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This is a test of the american broadcasting system... LOL |
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THAT GIRL COULD SING
She was a friend to me when I needed one Wasn't for her I don't know what I'd done She gave me back something that was missing in me She could of turned out to be almost anyone Almost anyone-- With the possible exception Of who I wanted her to be
Running into the midnight With her clothes whipping in the wind Reaching into the heart of the darkness For the tenderness within Stumblin' into the lights of the city And then back in the shadows again Hanging onto the laughter That each of us hid our unhappiness in
Talk about celestial bodies And your angels on the wing She wasn't much good at stickin' around--but She could sing...
In the dead of night She could shine a light On some places that you've never been In that kind of light You could lose your sight And believe there was something to win You could hold her tight With all your might But she'd slip through your arms like the wind And be back in flight Back into the night Where you might never see her again
The longer I thought I could find her The shorter my vision became Running in circles behind her And thinking in terms of the blame But she couldn't have been any kinder If she'd come back and tried to explain She wasn't much good a saying goodbye--but That girl was sane |
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![dreams](/clipart/pbi/buttons/Generic/arrow_3a.gif) |
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EVERBODY HURTS - R.E.M.
When the day is long and the night, the night is yours alone, when you're sure you've had enough of this life, well hang on. Don't let yourself go, everybody cries and everybody hurts sometimes.
Sometimes everything is wrong. Now it's time to sing along. When your day is night alone, (hold on, hold on) if you feel like letting go, (hold on) when you think you've had too much of this life, well hang on.
Everybody hurts. Take comfort in your friends. Everybody hurts. Don't throw your hand. Oh, no. Don't throw your hand. If you feel like you're alone, no, no, no, you are not alone
If you're on your own in this life, the days and nights are long, when you think you've had too much of this life to hang on.
Well, everybody hurts sometimes, everybody cries. And everybody hurts sometimes. And everybody hurts sometimes. So, hold on, hold on. Hold on, hold on. Hold on, hold on. Hold on, hold on. (repeat & fade) (Everybody hurts. You are not alone.) |
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![1989](vls2.jpg) |
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Dylan Thomas (1914-1953)
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. |
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Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)
The Brook
I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.
By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges, By twenty thorpes, a little town, And half a hundred bridges.
Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever.
I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles.
With many a curve my banks I fret By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow.
I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever.
I wind about, and in and out, With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout, And here and there a grayling,
And here and there a foamy flake Upon me, as I travel With many a silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel,
And draw them all along, and flow To join the brimming river For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever.
I steal by lawns and grassy plots, I slide by hazel covers; I move the sweet forget-me-nots That grow for happy lovers.
I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, Among my skimming swallows; I make the netted sunbeam dance Against my sandy shallows.
I murmur under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses; I linger by my shingly bars; I loiter round my cresses;
And out again I curve and flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever. |
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William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
The Folly Of Being Comforted
One that is ever kind said yesterday 'Your well-beloved's hair has threads of grey, And little shadows come about her eyes; Time can but make it easier to be wise Though now it seems impossible, and so Patience is all that you have need of.' No, I have not a crumb of comfort, not a grain; Time can but make her beauty over again; Because of that great nobleness of hers The fire that stirs about her, when she stirs Burns but more clearly. O she had not these ways, When all the wild summer was in her gaze. O heart! O heart! if she'd but turn her head, You'd know the folly of being comforted. |
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![Dearest Valerie](fjunethumb.jpg) |
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William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
The Folly Of Being Comforted
One that is ever kind said yesterday 'Your well-beloved's hair has threads of grey, And little shadows come about her eyes; Time can but make it easier to be wise Though now it seems impossible, and so Patience is all that you have need of.' No, I have not a crumb of comfort, not a grain; Time can but make her beauty over again; Because of that great nobleness of hers The fire that stirs about her, when she stirs Burns but more clearly. O she had not these ways, When all the wild summer was in her gaze. O heart! O heart! if she'd but turn her head, You'd know the folly of being comforted. |
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![Index](waterthumb.jpg) |
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Charles Williams (1886-1945) After Ronsard
When you are old, and I - if that should be - Lying afar in undistinguished earth, And you no more have all your will of me, To teach me morals, idleness, and mirth, But, curtained from the bleak December nights, You sit beside the else-departed fire And 'neath the glow of double-poléd lights, Till your alert eyes and quick judgement tire, Turn some new poet's page, and to yourself Praise his new satisfaction of new need, Then pause and look a little toward the shelf Where my books stand which none but you shall read: And say: 'I too was not ungently sung When I was happy, beautiful, and young.' |
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