet another foe to slay
Who are you that I see right through
The hunter or the pray?
Too late to hear the final warning
No one can defy the reaper
Voices - Twisted
Calling out your name
Voices - Twisted
Calling for you
Ain't no reason for the rhyme
Take the Black - Ready to attack
Take the Black
Face to face you bide your time
Take the Black - Ready to attack
Take the Black

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song performed by Hammerfall
Added by Lucian Velea
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Pelleas And Ettarre

King Arthur made new knights to fill the gap
Left by the Holy Quest; and as he sat
In hall at old Caerleon, the high doors
Were softly sundered, and through these a youth,
Pelleas, and the sweet smell of the fields
Past, and the sunshine came along with him.

`Make me thy knight, because I know, Sir King,
All that belongs to knighthood, and I love.'
Such was his cry: for having heard the King
Had let proclaim a tournament--the prize
A golden circlet and a knightly sword,
Full fain had Pelleas for his lady won
The golden circlet, for himself the sword:
And there were those who knew him near the King,
And promised for him: and Arthur made him knight.

And this new knight, Sir Pelleas of the isles--
But lately come to his inheritance,
And lord of many a barren isle was he--

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poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Shakened And Awaiting On A Meter

I am not going to bide my time,
Shakened and awaiting on a meter!
To watch it eat up a clock...
With time I think,
That I've got.

I am not going to bide my time,
Shakened and awaiting on a meter...
'Cause,
I've never had it like that...
With time to sit back,
And to waste.

When Winter melts...
A new season comes to start.
When Spring arrives...
The budding on the trees are seen.
Flowers begin to bloom.
Birds begin to sing.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Stanzas For Music

I loved a little maiden
In the golden years gone by;
She lived in a mill, as they all do
(There is doubtless a reason why).
But she faded in the autumn
When the leaves began to fade,
And the night before she faded,
These words to me she said:
'Do not forget me, Henry,
Be noble and brave and true;
But I must not bide, for the world is wide,
And the sky above is blue.'

So I said farewell to my darling,
And sailed away and came back;
And the good ship Jane was in port again,
And I found that they all loved Jack.
But Polly and I were sweethearts,
As all the neighbours know,
Before I met with the mill-girl

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poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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Gil Morrice. A Scottish Ballad

Gil Morrice was an erles son,
His name it waxed wide:
It was nae for his great riches,
Nor zet was mickle pride;
Bot it was for a lady gay,
That livd on Carron side.

'Quhair sall I get a bonny boy,
That will win hose and shoen;
That will gae to Lord Barnard's ha',
And bid his lady cum?
And ze maun rin my errand, Willie,
And ze may rin wi' pride;
Quhen other boys gae on their foot,
On horse-back ze sall ride.'

'O no! O no! my master dear!
I dare nae for my life;
I'll no gae to the bauld barons,
For to triest furth his wife.'

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Im Sorry

Dont bide your time
cause it is almost over
And I know youre down
And Ill see you around
And I know it hurts
But youre just getting older
And I know youll win
Youll do it once again
Just yesterday
It always seemed like such a dream
Were unstoppable, indestructable
Nothing happens to our machine
And theres no harm
At least nothing I can see
As for you, not so true
You couldnt choose where his road would lead
What a loss
You just lost all your sleep
And weve always thought
That this could never happen, you see

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song performed by Blink 182
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Lord of the Isles: Canto VI.

I.
O who, that shared them, ever shall forget
The emotions of the spirit-rousing time,
When breathless in the mart the couriers met,
Early and late, at evening and at prime;
When the loud cannon and the merry chime
Hail'd news on news, as field on field was won,
When Hope, long doubtful, soar'd at length sublime,
And our glad eyes, awake as day begun,
Watch'd Joy's broad banner rise, to meet the rising sun!
O these were hours, when thrilling joy repaid
A long, long course of darkness, doubts, and fears!
The heart-sick faintness of the hope delay'd,
The waste, the woe, the bloodshed, and the tears,
That track'd with terror twenty rolling years,
All was forgot in that blithe jubilee!
Her downcast eye even pale Affliction rears,
To sigh a thankful prayer, amid the glee,
That hail'd the Despot's fall, and peace and liberty!

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poem by Sir Walter Scott
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