From the cradle to the coffin underwear comes first.
quote by Bertolt Brecht
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Crow On The Cradle
(from the soundtrack to no nukes; peformed live by jackson browne with graham nash & david lindley)
The sheeps in the meadow
The cows in the corn
Now is the time for a child to be born
Hell laugh at the moon
And cry for the sun
And if its a boy hell carry a gun
Sang the crow on the cradle
And if it should be that this babys a girl
Never you mind if her hair doesnt curl
With rings on her fingers
And bells on her toes
And a bomber above her wherever she goes
Sang the crow on the cradle
The crow on the cradle
The black and the white
Somebodys baby is born for a fight
The crow on the cradle
The white and the black
Somebodys baby is not coming back
Sang the crow on the cradle
Your mother and father will sweat and theyll slave
To build you a coffin and dig you a grave
Hush-a-bye little one, never you weep
For weve got a toy that can put you to sleep
Sang the crow on the cradle
Bring me my gun, and Ill shoot that bird dead
Thats what your mother and father once said
The crow on the cradle, what can we do
Ah, this is a thing that Ill leave up to you
Sang the crow on the cradle
Sang the crow on the cradle
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Harder Than A Coffin Nail
Harden than a coffin nail
Bend the heaven up into hell
Harden than a coffin nail
Hahahahahaha
Harden than a coffin nail
Harden than a coffin nail
Harden than a coffin nail
Harden than a coffin nail
Hahahaha
Harden than a coffin nail
Hahahahaha
Harden than a coffin nail
Avril Lavigne
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song performed by by Papa Roach
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What a mother sings to the cradle goes all the way down to the coffin.
quote by Henry Ward Beecher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One of my assistants found this old German machine. It was originally used to make underwear. Like Chanel, who started with underwear fabric - jerseys - we used the machine that made underwear to make something else.
quote by Issey Miyake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Can I Wait For My Boxer's to Dry?
I was often told...
Be careful how you go up the ladder,
Because one day you may have to come down.
And to always wear clean underwear.
Since you never know...
Who just might be around.
'That still doesn't explain,
Why you are butt naked...
Standing on a ladder,
And hanging your underwear
On tree limbs! '
Well officer...
It's like this.
If my neighbors saw my underwear clean,
And I put them on publicly.
They would not worry about how they looked...
When I came down the ladder.
It would be obvious...
My underwear is clean!
'I still have to take you in for psychiatric observation.
I understand the logic behind it!
However...
I do think you have been a bit stressed.
And taking things out of context.'
Can I wait for my boxer's to dry?
I just put those on my next door neighbor's satellite dish!
Did they call you?
I bet they did!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Underwear
I didn’t get much sleep last night
thinking about underwear
Have you ever stopped to consider
underwear in the abstract
When you really dig into it
some shocking problems are raised
Underwear is something we all have to deal with
Everyone wears
some kind of underwear
Even Indians wear underwear
Even Cubans
wear underwear
The Pope wears underwear I hope
The Governor of Louisiana wears underwear
I saw him on TV
He must have had tight underwear
He squirmed a lot
Underwear can really get you in a bind
You have seen the underwear ads for men and women
so alike but so different
Women’s underwear holds things up
Men’s underwear holds things down
Underwear is one thing
men and women do have in common
Underwear is all we have between us
You have seen the three-color pictures
with crotches encircled
to show the areas of extra strength
with three-way stretch
promising full freedom of action
Don’t be deceived
It’s all based on the two-party system
which doesn’t allow much freedom of choice
the way things are set up
America in its Underwear
struggles thru the night
Underwear controls everything in the end
Take foundation garments for instance
They are really fascist forms
of underground government
making people believe
something but the truth
telling you what you can of can’t do
Did you ever try to get around a girdle
Perhaps Non-Violent Action
is the only answer
Did Gandhi wear a girdle?
Did Lady Macbeth wear a girdle?
Was that why Macbeth murdered sleep?
And the spot she was always rubbing -
Was it really her underwear?
Modern anglosaxon ladies
must have huge guilt complexes
always washing and washing and washing
Out damned spot
Underwear with spots very suspicious
Underwear with bulges very shocking
Underwear on clothesline a great flag of freedom
Someone has escaped his Underwear
May be naked somewhere
Help!
