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Project Nim

Cast: Bob Angelini, Bern Cohen, Reagan Leonard

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The Brothers

'These Tourists, heaven preserve us! needs must live
A profitable life: some glance along,
Rapid and gay, as if the earth were air,
And they were butterflies to wheel about
Long as the summer lasted: some, as wise,
Perched on the forehead of a jutting crag,
Pencil in hand and book upon the knee,
Will look and scribble, scribble on and look,
Until a man might travel twelve stout miles,
Or reap an acre of his neighbour's corn.
But, for that moping Son of Idleness,
Why can he tarry 'yonder'?--In our churchyard
Is neither epitaph nor monument,
Tombstone nor name--only the turf we tread
And a few natural graves.'
To Jane, his wife,
Thus spake the homely Priest of Ennerdale.
It was a July evening; and he sate
Upon the long stone-seat beneath the eaves
Of his old cottage,--as it chanced, that day,
Employed in winter's work. Upon the stone
His wife sate near him, teasing matted wool,
While, from the twin cards toothed with glittering wire,
He fed the spindle of his youngest child,
Who, in the open air, with due accord
Of busy hands and back-and-forward steps,
Her large round wheel was turning. Towards the field
In which the Parish Chapel stood alone,
Girt round with a bare ring of mossy wall,
While half an hour went by, the Priest had sent
Many a long look of wonder: and at last,
Risen from his seat, beside the snow-white ridge
Of carded wool which the old man had piled
He laid his implements with gentle care,
Each in the other locked; and, down the path
That from his cottage to the church-yard led,
He took his way, impatient to accost
The Stranger, whom he saw still lingering there.
'Twas one well known to him in former days,
A Shepherd-lad; who ere his sixteenth year
Had left that calling, tempted to entrust
His expectations to the fickle winds
And perilous waters; with the mariners
A fellow-mariner;--and so had fared
Through twenty seasons; but he had been reared
Among the mountains, and he in his heart
Was half a shepherd on the stormy seas.
Oft in the piping shrouds had Leonard heard
The tones of waterfalls, and inland sounds
Of caves and trees:--and, when the regular wind

[...] Read more

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Newpower Soul

2 the darkness - let there be light
2 the soundman - turn up my voice real tight
2 the n.p.g. - if u in this mother, scream
Show me how u all get down - 1 2 3, come on
Get freaky, let the head bob {x2}
We should all come 2gether 2 the newpower soul
Get freaky, let the head bob {x2} (come on, come on)
Itll make u feel much better - come on, baby, lets go!
Every while in a great once there comes 2 town a show
That lives up 2 all your funkspectation no matter how high or low
A reason 2 get your freak on in a way u never freaked before
Newpower soul lay claim 2 the booty - come on, lets go
(lemme see u get down)
Let the head bob
Get freaky, let the head bob (come on, come on)
We should all come 2gether 2 the newpower soul
(lemme see u get down)
Let the head bob
Get freaky, let the head bob {x2} (come on, come on)
Itll make u feel much better - come on, baby, lets go!
Every while in a day twice funky matters in our ear
As long as we keep our love strong, well never shed no tears
The brothas be threatenin 2 jump off buildings, newpowers what
They fear
Love 4 one another risin, newpower soul is here
(lemme see u get down)
Let the head bob
Get freaky, let the head bob (come on)
We should all come 2gether 2 the newpower soul (come
2gether)
(lemme see u get down)
Let the head bob
Get freaky, let the head bob (come on, come on)
Itll make u feel much better (feel better) - come on, baby, lets go!
Newpower soul
(we should all) {repeat sample}
Gemini rising on the 7th day
Makin mad sex, until ure in my arms, ok?
Cuz when u love somebody like that, its cool
U gots no need 4 the shoo-bed-ooh-bed-ooh
The good life, yeah, well be livin
Pushin up on every freak this side of heaven
Come on, come on, shake it, come on
U know I bes the one with the funky music, hon
And Im layin phat claims 2 the booty
Phat claims 2 the newpower booty
Keepin the crowd movin, yall, is my one and only duty, ooh wee!
With the newpower soul
Right on
We should all

