Spleen
I'm like the king of a rain-country, rich
but sterile, young but with an old wolf's itch,
one who escapes Fénelon's apologues,
and kills the day in boredom with his dogs;
nothing cheers him, darts, tennis, falconry,
his people dying by the balcony;
the bawdry of the pet hermaphrodite
no longer gets him through a single night;
his bed of fleur-de-lys becomes a tomb;
even the ladies of the court, for whom
all kings are beautiful, cannot put on
shameful enough dresses for this skeleton;
the scholar who makes his gold cannot invent
washes to cleanse the poisoned element;
even in baths of blood, Rome's legacy,
our tyrants' solace in senility,
we cannot warm up his shot corpse, whose food
is syrup-green Lethean ooze, not blood.
poem by Charles Baudelaire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Spleen (III)
Je suis comme le roi d'un pays pluvieux,
Riche, mais impuissant, jeune et pourtant très vieux,
Qui, de ses précepteurs méprisant les courbettes,
S'ennuie avec ses chiens comme avec d'autres bêtes.
Rien ne peut l'égayer, ni gibier, ni faucon,
Ni son peuple mourant en face du balcon.
Du bouffon favori la grotesque ballade
Ne distrait plus le front de ce cruel malade;
Son lit fleurdelisé se transforme en tombeau,
Et les dames d'atour, pour qui tout prince est beau,
Ne savent plus trouver d'impudique toilette
Pour tirer un souris de ce jeune squelette.
Le savant qui lui fait de l'or n'a jamais pu
De son être extirper l'élément corrompu,
Et dans ces bains de sang qui des Romains nous viennent,
Et dont sur leurs vieux jours les puissants se souviennent,
II n'a su réchauffer ce cadavre hébété
Où coule au lieu de sang l'eau verte du Léthé
----------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------
Spleen
I am like the king of a rainy land,
Wealthy but powerless, both young and very old,
Who contemns the fawning manners of his tutors
And is bored with his dogs and other animals.
Nothing can cheer him, neither the chase nor falcons,
Nor his people dying before his balcony.
The ludicrous ballads of his favorite clown
No longer smooth the brow of this cruel invalid;
His bed, adorned with fleurs-de-lis, becomes a grave;
The lady's maids, to whom every prince is handsome,
No longer can find gowns shameless enough
To wring a smile from this young skeleton.
The alchemist who makes his gold was never able
To extract from him the tainted element,
And in those baths of blood come down from Roman times,
And which in their old age the powerful recall,
He failed to warm this dazed cadaver in whose veins
Flows the green water of Lethe in place of blood.
— Translated by William Aggeler
-------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------
Spleen
I'm like the King of some damp, rainy clime,
Grown impotent and old before my time,
Who scorns the bows and scrapings of his teachers
And bores himself with hounds and all such creatures.
Naught can amuse him, falcon, steed, or chase:
No, not the mortal plight of his whole race
Dying before his balcony. The tune,
Sung to this tyrant by his pet buffoon,
Irks him. His couch seems far more like a grave.
Even the girls, for whom all kings seem brave,
Can think no toilet up, nor shameless rig,
To draw a smirk from this funereal prig.
The sage who makes him gold, could never find
The baser element that rots his mind.
Even those blood-baths the old Romans knew
And later thugs have imitated too,
Can't warm this skeleton to deeds of slaughter,
Whose only blood is Lethe's cold, green water.
— Translated by Roy Campbell
--------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------- -
Spleen
I'm like the king of a rain-country, rich
but sterile, young but with an old wolf's itch,
one who escapes his tutor's monologues,
and kills the day in boredom with his dogs;
nothing cheers him, darts, tennis, falconry,
his people dying by the balcony;
the bawdry of the pet hermaphrodite
no longer gets him through a single night;
his bed of fleur-de-lys becomes a tomb;
even the ladies of the court, for whom
all kings are beautiful, cannot put on
shameful enough dresses for this skeleton;
the scholar who makes his gold cannot invent
washes to cleanse the poisoned element;
even in baths of blood, Rome's legacy,
our tyrants' solace in senility,
he cannot warm up his shot corpse, whose food
is syrup-green Lethean ooze, not blood.
— Translated by Robert Lowell
--------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------
The King of the Rainy Country
A rainy country this, that I am monarch of, —
A rich but powerless king, worn-out while yet a boy;
For whom in vain the falcon falls upon the dove;
Not even his starving people's groans can give him joy;
Scorning his tutors, loathing his spaniels, finding stale
His favorite jester's quips, yawning at the droll tale.
