Cut from the cloth of a flag that bears the name, “Battle Born.” They’ll call me the contender, They’ll listen for the bell, With my face flashing crimson, From the fires of hell. What are you afraid of? And what are you made of?Flesh and bone, And I’m running out of time.
I feel like I've been through a lot in the past couple of years, But I've kept pretty stable. That's because I channel that emotion into performance. I can handle emotion as long as it's only a song. It works for me, and I don't want to change it. I don't have anything left for writing.
How many victims must that be? Slaughtered in vain across the land,And how many strugles must that be?Before we choose to live the profits planEverybody sing- Every day create your History,Every path you take you're leaving your legacyEvery soldier dies in his gloryEvery legend tells of conquest and liberty.
Come thaw my frozen heart, my little arctic kitten.”Unable to resist, Aria jumped in and picked up the next line. “No chance, my yeti man, I’d rather be frostbitten.”“Let me be your snowman. Come live in my igloo.”“I’d rather freeze to death than hibernate with you.
Die Ruhe der Leidenschaften in einem song… . / La serenità delle passioni in una canzone… . / El sosiego de las pasiones en una canción… .Saludos,Fernando.Look & Discover,...Enjoy it :" Daniel Barenboim : Part 4 - F. Chopin's 'Nocturne in D flat Major'.
And I'm not saying it's a bad song, you know, or anything like that. All I'm saying is that if you get, I don't know, a broom, say, and dip it in some brake fluid, put the other end up my arse, stick me on a trampoline in a moving lift, and I would write a better song on the walls. That's all I'm saying.
Gilded palace of Flying BurritosExcellent Nouveau Mexican CuisineWe all got to wear Swank-Ass Nudie SuitsI should have known it was a lousy pipe dreamOhhh, Ohhh, what an awesome jobOhhh, Ohhh, what do I do now??Ohh, Ohhhhh, it's like I've been robbedSpent the last of my paychequeAnd I'm feelin' pretty downnnnn!!
Listen in close, Wall Street Conquistadors, you’re spreading like vapor up through people’s floors, you’re moving en masse under the cracks of our doors and grabbing our children to work in your stores, feeding the needy to make them your whores, but you need to remember the grave you’re digging is yours.
Deep in the meadow, hidden far awayA cloak of leaves, a moonbeam rayForget your woes and let your troubles layAnd when it's morning again, they'll wash awayHere it's safe, here it's warmHere the daisies guard you from every harmHere your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them trueHere is the place where I love you.
Almighty Freedom! give my venturous songThe force, the charm that to thy voice belong;Tis thine to shape my course, to light my way,To nerve my country with the patriot lay,To teach all men where all their interest lies,How rulers may be just and nations wise:Strong in thy strength I bend no suppliant knee,Invoke no miracle, no Muse but thee.
Through my history's despiteand ruin, I have cometo its remainder, and herehave made the beginningof a farm intended to becomemy art of being here.By it I would instructmy wants: they should belongto each other and to this place.Until my song comes hereto learn its words, my artis but the hope of song.(Part 2 from History is Clearing, p 174)
If life is music, I sometimes feel as though I was born on the off-beat of the song, and I love it. As Christian numbers reportedly decrease in America, my love for Christ feels as though it increases. I must be honest about such strange feelings: I now want to be thought unfaithful about as much as a bougie aristocrat wants to be thought a hobo.
But when ye come, and all the flowers are dying,If I am dead, as dead I well may be,You'll come and find the place where I am lying,And kneel and say Ave there for me,And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me,And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be,For you will bend and tell me that you love me,And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me
Hush now, my darlingIt's all okayNothing can hurt youThe world won't end today Lay down your headGet some restThis time will passWe're coming up on the bestJust give it timeIt's all gonna changeBut remember it takes timeFor things to rearrangeThere are happy people in happy placesMy darling, out thereOne day, it'll changeOne day, it'll change
There is a fragrance in the air, a certain passage of a song, an old photograph falling out from the pages of a book, the sound of somebody's voice in the hall that makes your heart leap and fills your eyes with tears. Who can say when or how it will be that something easters up out of the dimness to remind us of a time before we were born and after we will die?