[...] Read more

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Robert of Lincoln

Merrily swinging on brier and weed,
Near to the nest of his little dame,
Over the mountain-side or mead,
Robert of Lincoln is telling his name.
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink,
Snug and safe is this nest of ours,
Hidden among the summer flowers.
Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed,
Wearing a bright, black wedding-coat;
White are his shoulders, and white his crest,
Hear him call in his merry note,
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink,
Look what a nice, new coat is mine;
Sure there was never a bird so fine.
Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife,
Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings,
Passing at home a patient life,
Broods in the grass while her husband sings,
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink,
Brood, kind creature, you need not fear
Thieves and robbers while I am here.
Chee, chee, chee.

Modest and shy as a nun is she;
One weak chirp is her only note;
Braggart, and prince of braggarts is he,
Pouring boasts from his little throat,
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink,
Never was I afraid of man,
Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can.
Chee, chee, chee.

Six white eggs on a bed of hay,
Flecked with purple, a pretty sight:
There as the mother sits all day,
Robert is singing with all his might,
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink,
Nice good wife that never goes out,
Keeping house while I frolic about.
Chee, chee, chee.

[...] Read more

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Smooth And Amiable, Opaque

Smooth and amiable, opaque,
with facades like scrims, genteel,
my friends are ones you ought to take
unseriously, and for a meal
just when you think you’ve nothing better
to do, like watching television,
or sending the White House a letter,
or working out with great precision
your taxes for another audit.
Should it be that you don’t wish
to do these things and can afford it,
invite your friends to where the fish
is tastier than what you eat
at home, and then, when you come back,
resolve that you will not repeat
such invitations till you crack,
or there is nothing on TV,
and you’re not writing letters to
the President––since you can see,
unusually, his point of view––
and you’ve heard from the IRS
that you don’t owe them––this time! ––taxes.
At times like these your friends, I guess,
won’t cause you anticlimaxes.

Inspired by an article in the NYT Book Review, by Ross Dothat, January 18,2009 (“When Buckley Met Reagan”) :
On the night that William F. Buckley met Ronald Reagan, the future president of the United States put his elbow through a plate-glass window. The year was 1961, and the two men were in Beverly Hills, where Buckley, perhaps the most famous conservative in America at the tender age of 35, was giving an address at a school auditorium. Reagan, a former Hollywood leading man dabbling in political activism — the Tim Robbins or Alec Baldwin of his day — had been asked to do the introductions. But the microphone was dead, the technician was nowhere to be found and the control room was locked. As the crowd began to grumble, Reagan coolly opened one of the auditorium windows, stepped onto a ledge two stories above the street and inched his way around to the control room. He smashed his elbow through the glass and clambered in through the broken window. “In a minute there was light in the upstairs room, ” Buckley later wrote, “and then we could hear the crackling of the newly animated microphone.” This anecdote kicks off The Reagan I Knew (Basic Books, $25) , a slight and padded reminiscence published posthumously this past autumn, nine months after Buckley’s death. As a personal portrait of the 40th president, the narrative is sketchy at best: the Reagan whom Buckley knew turns out to be the Reagan most of his friends and allies knew — amiable, smooth and ultimately opaque.
What the book does offer, though, is an expansion on the theme lurking in that opening vignette, in which the man of ideas came face to face with the man of action, and the intellectual famous for describing the world met the future president eager to change it. At its most interesting, “The Reagan I Knew” provides a case study on the relationship between intellectuals and power, and specifically on the marriage between right-wing thinkers and populist politicians that has defined the modern right from the Goldwater era to our own. This union occasioned a great deal of comment during 2008, which turned out to be an annus horribilis for conservatism, and little of it was positive. Populism’s corrosive influence on the conservative mind — or the conservative mind’s cynical manipulation of populism — was cited in briefs against Sarah Palin, against the record of George W. Bush and against the entire run of conservative governance going back to Richard Nixon. Sometimes it was liberals arguing that an earlier generation of high-minded conservatives (Buckley being the prime example) would be horrified by the anti-intellectual spirit that had overtaken their movement in the age of Bush and Palin. Sometimes it was conservatives, your David Frums and Peggy Noonans, hinting at the same. And sometimes it was left-wingers — like Rick Perlstein, in his teeming history “Nixonland” — arguing that conservatives had always been cynical manipulators of populist sentiment: the mask might have slipped a bit more in the Bush era, but beneath the genteel facade provided by wordsmiths like Buckley (or William Safire or George Will or whomever) , the modern right has been Palins all the way down.

