Far over the misty mountains coldTo dungeons deep and caverns oldWe must away ere break of dayTo seek the pale enchanted gold.The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,While hammers fell like ringing bellsIn places deep, where dark things sleep,In hollow halls beneath the fells.For ancient king and elvish lordThere many a gleaming golden hoardThey shaped and wrought, and light they caughtTo hide in gems on hilt of sword.On silver necklaces they strungThe flowering stars, on crowns they hungThe dragon-fire, in twisted wireThey meshed the light of moon and sun.Far over the misty mountains coldTo dungeons deep and caverns oldWe must away, ere break of day,To claim our long-forgotten gold.Goblets they carved there for themselvesAnd harps of gold; where no man delvesThere lay they long, and many a songWas sung unheard by men or elves.The pines were roaring on the height,The wind was moaning in the night.The fire was red, it flaming spread;The trees like torches blazed with light.The bells were ringing in the daleAnd men looked up with faces pale;The dragon's ire more fierce than fireLaid low their towers and houses frail.The mountain smoked beneath the moon;The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom.They fled their hall to dying fallBeneath his feet, beneath the moon.Far over the misty mountains grimTo dungeons deep and caverns dimWe must away, ere break of day,To win our harps and gold from him!

Do you think aboutEverything you've been throughYou never thought you'd be so depressedAre you wonderingIs it life or deathDo you think that there's no one like youWe areWe areWe areWe are the onesWe get knocked downWe get back up and stand above the crowdWe are oneWe are the onesWe get knocked downWe get back up and stand above the crowdWe are oneThe life I think aboutIs so much better than thisI never thought I'd be stuck in this messI'm sick of wonderingIs it life or deathI need to figure out who's behind youWe areWe areWe areWe are the onesWe get knocked downWe get back up and stand above the crowdWe are oneWe are the onesWe get knocked downWe get back up and stand above the crowdWe are oneThe life I think aboutIs so much better than thisI never thought I'd be stuck in this messI'm sick of wonderingIs it life or death?We are the onesWe get knocked downWe get back up and stand above the crowdWe are oneWe are the onesWe get knocked downWe get back up and stand above the crowdWe are oneWe stand above the crowdWe stand above the crowdWe stand above the crowd (Crowd)(We stand) We stand above the crowdWe stand above the crowd (We Stand)We stand above the crowd(We are the ones) We stand above the crowd(We get knocked down get back up) We stand above the crowd(We are the ones) We stand above the crowd(We get knocked down get back up) We stand above the crowdWe stand above the crowdWe stand above the crowdWe stand above the crowd

Is there for honest Poverty That hings his head, an' a' that; The coward slave-we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that! For a' that, an' a' that. Our toils obscure an' a' that, The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The Man's the gowd for a' that. What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin grey, an' a that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine; A Man's a Man for a' that: For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, an' a' that; The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that. Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that; Tho' hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that: For a' that, an' a' that, His ribband, star, an' a' that: The man o' independent mind He looks an' laughs at a' that. A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, an' a' that; But an honest man's abon his might, Gude faith, he maunna fa' that! For a' that, an' a' that, Their dignities an' a' that; The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth, Are higher rank than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may, (As come it will for a' that,) That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth, Shall bear the gree, an' a' that. For a' that, an' a' that, It's coming yet for a' that, That Man to Man, the world o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that.

It's a lost and lonely kind of feeling,To wake up wearing a disguise.I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, I don't know who I am There's little that I canFully recognize....But I'm taking small steps,'Cause I don't know where I'm going.I'm taking small stepsAnd I don't know what to say.Small steps, Trying to pull myself together, And maybe I'll discover A clue along the way....Just to make it through the day and not to get hurt,Seems about the best that I can hope.Like coffee stains splattered on your sweatshirt There isn't any pattern. Everything's uncertain.It's difficult to cope....But I'm taking small steps,'Cause I don't know where I'm going.I'm taking small steps,And I've forgotten how to play.Small steps, Trying to pull myself together, And maybe I'll discover,A clue along the way....And if someday my small steps bring me near you,Please don't rush to tell me all you feel.You don't have to speak for me to hear you. If I softly sigh, Look me in the eyeAnd let me know I'm real....Then we'll take small steps,'Cause we won't know where we're going.We'll take small steps,And we'll have too much to say.Small steps, Hand in hand we'll walk together, And maybe we'll discover A clue along the way....Small steps,'Cause I don't know where I'm goin'.Small steps,I just take it day to day.Small steps, Somehow get myself together, Then maybe I'll discoverWho I am on the way....