His bed, for all its fleurs de lis, looks like a tomb;
The ladies of the court, attending him, to whom
He, being a prince, is handsome, see him lying there
Cold as a corpse, and lift their shoulders in despair:
No garment they take off, no garter they leave on
Excites the gloomy eye of this young skeleton.
The royal alchemist, who makes him gold from lead,
The baser element from out the royal head
Cannot extract; nor can those Roman baths of blood,
For some so efficacious, cure the hebetude
Of him, along whose veins, where flows no blood at all,
For ever the slow waters of green Lethe crawl.
— Translated by Edna St. Vincent Millay
----------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------
Spleen
I'm like a king of rainy lands and cold
— wealthy, but impotent: still young, but old —
who, scornful of his tutors' bows, prefers
his hounds and boredom to such grovellers.
nor stag nor falcon rouse his apathy,
nor starving subjects 'neath his balcony.
his favourite jester's wildest ballads now
no longer clear his cruel, sickened brow;
his royal bed's a coffin drowned in care,
and court-ladies, to whom all kings are fair,
— seeking a smile from that young skeleton —
no longer find one shameless robe to don.
nor can the sage who makes him gold succeed
in purging him of Death's corruptive seed,
nor in the baths of blood the Romans knew,
wherein the agèd rich their strength renew,
learn how to warm that cold numb corpse, through whose
dull veins, for blood, green Lethe's waters ooze.
— Translated by Lewis Piaget Shanks
--------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------
Spleen
I am like the king of a rainy country,
Rich, and yet powerless, young and yet most old,
Who, distrustful of the bows his tutors make,
Sits bored among his dogs as with his other beasts.
Nothing can lift his spirits: neither hawk nor game;
The dying subjects gathered to his balcony;
The grotesque ballad of his best-loved fool
--No more distracts him in this sickness cruel.
His lilied bed is changed into a tomb;
The ladies of his court all lords might love,
And yet they can no longer find shameless attire
To draw a smile from their young, wasted sire.
The alchemist who made him gold could not
Purge from his soul this corrupt element,
And in a blood bath, as in ancient Rome,
Remembered by the mighty in their latter days,
Knew not to warm this dazzled corpse
Where flows not blood but Lethe's waters green.
Translated by Anonymous
poem by Charles Baudelaire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wolves
(Wolf Howls)
I'm not a hunter but i am told,
that, uh, in places like in the arctic,
where indiginous people sometimes might, might, hunt a wolf,
they'll take a double edged blade,
and they'll put blood on the blade,
and they'll melt the ice and stick the handle in the ice,
so that only the blade is protruding,
and that a wolf will smell the blood and wants to eat,
and it will come and lick the blade trying to eat,
and what happens is when the wolf licks the blade,
of course, he cuts his tongue, and he bleeds,
and he thinks he's really having a good thing,
and he drinks and he licks and he licks,
and of course he is drinking his own blood and he kills himself,
thats what the Imperialists did with us with crack cocaine,
you have these young brothers out there who think they are getting something
they gonna make a living with,
they is getting something they can buy a car,
like the white people have cars, why can't i have a car?
they getting something they can get a piece of gold,
white people have gold, why can't i have gold?
they getting something to get a house,
white people have a house, why can't i have a house?
and they actually think that theres something thats bringing resources to them,
but they're killing themsleves just like the wolf was licking the blade,
and they're slowly dying without knowing it.
thats whats happening to the community, you with me on that?
thats exactly, precisely what happens to the community,
and instead of blaming the hunter who put the damn handle and blade in the ice
for the wolf,
that what happens is the wolf gets the blame, gets the blame for trying to live,
thats what happens in our community,
you don't blame the person, the victim,
you blame the oppressor, Imperialism, white power is the enemy,
was the enemy when it first came to Africa,
and snatched up the first African brothers here against our will,
isss the enemy today,
and thats the thing that we have to understand.
(Clapping)
song performed by by Dead Prez
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am in crazy in love with Girls
It amazing how life is transformed sometimes
I don’t know whether it because of the changing of the season
But let me tell something interesting
When I was young I could pay no interest that there are people who are beautiful
As soon as I grew up I had people talking to me
They say what a beautiful child am I.