1/18/09

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Bob

SINGER of songs of the hills—
Dreamer, by waters unstirred,
Back in a valley of rills,
Home of the leaf and the bird!—
Read in this fall of the year
Just the compassionate phrase,
Faded with traces of tear,
Written in far-away days:
“Gone is the light of my lap
(Lord, at Thy bidding I bow),
Here is my little one’s cap,
He has no need of it now,
Give it to somebody’s boy—
Somebody’s darling”—she wrote.
Touching was Bob in his joy—
Bob without boots or a coat.

Only a cap; but it gave
Capless and comfortless one
Happiness, bright as the brave,
Beautiful light of the sun.
Soft may the sanctified sod
Rest on the father who led
Bob from the gutter, unshod—
Covered his cold little head!

Bob from the foot to the crown
Measured a yard, and no more—
Baby alone in the town,
Homeless, and hungry, and sore—
Child that was never a child,
Hiding away from the rain,
Draggled and dirty and wild,
Down in a pipe of the drain.

Poor little beggar was Bob
Couldn’t afford to be sick,
Getting a penny a job,
Sometimes a curse and a kick.
Father was killed by the drink;
Mother was driven to shame;
Bob couldn’t manage to think—
He had forgotten their name.

God was in heaven above,
Flowers illumined the ground,
Women of infinite love
Lived in the palaces round—
Saints with the character sweet
Found in the fathers of old,

[...] Read more

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Dear Mrs. Reagan

Dear mrs. reagan, i hope you're feeling well
Fighting drugs and abortion will keep you out of hell
Send in the troops, they'll shut the system down
Take away their leaders and replace them all with clowns
Out in the rose garden, time for a speech
Make up your face so it looks like a peach
Aw, nancy dear, what shall i say?
Tell ole ronnie it's all ok.
Oh mrs reagan, mrs reagangun your husband downyou'll collect insurancemake our country sounddear mrs reagan, gun your husband down,save us from this awful fategeorge bush will be our next president!dear mr reagan, your hair is really swellbuy another missile and damn the poor to hellpump up our resources,you'll make us strong abroadforeign country leadersknow that you're a fraudoh ron, you're such a patriotwe think that you're an idioteverybody's singing this timeoh mrs reagan, mrs reagan, gun your husband down,don't this let injustice reign,it's ron you must uncrownoh mrs reagan, gun your husband downsend him out to pasturehis brain cannot be found

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St. Leonard

Of Frankish noble stock was born
Saint Leonard in 5th century.
His people were king’s courtiers
Of Clovis I, a pagan king;

He prayed to God for safe childbirth
and queen had a safe delivery.

The queen had joked to Leonard once
To stop an army’s invasion,
And Leonard prayed to living God,
And turned the battle’s tide, his side!

The king and many others got
Converted to Christianity;
Leonard had rode a donkey all day,
And got the land from king afree!

There-in, he built his monastery
And lived a hermit’s life austere
Preaching about the God, one true;
His brother Lifiard turned a saint!

Leonard then went to Limousin,
A forest where he lived alone,
a life of solitude and ate
just herbs and fruits found in the wild.