But don’t worry
Everybody’s still hung up in it
There won’t be no real revolution
And poetry still the underwear of the soul
And underwear still covering
a multitude of faults
in the geological sense -
strange sedimentary stones, inscrutable cracks!
If I were you I’d keep aside
an oversize pair of winter underwear
Do not go naked into that good night
And in the meantime
keep calm and warm and dry
No use stirring ourselves up prematurely
‘over Nothing’
Move forward with dignity
hand in vest
Don’t get emotional
And death shall have no dominion
There’s plenty of time my darling
Are we not still young and easy?
Don’t shout.
poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the Dead of night
In the dead of night, a Sufi began to weep.
He said, 'This world is like a closed coffin, in which
We are shut and in which, through our ignorance,
We spend our lives in folly and desolation.
When Death comes to open the lid of the coffin,
Each one who has wings will fly off to Eternity,
But those without will remain locked in the coffin.
So, my friends, before the lid of this coffin is taken off,
Do all you can to become a bird of the Way to God;
Do all you can to develop your wings and your feathers.'
poem by Farid ud-Din Attar Abu Hamid bin Abu Bakr Ibrahim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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As Soon as Fred Gets Out of Bed
As soon as Fred gets out of bed,
his underwear goes on his head.
His mother laughs, "Don't put it there,
a head's no place for underwear!"
But near his ears, above his brains,
is where Fred's underwear remains.
At night when Fred goes back to bed,
he deftly plucks it off his head.
His mother switches off the light
and softly croons, "Good night! Good night!"
And then, for reasons no one knows,
Fred's underwear goes on his toes.
poem by Jack Prelutsky
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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John Betjeman, Poet
Six distinguished men, soaked to the skin,
others with the ladies following,
a coffin, underslung,
a walk of half a mile along a rough churchgoing path,
the coffin swinging like a cradle,
in driving Cornish rain;
an almost merry funeral,
green and flowered with thought,
full of the memory of laughter
There’s a photo – he's
about two or three years old –
this is a child born
with fear on his face
at having been born
to death; (the cradle
swinging like a coffin) :
instead of looking at the
birdie in the camera, it’s the void he sees.
how to fill the intervening years?
walking just as Pooh Bear walks,
(his beloved, patched teddy bear
which accompanied him for life
had taught him how to walk)
solemn, careful, tubby, smallish steps,
hopping across a road
as if civilisation had taken him by surprise;
squashed pork pie hat concealing
lugubrious face, immobile, melancholy
when not exploding into laughter;
laughter, beauty, won the day.
how to fill the intervening years?
with the gaiety of company, love of women,
declarations of love and offers of marriage,
love affairs for all of ten minutes, sometimes lifelong;
with beauty, observation, comedy; the gift
of finding life one long party is perhaps of those
who've not forgotten death;
a sad face walking so alone,
leaving behind him in the lightest verse,
which won a nation's laurelled love, writing of
the absurdities of class, the built beauty of
a nation’s heritage, washed by sea and custom,
wind and Cornish rocks and shore;
an unspoken magnificence; hints of eternity;
joy; delight, and eloquence; and laughter.
Six distinguished men, soaked to the skin,
others with the ladies following,
a coffin, underslung,
a walk of half a mile along a rough churchending path,
the coffin swinging like a cradle,
in driving Cornish rain;
an almost merry funeral,
green and flowered with thought,
full of the memory of laughter.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Favorite
Don't look sexy but it just feels right
Not too dirty and it's not too tight
Why I never threw it out, I'll never know exactly why
Keep it in the drawer beside my bed
It's faded pink now, but it used to be red
Starting to fray at the seams, but I know that you'll still love me
Like you did, like you did
Like before, like before
Like we will, like we will
Be doin' it once more
Oh baby know what your like?
You're like my favorite underwear
It just feels right, you know it
Oh baby know how you feel?
You feel like my favorite underwear
And I'm slipping you on again tonight
Leave you lyin' on the bedroom floor
I leave you hangin' on the bathroom door
Take you for granted, but I'll always know exactly where you are
Lost you once you were hard to find
Got you back you didn't live like mine
Thought we were falling apart but you make me feel so pretty
Like you did, like you did
Like before, like before
Like we will, like we will
Be doin' it once more
Oh baby know what your like?