But today I am old
As long as I could see I could see that there people who are beautiful
Next to me I sit along a beautiful girl both left and right
Even the room where we are is beautiful
That is the way why I offer a smile to each and everyone for the first time
I can see the reason why I lick my finger no more
It because such nice people give a warm welcome baby
Yes they can say what ever wrong to me but I think I must forgive them
It because they are beautiful –ladies
Beautiful ladies
It because they are beautiful –ladies
Beautiful ladies
It because they are beautiful –ladies
Beautiful ladies
It because they are beautiful –ladies
Beautiful ladies
Wooo hhooh woo huhu hugh
poem by Mthokozisi Ntokozo Maphumulo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Funeral of Sarpedon
Zeus mourns deeply:
Patroklos has killed Sarpedon.
Now Patroklos and the Achaians rush on
to snatch up the body, to dishonour it.
But Zeus doesn't tolerate that at all.
Though he let his favourite child be killed
this the Law required
he'll at least honour him after death.
So he now sends Apollo down to the plain
with instructions about how the body should be tended.
Apollo reverently raises the hero's body
and carries it in sorrow to the river.
He washes the dust and blood away,
heals the terrible wounds so there's no trace left,
pours perfume of ambrosia over it,
and dresses it in radiant Olympian robes.
He bleaches the skin, and with a pearl comb
combs out the jet black hair.
He spreads and arranges the beautiful limbs.
Now he looks like a young king, a royal charioteer-
twenty-five or twenty-six years old-
resting himself after winning
the prize in a famous race,
his chariot all gold and his horses the fastest.
Having finished his task this way,
Apollo calls for the two brothers,
Sleep and Death, and orders them
to take the body to Lykia, the rich country.
So the two brothers, Sleep and Death,
set off on foot toward the rich country, Lykia;
and when they reached the door
of the king's palace,
they handed over the honoured body
and then returned to their other concerns.
And once the body was received in the palace
the sad burial began, with processions and honours and dirges,
with many libations from sacred vessels,
with all pomp and circumstance.
Then skilled workers from the city
and celebrated craftsmen in stone
came to make the tombstone and the tomb.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Kills
Sid was a punk rock king
Nancy was a broken queen
Their lives were so glamorous
Sid and Nancy were a mess
When you're hooked on heroin
Don't you know you'll never win
Drugs don't ever pay
You really did it your way
Love kills
Love kills
Love kills
We still believe in anarchy
It makes me so damn angry
Sid and Nancy meant a lot to me
You may be dead but your souls are free
Like Romeo and Juliet
You two made a pact of death
Like the needle that ya used
Sid and Nancy were born to lose
Love kills
Love kills
Love kills
Sid never meant any harm
He shot some dope into his arm
All he wanted was some fun
Now she's lying in a pool of blood
Always loaded
song performed by by Ramones from Animal Boy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On A Night Like This I Wish It Would Rain.
ON a night like this i wish it would rain.To me rain means washing all the hurt and sadness away.When it rains I can't help but to smile.On a night like this I wish it would rain.If i'm being pressured or if I fill I can't breath the rain washes it all away.No thunder or storm just pure rain.When I look out the window I smile just because the rain is such a beautiful sight to see it satisfy my inner tomb, it's just so beautiful and cleansing.When i'm being pressured and under the weather, on a night like this I wish it would rain!
poem by Iesha Wilborn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Life As A Rhino
Eating grass
Nothing to do
It's a beautiful South African summer's day,
A single shot
I fall to the gound
My baby look at me
Bewilderd, Horror, Shock in her face
She turns around and run
God only knows
Where will she go
Run my baby girl, run.
i'm watching her
I'm dying,
Blood streaming from my face
Blood streaming from my face
I know the next day i'll be on the front page
Why can't they just leave us alone
They can't because it's
Money, Money, Money
they wanna live in a Rich Man's world
poem by Dirk Kruger
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Young Blood
i saw her standing on the corner,
(ooh ooh ooh)
a yellow ribbon in her hair,
(ooh ooh ooh)
i couldn't keep myself from callin' ,
looky there,
looky there,
looky there,
oh looky there!
young blood,
young blood,
young blood,
i can't get you outta my mind.
i took one look and i was flattered
(ooh ooh ooh)
i tried to walk along the lane
(ooh ooh ooh)
i couldn't keep myself from shouting,
whats your name?
whats your name?
whats your name?
oh whats your name?
young blood,
young blood,
young blood,
i can't get you outta my mind.