Converting those who came his way,
releasing prisoners by his sway,
he turned a saint and passed away.

They built some churches in his name:
the patron saint of prisoners all;
women in labor, locksmiths, miners.
Nov 6th is St. Leonard’s feast day.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 6-11-11

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Today (Watch Me Shine)

Yesterday is just a dream I don't remember
Tomorrow, still a hope I've yet to endure
I'm out of time
I'm out of rhyme
I'm out of reason
Season's change and leave me out in the cold
The story's old
The tale been told by many a scholar
Got a fistful of dollar
And pocketful of love
God above if you hear me cryin'
I've tried to sell my soul
But no one's buyin'
Lord, strike me down now if I'm lyin' Bronx Style Bob: Lord strike me down (X3)
It's gettin' cold
It's time for dyin'
CHORUS
Come on and watch me shine
Like the world is mine (check it out) today
Come on and watch me shine (check it out)
Like the world is mine today
Watch me shine (check it out)
Then the man was free from sin
Bronx Style Bob: free from sin
Cast the first stone then began the violence
Bronx Style Bob: began the violence
Let the man whose words ring true
Speak on up till his voice breaks through the silence
Bronx Style Bob: through the silence
Let the ones who lose their way
Live to see just one more day in the sunshine
Bronx Style Bob: La-la-la-la-la-la-laaa
Let the one's who choose to stray
Recognize the price they'll pay
In their lifetime
Bronx Style Bob: in their lifetime (X2)
CHORUS
Sit in the way and wait for my roads to cross
You nail me down and you watch me bleed
Bronx Style Bob: watch me bleed
So lay my head against the earth
Plant my body like a seed
Bronx Style Bob: plant my body like a seed
You can't always get the things you want, love (check it out)
Bronx Style Bob: tell me what you want
You get what you deserve
Or maybe what you need
Bronx Style Bob: tell me what you need
So fill

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The Four Friends

Ernest was an elephant, a great big fellow,
Leonard was a lion with a six foot tail,
George was a goat, and his beard was yellow,
And James was a very small snail.

Leonard had a stall, and a great big strong one,
Earnest had a manger, and its walls were thick,
George found a pen, but I think it was the wrong one,
And James sat down on a brick

Earnest started trumpeting, and cracked his manger,
Leonard started roaring, and shivered his stall,
James gave a huffle of a snail in danger
And nobody heard him at all.

Earnest started trumpeting and raised such a rumpus,
Leonard started roaring and trying to kick,
James went on a journey with the goats new compass
And he reached the end of his brick.

Ernest was an elephant and very well intentioned,
Leonard was a lion with a brave new tail,
George was a goat, as I think I have mentioned,
but James was only a snail.

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Burning In The Bush

Widowed recently, the lady said:
“I mustn’t rush back to the world, ”
but took him to her marriage bed
to show him hairs that all were curled.

“It seems that she’s not thinking straight, ”
he thought, and very soon began to push
where it was clear she couldn’t wait,
since she was burning in her bush.

Whenever we are feeling lonely
the truth longer seems clear-cut,
and words we say are never only
the truth, the whole truth, nothing but.