You're like my favorite underwear
It just feels right, you know it
Oh baby know how you feel?
You feel like my favorite underwear
And I'm slipping you on again tonight
Slipping you on again tonight
Wrap me and roll me, hold me tight
Tear me apart and make me new
Like you always do
Oh baby know what your like?
You're like my favorite underwear
It just feels right, you know it
You feel you're like this is what I want
You feel, you feel
Oh baby know what your like?
You're like my favorite underwear
It just feels right, you know it
You feel you're like this is what I want
You feel, you feel
Slipping you on again tonight
song performed by by Liz Phair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Coffin Car
Coffin car, shes riding a coffin car.
People watching her with tender eyes,
Friends whispering in kindly words,
Children running, waving hands,
Telling each other, how pretty she is.
Coffin car, she likes to ride a coffin car.
Friends making ways for the first time,
People throwing kisses for the first time,
Showering flowers, ringing bells,
Telling each other, how nice she is.
Coffin car, shes riding a coffin car.
Wives showing tears for the first time,
Husband taking their hats off for the first time,
Crushing their handkerchiefs, rubbing their nose,
Telling each other, how good she is.
Half the world is dead anyway,
The other half is asleep.
And life is killing her,
Telling her to join the dead.
So evry day, she likes to ride a coffin car,
A flower covered coffin car,
Pretending she was dead.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Coffin Car
Coffin car, shes riding a coffin car.
People watching her with tender eyes,
Friends whispering in kindly words,
Children running, waving hands,
Telling each other, how pretty she is.
Coffin car, she likes to ride a coffin car.
Friends making ways for the first time,
People throwing kisses for the first time,
Showering flowers, ringing bells,
Telling each other, how nice she is.
Coffin car, shes riding a coffin car.
Wives showing tears for the first time,
Husband taking their hats off for the first time,
Crushing their handkerchiefs, rubbing their nose,
Telling each other, how good she is.
Half the world is dead anyway,
The other half is asleep.
And life is killing her,
Telling her to join the dead.
So evry day, she likes to ride a coffin car,
A flower covered coffin car,
Pretending she was dead.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Waer Is Love
on beach
underwear girls
underwear boys
playing at sands
love full...?
love is undearwear?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hush a By Baby
Hush-a-by Baby
On the tree top,
When the wind blows
The cradle will rock;
When the bough breaks
The cradle will fall,
Down tumbles baby,
Cradle, and all.
poem by Anonymous English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Inside That Coffin
Inside that coffin
It is where family wisdom comes from
Where we have been parented
Where a minority of this family rest.
INSIDE THAT COFFIN
It is where the beloved one rest
For god have sent her there
Where she thirst no more
INSIDE THAT COFFIN
A silver rest inside
Thou its inside is filled with darkness
INSIDE THAT COFFIN
I have proven
Every dark cloud, there is a silver lining.
poem by Nengovhela Murendeni
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Nailed Coffin - Life? English & Japanese
Coffin pounded nails
Economy of air
Survive, never complain!
No wasting any air
Be happy you still have
the freedom's scent!
With own blood
-color of love
feel free to paint
on the coffin walls
a million hearts!
a mountain, a river
a sea, the sky,
whole world! !
Keep happy, smile:
-only a coffin, could not
make you feel alone,
Right? ! ?
釘 打 た れ た 棺 桶 - 人 生 ？
釘 を 打 た れ た 棺 桶
空 気 の 節 約
生 き 残 れ 、 不 平 を 言 わ ず に ！
わ ず か な 空 気 も 無 駄 に す る こ と な く
自 由 の 香 り を 感 じ れ る だ け
あ り が た く 思 え ！
自 ら の 血 で
-愛 の 色
ど う ぞ 自 由 に お 描 き な さ い
棺 桶 の 壁 に
百 万 の 心 臓 を ！
山 、 川
海 、 空
す べ て の 世 界 を ！
ず っ と 幸 せ に 、 笑 顔 で ：
-た か が 棺 桶 な ん か で
孤 独 を 感 じ る こ と な ん て な い
そ う で し ょ う ？ ！ ？
poem by Elena Sandu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I don't always wear underwear. When I'm in the heat, especially, I can't wear it. Like, if I'm wearing a flower dress, why do I have to wear underwear?