I never knew I never knew that everything was falling through That everyone I knew was waiting on a cue To turn and run when all I needed was the truth But that's how it's got to be It's coming down to nothing more than apathy I'd rather run the other way than stay and see The smoke and who's still standing when it clears Everyone knows I'm in Over my headOver my head With eight seconds left in overtime She's on your mindShe's on your mind Let's rearrange I wish you were a stranger I could disengage Just say that we agree and then never change Soften a bit until we all just get along But that's disregard Find another friend and you discard As you lose the argument in a cable car Hanging above as the canyon comes between Everyone knows I'm in Over my headOver my head With eight seconds left in overtime She's on your mindShe's on your mind Everyone knows I'm in Over my headOver my head With eight seconds left in overtime She's on your mind She's on your ... And suddenly I become a part of your past I'm becoming the part that don't last I'm losing you and its effortless Without a sound we lose sight of the ground In the throw around Never thought that you wanted to bring it down I won't let it go down till we torch it ourselves And everyone knows I'm in Over my headOver my head With eight seconds left in overtime She's on your mindShe's on your mind Everyone knows She's on your mind Everyone knows I'm in over my head I'm in over my head I'm over my... Everyone knows I'm in Over my headOver my head With eight seconds left in overtime She's on your mindShe's on your mind.

Loin au-delà des montagnes froides et embruméesVers des cachots profonds et d'antiques cavernesIl nous faut aller avant le lever du jourEn quête de l'or pâle et enchanté.Les nains de jadis jetaient de puissants charmesQuand les marteaux tombaient comme des cloches sonnantesEn des lieux profonds, où dorment les choses ténébreusesDans les salles caverneuses sous les montagnes.Pour un antique roi et un seigneur lutin, Là, maints amas dorés et miroitantsIls façonnèrent, et forgèrent, et la lumière ils attrapèrentPour la cacher dans les gemmes sur la garde de l'épée.Sur des colliers d'argent ils enfilèrentLes étoiles en fleur; sur des couronnes ils accrochèrentLe feu-dragon; en fils torsadés ils maillèrentLa lumière de la lune et du soleil.Loin au-delà des montagnes froides et embruméesVers des cachots profonds et d'antiques cavernesIl nous faut aller avant le lever du jourPour réclamer notre or longtemps oublié.Des gobelets ils ciselèrent là pour eux-mêmesEt des harpes d'or; où nul homme ne creuseLongtemps ils sont restés, et maintes chansonsFurent chantées, inentendues des hommes ou des elfes.Les pins rugissaient sur les cimes, Les vents gémissaient dans la nuit.Le feu était rouge, il s'étendait flamboyant; Les arbres comme les torches étincelaient de lumière.Les cloches sonnaient dans la valléeEt les hommes levaient des visages pâles;Alors, du dragon la colère plus féroce que le feuAbattit leurs tours et leurs maisons frêles.La montagne fuma sous la lune;Les nains, ils entendirent le pas pesant du destin.Ils fuirent leurs demeures pour tomber mourants Sous ses pieds, sous la lune.Loin au-delà des montagnes froides et embruméesVers des cachots profonds et des cavernes obscures,Il nous faut aller avant le lever du jourPour gagner sur lui nos harpes et notre or !

