Poor Skeleton Steps Out
Poor skeleton steps out,
Dressed up in bad blood,
Bad brains, bad thoughts, and others deeds.
Poor skeleton no doubt,
One of these days,
You can cast aside your human, be free.
When the cities run with blood,
And you drink our health in mud,
All flesh be gone.
Save your dry and joyous shout,
For the day poor skeleton steps out.
Poor skeleton steps out,
Sprung from his life sentence,
Deep inside some muscle mask.
Poor skeleton devout,
Propping up truck drivers,
Filmstars, thieves or queens, your brave task.
When technology is rust,
And you write your book in dust,
All flesh be gone.
Cant buy tickets from a tout,
For the day poor skeleton steps out.
Poor skeleton steps out,
Liberated from sex organs,
And brown, black, white skin.
Poor skeleton you lout,
Dont you think that we might,
Like to have been asked to join in?
For good skeletons are we,
And were dying to be free,
All flesh be gone.
I will scream or sulk and pout,
Until my poor skeleton steps out.
Better watch out, here comes bony boy.
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
The Skeleton Dance
The moon is on the graveyard,
The night is cool and still,
The wind blows gently,
Yes it blows where it will,
And the slightest sound,
From a place that's unknown,
Come do the skeleton dance,
And rattle my bones.
Do the skeleton dance
Jingle jangle bones,
Do the skeleton dance
All the way back home,
Do the skeleton dance
When you're all alone,
Do the skeleton dance
When you're done with your bones.
See the eyes of a werewolf,
Staring back at you,
A dozen or two skeletons,
Make up the rest of the crew,
The zombies stumble around,
Looking for their brains,
Ghost float like a mist,
And its about to rain.
Do the skeleton dance
Jingle jangle bones,
Do the skeleton dance
All the way back home,
Do the skeleton dance
When you're all alone,
Do the skeleton dance
When you're done with your bones.
The devil takes off his skin,
And plays the xylophone,
God plays the piano,
On a stool made of bone,
Jesus lights a lantern,
Buddha counts to three,
They all form a circle,
To do the skeleton dance with me.
poem by Blaine McCanless
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Skeleton Man
Im a skeleton Im a skeleton man
Hold my skeleton hold my skeleton hand
I met a child in the hills from the people of the corn
Its been 800 years since this child was born
And in his ribs I found a pearl
An offering from the corn world
Hold my hand
Well walk in the hot sun
Hold my hand
In the hot sand
Down in the valley where there used to be the farms
Doctor digger found a room full of arms
And now theres just a dog that barks
Chained to a one-man trailer park
song performed by by Frank Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On The Wheel Of Time
I am riding on the wheel of time,
Certainly my joy is not sublime,
When I look here and there,
I find peace nowhere,
Someone is suffering from starvation,
Someone is a victim of desperation,
War has ruined beautiful cities,
Somewhere Nature sent calamities,
Poor wretched with a life of gloom,
Waiting for the moment of their doom,
Poor children are reduced to skeleton,
Their misery is noticed by none,
While rich are playing with wealth,
They remain in the pink of health,
Their children take three meals with them,
Together they sing their glory anthem,
I curse the moment I rode on the time,
It was nothing but a senseless crime.
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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The baby sitter!
Angel!
If you look after me
This old good for nothing skeleton
Like the babies you fingering here,
I am not rich but I have my old pram
My poor deceased Mom brought from a junk yard.
And my last will I grant for you
The fragile heart you can use as a mirror!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Hollywood Holiday
I rode my motorcycle through a watermelon patch
Right on the california freeway
I took my holy Bible on my blessed boogie woogie drive
Cause I know I know I know
Where I go oh lord theyre gonna bless me jive
Poor you poor me
Poor everybody who buy to be
Poor me poor you
Poor everybody who die to do
I parked my motorcycle on hollywood and vine
And sang till my red blood turned boiling blue
I took my sole survival and bore my cross on a string
Cause I know I know I know
What I dear I bear my charm to king
Poor you poor me
Poor everybody who buy to be
Poor me poor you
Poor everybody who die to do
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Identify the abilities
Intelligence with poor personality
Is like a skeleton with weak muscles.
Skill in art is neither of these.
Persistence is a part of personality.
27.11.2001., Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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My workplace
Some men had pledg'd their hard-earn'd property,
To men with trust to make profit somehow;
The latter’s performance was so dirty,
They aimed to loot and blamed poor worker's show.
These kingpins brought in such corrupt workmen,
Who stripp'd the place threadbare to skeleton;
And turn'd it soon into a vice-filled den;
No one can crack the whip or use baton.
No soul is honest or dedicated;
The corruption-level is very high;
To fools all power is relegated;
The patients poor come here mostly to die?
Oh what a place, so fine and wretched yet?
It needs revamping right from scratch, I bet.
poem by John Celes
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Waiting
A square, squat room (a cellar on promotion),
Drab to the soul, drab to the very daylight;
Plasters astray in unnatural-looking tinware;
Scissors and lint and apothecary's jars.
Here, on a bench a skeleton would writhe from,
Angry and sore, I wait to be admitted:
Wait till my heart is lead upon my stomach,
While at their ease two dressers do their chores.