Inspired by Robert Pinsky’s review of Elmore Leonard’s “Road Dogs” in the NYT Book Review, May 31,2009 (“Playing Dirty: Elmore Leonard’s latest novel stars three familiar voices in a twisting tale of seduction and betrayal”:
The virtuoso storyteller Elmore Leonard has been rightly praised for his technique: hot, fast narrative, tasty dialogue, strokes of character so quick they’re invisible, never a detail that doesn’t move things ahead. It’s wonderful how much Leonard can do with a five-¬syllable sentence like “She left with the check.” But a good book should also be about something. Although it isn’t always mentioned, Leonard’s books have subjects. “Road Dogs” is about the varying degrees of truth and baloney in human relationships. Sometimes the truth or the baloney is lethal. Droll and exciting, enriched by the self-aware, what-the-hell-why-not insouciance of a master now in his mid-80s, “Road Dogs” — underlying its material of sex, violence and money, and beyond its cast of cons and thugs and movie stars — presents interesting questions….
In a similar way, Jack’s thoughts when he’s about to have sex with a recently widowed movie star, or not, resemble those of a screenwriter. At poolside, after a dip, about to change clothes, she has said, “I’ve been thinking. I might be rushing my return to the world”: “He turned to look at her and said, ‘I know, ’ nodding, showing he was wise as well as patient. He thought he might as well continue once he started, get it all out, and said, ‘I understand.’ He said there was no reason to hurry, it would work out or it wouldn’t. They liked each other and they’d get to it one day. The way he said it was, ‘We’ll express our love one day, ’ and thought he should have said ‘show our love, ’ but didn’t like that either. He should’ve said, they’d get to it, with a grin, and let it go at that.”

5/31/09

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Battered Bob

HE WAS working on a station in the Western when I knew him,
And he came from Conongamo, up the old surveyors’ track,
And the fellows all admitted that no man in Vic. could ‘do him,’
Since he’d smothered Stonewall Menzie, also Anderson, the black.
Bob was modelled for a fighter, but he’d run to beef a trifle;
For his science every rouseabout was satisfied to vouch,
And Red Fogarty advised us he delivered like a rifle,
And his stopping—well, beside him Harry Sallars was a slouch.

Not a man of us had met him till he settled on the station—
This was early in the Sixties, what we call the good old days—
And it’s cheerfully admitted Robert owed his reputation
To a crippled jaw, a broken nose, and eyes that looked both ways.
We were certain on the face of it our guess was not an error,
Every feature of his phiz was marked, his chin was pulled askew,
And The Critic passed the office: ‘Bet your buttons he’s a terror!
That’s the man who hammered Kelly on The Creek in Fifty-two!’

Bob was not a shrinking blossom, and he held the first impressions
By his subsequent admissions to the ringers and the mugs,
And he let himself be tickled into casual confessions
Of his battles with the bruisers and the scientific pugs.
How he’d mangled Matty Hardy was his earliest narration;
He’d completely flummoxed Kitchen, and had made the climate hot
For Maloney, Fee, and Curran. It was quite a consolation
When he graciously informed us that he hadn’t licked the lot.

The arrival of the Wonder gave a spurt to local science,
And we had an exhibition every evening in the week,
For the lightest joke was answered in the lingo of defiance,
And our blood was cast like water on the grasses by the creek.
Every fellow but the stranger had his scrap or rough-and-tumble;
No one thought of looking ugly at the slugger, Battered Bob;
And whene’er the boys addressed him ’twas in language choice and humble,—
Though they ached to see him beaten, none was anxious for the job.

How we honoured Bob, and yielded to his later information;
Let him lead in all the arguments, and gently run the ranche!
And a very small potato was the owner of the station
By the man who slaughtered Melody and fought a draw with Blanche.
Battered Bob became our champion, our boss, and by degrees he
Sent his fame down to the Wannon, and right up to Spooner’s Gap,
And he scooped the honours smiling, and he held them just as easy,
For we’d never seen him shape yet, and he hadn’t fought a tap.

We’d a cook whose name was Han Cat—he was short, and fat, and yellow,
Just a common, ugly Chinky, with a never ending smile.
Bob was careful to avoid the corns of any other fellow,
But he filled Han Cat with sorrow, and he whaled him all the while.
Han Cat groaned and bore it meekly, and we didn’t care to figure

[...] Read more

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Ruby The Smart Maltese

Ruby is a Maltese with fur as white as snow,
she walks with Mrs. Cohen and doesn’t mind if it’s cold.
For Ruby has a gorgeous thick hair,
she is very quiet but doesn’t bark in the air.
Mrs. Cohen walks with Ruby wearing black her favorite color,
she once told me Ruby is her child and she is her mother.
Now Mr. Cohen said that Ruby is very smart,
and his words comes from his heart.
The Cohen’s love to walk Ruby when it’s warm,
they are visiting Florida to get away from the cold north.
Ruby will meet a lot of new dog friends down here,
they are enjoying the weather this time of year.