Like the most of you, I was raised among people who knew - who were certain. They did not reason or investigate. They had no doubts. They knew that they had the truth. In their creed there was no guess — no perhaps. They had a revelation from God. They knew the beginning of things. They knew that God commenced to create one Monday morning, four thousand and four years before Christ. They knew that in the eternity — back of that morning, he had done nothing. They knew that it took him six days to make the earth — all plants, all animals, all life, and all the globes that wheel in space. They knew exactly what he did each day and when he rested. They knew the origin, the cause of evil, of all crime, of all disease and death.At the same time they knew that God created man in his own image and was perfectly satisfied with his work... They knew all about the Flood -- knew that God, with the exception of eight, drowned all his children -- the old and young -- the bowed patriarch and the dimpled babe -- the young man and the merry maiden -- the loving mother and the laughing child -- because his mercy endureth forever. They knew too, that he drowned the beasts and birds -- everything that walked or crawled or flew -- because his loving kindness is over all his works. They knew that God, for the purpose of civilizing his children, had devoured some with earthquakes, destroyed some with storms of fire, killed some with his lightnings, millions with famine, with pestilence, and sacrificed countless thousands upon the fields of war. They knew that it was necessary to believe these things and to love God. They knew that there could be no salvation except by faith, and through the atoning blood of Jesus Christ.Then I asked myself the question: Is there a supernatural power -- an arbitrary mind -- an enthroned God -- a supreme will that sways the tides and currents of the world -- to which all causes bow?I do not deny. I do not know - but I do not believe. I believe that the natural is supreme - that from the infinite chain no link can be lost or broken — that there is no supernatural power that can answer prayer - no power that worship can persuade or change — no power that cares for man.Is there a God?I do not know.Is man immortal?I do not know.One thing I do know, and that is, that neither hope, nor fear, belief, nor denial, can change the fact. It is as it is, and it will be as it must be.We can be as honest as we are ignorant. If we are, when asked what is beyond the horizon of the known, we must say that we do not know. We can tell the truth, and we can enjoy the blessed freedom that the brave have won. We can destroy the monsters of superstition, the hissing snakes of ignorance and fear. We can drive from our minds the frightful things that tear and wound with beak and fang. We can civilize our fellow-men. We can fill our lives with generous deeds, with loving words, with art and song, and all the ecstasies of love. We can flood our years with sunshine — with the divine climate of kindness, and we can drain to the last drop the golden cup of joy.

A sound interrupted him; a frail quivering sound, a voice bubbling up without direction, vigour, beginning or end, running weakly and shrilly and with an absence of all human meaning intoee um fah sofoo swee too eem oo--the voice of no age or sex, the voice of an ancient spring spouting from the earth; which issued, just opposite regent's Park Tube station from a tall quivering shape, like a funnel, like a rusty pump, like a wind-beaten tree for ever barren of leaves which lets the wind run up and down its branches singingee um fah sofoo swee too eem ooand rocks and creaks and moans in the eternal breeze. Through all the ages - when the pavement was grass, when it was swamp, through the ages of tusk and mammoth, through the age of silent sunrise, the battered woman - for she wore a skirt - with her right hand exposed, her left clutching at her side, stood singing of love - love which has lasted a million years, she sang, love which prevails, and millions of years ago, her lover, who had been dead these centuries, had walked, she crooned, with her in May; but in the course of ages, long as summer days, and flaming, she remembered, with nothing but red asters, he had gone; death's enormous sickle had swept those tremendous hills, and when at last she laid her hoary and immensely aged head on the earth, now become a mere cinder of ice, she implored the Gods to lay by her side a bunch of purple heather, there on her high burial place which the last ruined rays of the last sun caressed; for then the pageant of the universe would be over.As the ancient song bubbled up opposite Regent's Park Tube station still the earth seemed green and flowery; still, though it issued from so rude a mouth, a mere hole in the earth, muddy too, matted with root fibres and tangled grasses, still the old bubbling burbling song, soaking through the knotted roots of infinite ages, and skeletons and treasure, streamed away in rivulets over the pavement and all along Marylebone Road, and down towards Euston, fertilising, leaving a damp stain.Still remembering how once in some primeval May she had walked with her lover, this rusty pump, this battered old woman with one hand exposed for coppers the other side clutching her side, would still be there in ten million years, remembering how once she had walked in May, where the sea flows now, with whom it did not matter - he was a man, oh yes, a man who had loved her. but the passage of ages had blurred the clarity of that ancient May day; the bright petalled flowers were hoar and silver frosted; and she no longer saw, when she implored him (as she did not quite clearly) "look in my eyes with thy sweet eyes intently," she no longer saw brown eyes, black whiskers or sunburnt face but only a looming shape, a shadow shape, to which, with the bird-like freshness of the very aged she still twittered "give me your hand and let me press it gently" (Peter Walsh could not help giving the poor creature a coin as he stepped into his taxi), "and if some one should see, what matter they?" she demanded; and her fist clutched at her side, and she smiled, pocketing her shilling, and all peering inquisitive eyes seemed blotted out, and the passing generations - the pavement was crowded with bustling middle-class people - vanished, like leaves, to be trodden under, to be soaked and steeped and made mould of by that eternal spring - ee um fah um soofoo swee too eem oo