One has a probe-it feels to me a crowbar.
A small boy sniffs and shudders after bluestone.
A poor old tramp explains his poor old ulcers.
Life is (I think) a blunder and a shame.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Black Girl
These poor villians,
Breathing in the nuclear air,
And destroyed by the poetry of Caesar,
Remember a time
When Mary Magdalen leant back against a wall,
A sexy skeleton of schizophrenia,
And they wandered down to the harbour's edge
And saw a black girl, shining, wild,
Crying out for her Redeemer.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Mothers Lament
(traditional)
Are we rolling? a one, a two, a three, a four...
A mother was washing her baby one night;
The youngest of ten and a delicate mite.
The mother was poor and the baby was thin;
twas naught but a skeleton covered with skin.
The mother turned round for a soap off the rack.
She was only a moment but when she turned back
Her baby had gone, and in anguish she cried,
Oh, where has my baby gone? the angels replied:
Oh, your baby has gone down the plug hole.
Oh, your baby has gone down the plug.
The poor little thing was so skinny and thin,
He should have been washed in a jug, in a jug.
Your baby is perfectly happy;
He wont need a bath anymore.
Hes a-muckin about with the angels above,
Not lost but gone before.
Do you want to do it again?
song performed by by Cream
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mothers Lament
(traditional)
Are we rolling? a one, a two, a three, a four...
A mother was washing her baby one night;
The youngest of ten and a delicate mite.
The mother was poor and the baby was thin;
twas naught but a skeleton covered with skin.
The mother turned round for a soap off the rack.
She was only a moment but when she turned back
Her baby had gone, and in anguish she cried,
Oh, where has my baby gone? the angels replied:
Oh, your baby has gone down the plug hole.
Oh, your baby has gone down the plug.
The poor little thing was so skinny and thin,
He should have been washed in a jug, in a jug.
Your baby is perfectly happy;
He wont need a bath anymore.
Hes a-muckin about with the angels above,
Not lost but gone before.
Do you want to do it again?
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Missing title : skey: LA BELLA BONA
I.
I cannot tell, who loves the skeleton
Of a poor marmoset; nought but boan, boan;
Give me a nakednesse, with her cloath's on.
II.
Such, whose white-sattin upper coat of skin,
Cut upon velvet rich incarnadin,
Has yet a body (and of flesh) within.
III.
Sure, it is meant good husbandry in men,
Who do incorporate with aery leane,
T' repair their sides, and get their ribb agen.
IV.
Hard hap unto that huntsman, that decrees
Fat joys for all his swet, when as he sees,
After his 'say, nought but his keepers fees.
V.
Then, Love, I beg, when next thou tak'st thy bow,
Thy angry shafts, and dost heart-chasing go,
Passe RASCALL DEARE, strike me the largest doe.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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A Small Plot Of Land
Poor soul
Spit upon that
Poor soul
He never knew what hit him
And it hit him so
Poor dunce
He pushed back the pigmen
The barbs laughed
The fool is dead
Poor dunce
Hes less than within us
The brains talk
But the will to live is dead
And prayer cant
Travel so far these days
The talk of your life
Standing so near
To innocent eyes
Poor dunce
Swings thru the tunnels
And claws his way
Is small life so manic
Are these really the days
Poor dunce
Poor dunce
Poor soul
Poor soul
Poor soul
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In This Town
In this town, we gather around
We give praise to the hollow crown
Flesh will burn, bones will crumble
Dead bodies turn, spirits rumble
Blood soaked eyes, every child scream
Gritty choked demise, wild schemes
In this grave, we play around
We give praise to the skeleton clown
Decayed limbs, puppet walk about
Faded whims, inhuman eyes gawk
Soil mixed with fear, we arise
Oil smeared with cheer, we supplies
In this hell, we howl around
We give praise to the ghost town
Ghouls and alike, little girls scream
Schools of fright, the world we deem
Give praise to the skeleton crown
Around this ghostly town
poem by Avery Watts
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The Men
I'm Ramón González Barbagelata from anywhere,
from Cucuy, from Paraná, from Rio Turbio, from Oruro,
from Maracaibo, from Parral, from Ovalle, from Loconmilla,
I'm the poor devil from the poor Third World,
I'm the third-class passenger installed, good God!
in the lavish whiteness of snow-covered mountains,
concealed among orchids of subtle idiosyncrasy.
I've arrived at this famous year 20000, and what do I get?
With what do I scratch myself?� What do I have to do with
the three glorious zeros that flaunt themselves
over my very own zero, my own non-existence?
Pity that brave heart awaiting its call
or the man enfolded by warmer love,
nothing's left today except my flimsy skeleton,
my eyes unhinged, confronting the era's beginning.
The era's beginning: are these ruined shacks,
these poor schools, these people still in rags and tatters,
this cloddish insecurity of my poor families,
is all this the day? the century's beginning, the golden door?