quote by Naomi Campbell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cradle Of Love
Well rock the cradle of love
Rock the cradle of love
Yes the cradle of love dont rock easily its true
Well rock the cradle of love
I rocked the cradle of love
Yes the cradle of love dont rock easily its true
Well now
It burned like a ball of fire
When the rebel took a little child bride
To tease yeah so go easy yeah
Cause love cutts a million ways
Shakes the devil when he missbehaves
I aint nobodys fool
Come on shake it up
Whatever I do
Rock the cradle of love
Rock the cradle of love
Yes the cradle of love dont rock easily its true
Sent from heaven above thats right
To rob the cradle of love
Yes the pages of dont talk decently its true
Yeah flesh for your romeo
Ah yeah baby
I hear you moan
Its easy yknow how to please me yeah
This love starts my rollin train
You cant stop it
It aint in vain
I aint nobodys fool
Come on shake it up
Whatever you do
These are the wages of love
Rock the cradle of love
These are the wages of love
Ooh yeah
Rock the cradle
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Well it burned like a ball of fire
When the rebel took a little child bride
To tease yeah I know how to pleas you yeah
Well my love starts a rollin train
You cant stop it
It aint in vain
I aint nobodys fool
Come on shake it up
Wathever I do
Rock the cradle of love
Rock the cradle of love
Sent from heaven above
Thats right
To rock the cradle of love
Rock the cradle of love
Yeah cradle of love
Thats me mama
I robbed the devil of love
All right
Cradle of love
If you teaze me tonight
If you sleaze me all right
If you appeaze me tonight
And let me ease you
Cradle of love
song performed by by Billy Idol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Good-By To The Cradle
GOOD-BY to the cradle, the dear wooden cradle,
The rude hand of Progress has thrust it aside:
No more to its motion, o'er Sleep's fairy ocean,
Our play-weary wayfarers peacefully glide;
No more by the rhythm of slow-moving rocker
Their sweet, dreamy fancies are fostered and fed;
No more to low singing the cradle goes swinging--
The child of this era is put into bed!
Good-by to the cradle, the dear wooden cradle,--
It lent to the twilight a mystical charm:
When bees left the clover, when playtime was over,
How safe seemed this shelter from danger and harm;
How soft seemed the pillow, how distant the ceiling,
How weird were the voices that whispered around;
What dreams would come flocking as, rocking and rocking,
We floated away into slumber profound.
Good-by to the cradle, the old wooden cradle,
The babe of the day does not know it by sight;
When day leaves the border, with system and order
The child goes to bed, and we put out the light.
I bow to Progression; and ask no concession,
Though strewn be her pathway with wrecks of the Past.
So off with old lumber, that sweet ark of slumber,
The dear wooden cradle, is ruthlessly cast.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Old Wooden Cradle
Good-bye to the cradle, the dear wooden cradle
The rude hand of Progress has thrust it aside.
No more to its motion o’er sleep’s fairy ocean,
Our play-weary wayfarers peacefully glide.
No more by the rhythm of slow-moving rocker,
Their sweet dreamy fancies are fostered and fed;
No more to low singing the cradle goes swinging –
The child of this era is put into bed.
Good-bye to the cradle, the dear wooden cradle,
It lent to the twilight a strange, subtle charm;
When bees left the clover, when play-time was over,
How safe seemed this shelter from danger or harm.
How soft seemed the pillow, how distant the ceiling,
How weird were the voices that whispered around,
What dreams would come flocking, as rocking and rocking,
We floated away into slumber profound.
Good-bye to the cradle, the old wooden cradle,
The babe of to-day does not know it by sight.
When day leaves the border, with system and order,
The child goes to bed and we put out the light.
I bow to Progression and ask no concession,
Though strewn be her pathway with wrecks of the past;
So off wit old lumber, that sweet ark of slumber,
The old wooden cradle, is ruthlessly cast.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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