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If Cohen Would

O, Cohen, hear our song of sentiment!
Withdraw thy sordid thoughts from cent. per cent.,
And, for, the sake of Empire, gentle Yid,
Lend us a million quid.

If England's great Financial Houses would
Back up our aspirations as they should,
If we could influence cold £ s. d.
By sentiment and words of loyalty,
What joy - and cash - were ours! Ay, what a loan
We'd gaily spend - if our true aims were known.
How might we proudly flaunt our nationhood!
If Cohen only would.


If uncle owned a little sentiment,
And pondered less upon his much per cent.;
If blind financiers could he made to see
The high cash value of our loyalty,
How they would rush, with many offers rash,
And load us up with piles and piles of cash;
And gladly shower rich gifts upon the land,
Could they but understand!

Behold the grand beginning we have made!
When Empire called us, did we stand afraid?
Nay; but we said, 'We are the proud new land!
And with the nations shall we take our stand.
The arms to guard our shores shall be our own!
If, please, you will assist us with a loan,
We'll teach our foes that their designs are rash!...
Do you advance the cash?'

Alas! he turns a deaf ear to our claims;
For gushing loyalty and noble aims
With Cohen count for poor security.
There is no sentiment in £ s. d.,
For who would search grey London through and through
And hope to find the Sentimental Jew;
Then crave a loan on aspirations? Nay!
'Der bishness vouldn't bay.'

O Cohen, if thine heart we cannot touch,
Then on the old pawn-ticket, say, how much?
Thou wilt advance in cash to guard for thee
Thine old security?

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Ruby The Smart Maltese

Ruby is a Maltese with fur as white as snow,
she walks with Mrs. Cohen and doesn't mind if it's cold.
For Ruby has a gorgeous thick hair,
she is very quiet but doesn't bark in the air.
Mrs. Cohen walks with Ruby wearing black her favorite color,
she once told me Ruby is her child and she is her mother.
Now Mr. Cohen said that Ruby is very smart,
and his words comes from his heart.
The Cohen's love to walk Ruby when it's warm,
they are visiting Florida to get away from the cold north.
Ruby will meet a lot of new dog friends down here,
they are enjoying the weather this time of year.

Written by Suzae Chevalier on January 15,2011
www.suzae.com

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I will write some real poetry

Sometimes life is just not fair
and what you expect
doesn’t happen

and merit takes a hike
and is away
on a super bike.

Let somebody’s literary expert
stumble over some more words
and see Leonard Cohen
cloned in what I write

“and if you want
to strike me down in anger
here I stand
I’m your man”

but I will write
some real poetry
while the world goes on…


[Reference: I’m your man by Leonard Cohen.]

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Hallelujah

(l. cohen)
Originally contained in leonard cohen's various positions
I heard there was a secret chord
That david played and it pleased the lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
Well it goes like this:
The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift
The baffled king composing hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
Well your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrough ya
She tied you to her kitchen chair
She broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
Well, maybe i've been here before
I've seen this room and i've walked this floor
I used to live with leonard before i knew ya
I've seen your flag on the marble arch
But love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
There was a time when you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show that to me do ya
But remember when i moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath you drew was hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
And maybe there's a god above
But all i've ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya
Well it's not a cry that you hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, halle...
It's not what you're told
It's not her face
It's not his touch
In the room you both share
Where he's gone when he loved
When your time and your memory fills your dreams
When you're honest and together
Together no more
No more
Hallelujah, until you're nothing
Hallelujah, baby, until she's everywhere
Hallelujah, until together you are somewhere i'd lost

[...] Read more

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Thirty Bob a Week

I couldn't touch a stop and turn a screw,
And set the blooming world a-work for me,
Like such as cut their teeth -- I hope, like you --
On the handle of a skeleton gold key;
I cut mine on a leek, which I eat it every week:
I'm a clerk at thirty bob as you can see.