Well, enough said, I, at least, discreet,
as in office, patched and pensive,
I proclaim the redundancy of the inaugural:
I've arrived here with all my baggage,
bad luck and worse jobs,
misery always waiting with open arms,
the mobilization of people piled up on top of each other,
and the manifold geography of hunger.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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I Go For Simplicity My Friend
i go for simplicity my friend
because i am poor
i do not go for sophistication
because i am poor
i do not complicate matters
because i am poor
i do not want you to misunderstand
because i am poor
i do not want you to think some more
because i am poor
i do not want to convince you
because i am poor
i do not want you to be with our side
because we are poor
i want all things in their simplified forms
because we cannot afford
any other form of convolutions
we cannot afford another revolution
it will be expensive
and we have no more years to give
to pay for the sponsors
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Everybody Scream
EVERYBODY SCREAM
Attention boils & ghouls
It's time for Dr. Wolfenstein's
Creature Feature Show
Yeah Solitary things, in a monster eye
Undertaker, fog high in a coffin sky
Cool ghoul, ain't a fool All the ladies cry
Ghost host, with the most All the ladies die
Everybody Scream for Wolfenstein
A skeleton brain, in a graveyard mind
Everybody Scream for Wolfenstein
A voodoo daddy he's a one of a kind Yeah
Ah! The Doctor is in!
Don't scream, don't move, haha!
I'm your host Your ghost host, with the most
Dr. Wolfenstein
Yeah Shriekin' in the night, on holy hills
A matter badder, baby Givin' you the chills
Cool ghoul, ain't a fool Sharpen up the fangs
Ghost host, with the most Join a monster jam
Everybody Scream for Wolfenstein
A skeleton brain, in a graveyard mind
Everybody Scream for Wolfenstein
A voodoo daddy he's a one of a kind Yeah
Yeah Everybody Scream for Wolfenstein
A skeleton brain, in a graveyard mind
Everybody Scream for Wolfenstein
A voodoo daddy he's a one of a kind Yeah
*Evil laugh*
song performed by by Rob Zombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poor Little Girl
Poor Little Girl
Nobody cares what she does
She only lives what she was
In her mind reliving thoughts of yesterday
‘til she finds she knows her way she’ll have to play poor little girl
Poor little girl
Why can’t she love what she’s seen
People don’t want her to’ve been
Wasting time and living in her yesterday
‘til she finds she knows her way she’ll have to play poor little girl
Poor little girl
Her heart will shoulder
Who she’s intended to be
She may never know her
Until she has set herself free
Harboring the darkest nights of yesterday
So until she finds her way she’ll have to play poor little girl
Poor little girl
She’s so important to me
I admit I use to be
Runnin’ never knowin’ of my destiny
Blessings in disguise today that end that play
Poor little girl,
Poor little girl
Poor little girl
Little girl’s me
Copyright 1969, Will Fiala
poem by Will Fiala
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My Skeleton, My Rival
Interesting that I have to live with my skeleton.
It stands, prepared to emerge, and I carry it
with me—this other thing I will become at death,
and yet it keeps me erect and limber in my walk,
my rival.
What will the living see of me
if they should open my grave but my bones
that will stare at them through hollow sockets
and bared teeth.
I write this to warn my friends
not to be shocked at my changed attitude
toward them, but to be aware
that I have it in me to be someone
other than I am, and I write to ask forgiveness
that death is not wholesome for friendships,
that bones do not talk, have no quarrel with me,
do not even know I exist.
A machine called skeleton will take my place
in the minds of others when I am dead
among the living, and that machine
will make it obvious that I have died
to be identified by bones
that have no speech, no thought, no mind
to speak of having let themselves be carried
once around in me, as at my service
at the podium or as I lay beside my love
or when I held my child at birth
or embraced a friend or shook a critic's hand
or held a pen to sign a check or book
or wrote a farewell letter to a love
or held my penis at the bowl
or lay my hand upon my face at the mirror
and approved of it.
There is Ignatow, it will be said,
looking down inside the open grave.
I'll be somewhere in my poems, I think,
to be mistaken for my bones, but There's Ignatow
will be said. I say to those who persist,
just read what I have written.
I'll be there, held together by another kind
of structure, of thought and imagery,
mind and matter, love and longing, tensions
opposite, such as the skeleton requires
to stand upright, to move with speed,
to sit with confidence, my friend the skeleton
and I its friend, shielding it from harm.
poem by David Ignatow
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Poor Baby
Orbison/c & r price
Glittery eyes; witchy smiles
A good time is all you are after
Skin tight thighs; little white lies
Put you in the center of the laughter
But your reign of queen is over
Your fortress has been broken down
You're still the center of the laughter
But your role has changed to the clown
Chorus
Ooh poor baby
Someone broke your heart in two
Ooh poor baby
Who would have thought it could happen to you
Poor baby
A pretty face; sweet talkin' ways
Got you a part of the action
A come-over-touch, glances and such
You always had to be the main attraction
Now you're the one who's crying
You lost at your own lonely game
You're still the center of attraction
But now i'm gone, you've got yourself to blame
Chorus
Ooh poor baby
Do what you said you'd never do
Ooh poor baby
You let someone get much too close to you
Poor baby
Poor baby,poor baby
Poor baby,poor baby
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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