They that see but your head dinna see your height.
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Paranoid Andriod
please could you stop the noises, i'm trying to get some rest
from all the unborn chicken voices in my head
what's that? (my name is paranoid, i am your android)
what's that? (my name is paranoid, i am your android)
when i am king, you will be first against the wall
with your opinion which is of no consequence at all
what's that? (my name is paranoid, i am your android)
what's that? (my name is paranoid, i am your android)
ambition makes you look pretty ugly
kicking squealing gucci little piggy
you don't remember
you don't remember
why don't you remember my name?
off with his head man
off with his head man
why won't he remember my name? -- i guess he does
rain down
rain down
come on rain down
on me
from a great height
from a great height, height
rain down
rain down
come on rain down
on me
from a great height
from a great height, height
(repeats 3rd time, underneath vocals are:)
that's it sir,
you're leaving,
the crackle of pig skin,
the dust and the screaming,
the yuppies networking,
the panic, the vomit,
the panic, the vomit,
God loves his children,
God loves his children, yeah
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paranoid Android
Please could you stop the noise Im trying to get some rest?
From all the unborn chicken voices in my head
Whats that, whats that
When I am king you will be first against the wall
With your opinion which is of no consequence at all
Whats that, whats that
Ambition makes you look pretty ugly
Kicking squealing gucci little piggy
You dont remember, you dont remember, why dont you remember my name
Off with his head man, off with his head man
Why dont you remember my name? -- I guess he does
Rain down, rain down, come on rain down on me
From a great height, from a great height, height
Rain down, rain down, come on rain down on me
From a great height, from a great height, height
(repeats 3rd time, underneath vocals are:)
Thats it sir, youre leaving,
The crackle of pig skin,
The dust and the screaming
The yuppies networking
The panic, the vomit,
The panic, the vomit
God loves his children,
God loves his children, yeah
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poor little Heart!
192
Poor little Heart!
Did they forget thee?
Then dinna care! Then dinna care!
Proud little Heart!
Did they forsake thee?
Be debonnaire! Be debonnaire!
Frail little Heart!
I would not break thee—
Could'st credit me? Could'st credit me?
Gay little Heart—
Like Morning Glory!
Wind and Sun—wilt thee array!
poem by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When ye ca' the dog out o' your ain kail-yaird, dinna ca't into mine.
Dinna streetch yer airm farther than yer sleeve'll let ye.
Mony ways to kill a dog though ye dinna hang him.
It's Only Our Shell
(10/1/12)
She was a big boned woman without an ounce of fat
But for her height and stature, she was much more than that.
She was a queen - a goddess of height and might
And for her love I would surely fight.
Her height and physique would put fear
In other women from the start
But she had the most kind and gentlest heart.
Why does height and build stop us from seeing
Ones true self.
It's only a body - it's only a shell.
The inside of that giant or dwarf
May be as big or as small as you
And going thru your same things too.
"So remember" - our bodies are just an outer shell
The only place our hearts can dwell.
© L. RAMS
poem by Louis Rams
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Old English Lullaby
Hush, bonnie, dinna greit;
Moder will rocke her sweete,-
Balow, my boy!
When that his toile ben done,
Daddie will come anone,-
Hush thee, my lyttel one;
Balow, my boy!
Gin thou dost sleepe, perchaunce
Fayries will come to daunce,-
Balow, my boy!
Oft hath thy moder seene
Moonlight and mirkland queene
Daunce on thy slumbering een,-
Balow, my boy!
Then droned a bomblebee
Saftly this songe to thee:
'Balow, my boy!'
And a wee heather bell,
Pluckt from a fayry dell,
Chimed thee this rune hersell:
'Balow, my boy!'
Soe, bonnie, dinna greit;
Moder doth rock her sweete,-
Balow, my boy!
Give mee thy lyttel hand,
Moder will hold it and
Lead thee to balow land,-
Balow, my boy!
poem by Eugene Field
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Altho' He Has Left Me
Altho' he has left me for greed o' the siller,
I dinna envy him the gains he can win;
I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow,
Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him.
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Lass That Made the Bed to Me
When Januar' wind was blawing cauld,
As to the north I took my way,
The mirksome night did me enfauld,
I knew na whare to lodge till day:
By my gude luck a maid I met,
Just in the middle o' my care,
And Kindly she did me invite
To walk into a chamber fair.
I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,
And thank'd her for her courtesie;
I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,
An bade her make a bed to me;
She made the bed baith large and wide,
Wi' twa white hands she spread it doun;
She put the cup to her rosy lips,
And drank - "Young man, now sleep ye soun'."
Chorus - The bonie lass made the bed to me,
The braw lass made the bed to me,
I'll ne'er forget till the day I die,
The lass that made the bed to me.
She snatch'd the candle in her hand,
And frae my chamber went wi' speed;
But I call'd her quickly back again,
To lay some mair below my head:
A cod she laid below my head,
And served me with due respect,
And, to salute her wi' a kis,
I put my arms about her neck.
Chorus: -...
"Haud aff your hands, young man! she said,
"And dinna sae uncivil be;
Gif ye hae ony luve for me,
O wrang ma my virginitie."