But I don't allow it's luck and all a toss;
There's no such thing as being starred and crossed;
It's just the power of some to be a boss,
And the bally power of others to be bossed:
I face the music, sir; you bet I ain't a cur;
Strike me lucky if I don't believe I'm lost!

For like a mole I journey in the dark,
A-travelling along the underground
From my Pillar'd Halls and broad Suburbean Park,
To come the daily dull official round;
And home again at night with my pipe all alight,
A-scheming how to count ten bob a pound.

And it's often very cold and very wet,
And my missus stitches towels for a hunks;
And the Pillar'd Halls is half of it to let--
Three rooms about the size of travelling trunks.
And we cough, my wife and I, to dislocate a sigh,
When the noisy little kids are in their bunks.

But you never hear her do a growl or whine,
For she's made of flint and roses, very odd;
And I've got to cut my meaning rather fine,
Or I'd blubber, for I'm made of greens and sod:
So p'r'haps we are in Hell for all that I can tell,
And lost and damn'd and served up hot to God.

I ain't blaspheming, Mr. Silver-tongue;
I'm saying things a bit beyond your art:
Of all the rummy starts you ever sprung,
Thirty bob a week's the rummiest start!
With your science and your books and your the'ries about spooks,
Did you ever hear of looking in your heart?

I didn't mean your pocket, Mr., no:
I mean that having children and a wife,
With thirty bob on which to come and go,
Isn't dancing to the tabor and the fife:
When it doesn't make you drink, by Heaven! it makes you think,
And notice curious items about life.

I step into my heart and there I meet

[...] Read more

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Make Promises to Keep

Make promises to keep!

Breaking a promise,
Is like kissing away one's integrity.
In fact,
Those who break promises,
Should not make claims
Of knowing what integrity means.

However,
There are certain instances
In which good intensions
Are misunderstood for keeping a promise.
One, if made, should be kept as should!

Minding my own business,
As is my custom when visiting friends.
I overheard Bob and Helen in discussion.
About their relationship.
One I regard as ideal.
One that had me close to thinking,
Of getting married again!

Bob saved me!
And he had no idea...
From what!
And friends forever we will remain.
And that visit I made,
Was a stroke of good luck.

'We've been together for ten years.
Said Helen.
Thinking what was said,
Was out of range from my listening ears.

'And the only thing we have not done between us,
Is get married legally.
And you keep saying that's what we are going to do.
But when?
Promise me you will marry me! '

God was sending me a message.
And I listened intently.

~As long as you know we are going to get married...
Why the rush? ~
Bob said in a quieting hush.

~As soon as the house gets paid.
And the kids grow up.

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Outshining the Sun.

Bob West said
why are you always

looking towards
the girl's playground?

Looking for someone
you replied

who? Bob asked
A girl who gets

on my school bus
Bob pulled a face

and combed
his black oily hair

is she good looking?
Like an angel

you said
and peered

at the playground
across the way

where girls were
skipping or walking

in pairs
See her yet?

Bob asked
no not yet

you muttered
wishing you had

hoping she'd come
into view

don't see any point in girls
Bob said

putting his comb away
in a top pocket

wiping his hands
on his grey trousers

[...] Read more

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Old Mother Reagan

Old mother reagan
And her crew
Took away
From me and you
I hope she goes far away
She better go far away
Yknow it aint right
When its all wrong
This is the old mother reagan
Protest song
Old mother reagan
Shes so dumb
Shes so dangerous
How come...
Old mother reagan went to heaven
But at the pearly gates
She was stopped!
Gordon gano: vocals, giutar
Brian ritchie: bass, vocals
Victor delorenzo: drums, vocal
Produced by jerry harrison
Recoded & mixed by david vartanian at dvs perversion room, milwaukee
gorno music reprinted with permission

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