Her hair was like the links o' gowd,
Her teeth were like the ivorie,
Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine,
The lass that made the bed to me.
Chorus: -...
Her bosom was the driven snaw,
Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see;
Her limbs the polish'd marble stane,
The lass that made the bed to me.
I kiss'd her o'er and o'er again,
And aye she wist na what to say:
I laid her 'tween me and the wa';
The lassie thocht na lang till day.
Chorus: -...
Upon the morrow when we raise,
I thank'd her for her courtesie;
But aye she blush'd and aye she sigh'd,
And said, "Alas, ye've ruin'd me."
I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne,
While the tear stood twinklin' in her e'e;
I said, "My lassie, dinna cry,
For ye aye shall make the bed to me."
Chorus: - ...
She took her mither's holland sheets,
An' made them a' in sarks to me;
Blythe and merry may she be,
The lass that made the bed to me.
Chorus: -...
poem by Robert Burns
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Lass That Made the Bed to Me, The
When Januar' wind was blawing cauld,
As to the north I took my way,
The mirksome night did me enfauld,
I knew na whare to lodge till day:
By my gude luck a maid I met,
Just in the middle o' my care,
And Kindly she did me invite
To walk into a chamber fair.
I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,
And thank'd her for her courtesie;
I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,
An bade her make a bed to me;
She made the bed baith large and wide,
Wi' twa white hands she spread it doun;
She put the cup to her rosy lips,
And drank - "Young man, now sleep ye soun'."
Chorus - The bonie lass made the bed to me,
The braw lass made the bed to me,
I'll ne'er forget till the day I die,
The lass that made the bed to me.
She snatch'd the candle in her hand,
And frae my chamber went wi' speed;
But I call'd her quickly back again,
To lay some mair below my head:
A cod she laid below my head,
And served me with due respect,
And, to salute her wi' a kis,
I put my arms about her neck.
Chorus: -...
"Haud aff your hands, young man! she said,
"And dinna sae uncivil be;
Gif ye hae ony luve for me,
O wrang ma my virginitie."
Her hair was like the links o' gowd,
Her teeth were like the ivorie,
Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine,
The lass that made the bed to me.
Chorus: -...
Her bosom was the driven snaw,
Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see;
Her limbs the polish'd marble stane,
The lass that made the bed to me.
I kiss'd her o'er and o'er again,
And aye she wist na what to say:
I laid her 'tween me and the wa';
The lassie thocht na lang till day.
Chorus: -...
Upon the morrow when we raise,
I thank'd her for her courtesie;
But aye she blush'd and aye she sigh'd,
And said, "Alas, ye've ruin'd me."
I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne,
While the tear stood twinklin' in her e'e;
I said, "My lassie, dinna cry,
For ye aye shall make the bed to me."
Chorus: - ...
She took her mither's holland sheets,
An' made them a' in sarks to me;
Blythe and merry may she be,
The lass that made the bed to me.
Chorus: -...
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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That which seems the height of absurdity in one generation often becomes the height of wisdom in the next.
quote by John Stuart Mill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That which seems the height of absurdity in one generation often becomes the height of wisdom in another.
quote by Adlai E. Stevenson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Here's To Thy Health
Tune - "Laggan Burn."
Here's to thy health, my bonie lass,
Gude nicht and joy be wi' thee;
I'll come nae mair to thy bower-door,
To tell thee that I lo'e thee.
O dinna think, my pretty pink,
But I can live without thee:
I vow and swear I dinna care,
How lang ye look about ye.
Thou'rt aye sae free informing me,
Thou hast nae mind to marry;
I'll be as free informing thee,
Nae time hae I to tarry:
I ken thy frien's try ilka means
Frae wedlock to delay thee;
Depending on some higher chance,
But fortune may betray thee.
I ken they scorn my low estate,
But that does never grieve me;
For I'm as free as any he;
Sma' siller will relieve me.
I'll count my health my greatest wealth,
Sae lang as I'll enjoy it;
I'll fear nae scant, I'll bode nae want,
As lang's I get employment.
But far off fowls hae feathers fair,
And, aye until ye try them,
Tho' they seem fair, still have a care;
They may prove waur than I am.
But at twal' at night, when the moon shines bright,
My dear, I'll come and see thee;
For the man that loves his mistress weel,
Nae travel makes him weary.
poem by Robert Burns
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Oyvind's Song
Lift thy head, thou undaunted youth!
Though some hope may now break, forsooth,
Brighter a new one and higher
Shall throe eye fill with its fire.
Lift thy head to the vision clear!
Something near thee is calling: "Here!"--
Something with myriad voicing,
Ever in courage rejoicing.
Lift thy head, for an azure height
Rears within thee a vault of light;
Music of harps there is ringing,
Jubilant, rapturous singing.
Lift thy head and thy longing sing!
None shall conquer the growing spring;
Where there is life-making power,
Time shall set free the flower.
Lift thy head and thyself baptize
In the hopes that radiant rise,
Heaven to earth foreshowing,
And in each life-spark glowing!
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Height of Sin
Height of sin let there men grin,
Faster than the soul which is in;
May my head be glad of all good,
Mine is the wealth so much stood,
Of all time to win.
poem by Naveed Akram
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