what crazy step
she looked so tept
i had to follow her all the way home
then things went bad
i met her dad
he said
you'd better leave my daughter alone
i couldn't sleep that night for crying
(ooh ooh ooh)
i saw the rising of the sun
(ooh ooh ooh)
and all along my heart was sighing
she's the one
she's the one
she's the one
oh she's the one
young blood
young blood
young blood
i can't get you outta my mind
young blood
young blood
young blood
i can't get you outta my mind
young blood
young blood
young blood
i can't get you outta my mind
song performed by by Bad Company
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fresh Blood
All the neighbours never see me
But they wonder why I walk around at night
He gets hungry - I go hunting
In the moonlit streets
For somebody that's right
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Showgirls, businessmen in suits in the midnight rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
In the paper, seems a florist
Found in Lincoln Park, died of some anemia
No one raped her, poor Doloris
Just detained her and drained her on the spot
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast
Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Old men, ladies of the night walking in the rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
No one calls and no one visits
We're like a couplet out of Desolation Row
We don't want them to want to know us
'Cause when they do, they get a little bit too close
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast is all I'm living for
And I crave it more and more
Bad girls, cops on the beat in the midnight rain
If they're out alone, are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fresh blood (Lyrics)
All the neighbours never see me
But they wonder why I walk around at night
he gets hungry - I go hunting
In the moonlit streets
For somebody that's right
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast
Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Showgirls, businessmen in suits in the midnight rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
In the paper, seems a florist
Found in Lincoln Park, died of some anemia
No one raped her, poor Doloris,
Just detained her and drained her on the spot
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast
Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Old men, ladies of the night walking in the rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
No one calls and no one visits
We're like a couplet out of Desolation Row
We don't want them to want to know us
'Cause when they do, they get a little bit too close
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast is all I'm living for
and I crave it more and more
Bad girls, cops on the beat in the midnight rain
If they're out alone, are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
poem by Satan's Sibling
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Itch, Itch, Itch
should it not annoy me
what comes from single addition sound
itch, itch, itch
scratching my finger point
my heart is like free market
my brain is like full garbage
itch, itch, itch
there's worm army in my back
I get itch in my leg
itch, itch, itch
it's an itch in my mouth
I have sharpen my nail
I want to jump and scream
can I come to scratch you into pieces
the hands that touch me impolitely
the blunt mind that speaks empty
itch, itch, itch
you are just itch for me
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We Suck Young Blood
Are you hungry?
Are you sick?
Are you begging for a break?
Are you sweet?
Are you fresh?
Are you strung up by the wrists?
We want the young blood (la x8)
Are you fracturing?
Are you torn at the seams?
Would you do anything?
Fleabitten motheaten?
We suck young blood (la x8)
We suck young blood (la x8)
Woah woah
Won't let the creeping ivy
Won't let the nervous bury me
Our veins are thin
Our rivers poisoned
We want the sweet meat (la x8)
We want the young blood
La x8
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blood Of The Kings
Brothers the battle is raging
Choose your side
Sing with us the BATTLE HYMNS
into glory ride
hail to england
the sign of the hammer's our gide
Forever we're fighting the world Side by side
On a crusade
The world we bring
Four Kings of Metal
Four Metal Kings
Death to the false ones
Dance on a string
'Till the blood on your sword is the blood of a king
'Till the blood on your HAND is the blood of a king
Our armies in England
song performed by by Manowar from Kings Of Metal
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am...blood. That primordial ooze. Not out there, listeners, in here. Inside this skin we wear, it only lets us think we're something else-- nice clean brains, little talking computers running around in the pursuit of happiness. We pierce this skin and what do we see Warm ooze, protoplasm churning and jesting, defecating, pulsating, life, death.
quote by Robin Green
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Then Was My Neophyte
Then was my neophyte,
Child in white blood bent on its knees
Under the bell of rocks,
Ducked in the twelve, disciple seas
The winder of the water-clocks
Calls a green day and night.
My sea hermaphrodite,
Snail of man in His ship of fires
That burn the bitten decks,
Knew all His horrible desires
The climber of the water sex
Calls the green rock of light.
Who in these labyrinths,
This tidethread and the lane of scales,
Twine in a moon-blown shell,
Escapes to the flat cities' sails
Furled on the fishes' house and hell,
Nor falls to His green myths?
Stretch the salt photographs,
The landscape grief, love in His oils
Mirror from man to whale
That the green child see like a grail
Through veil and fin and fire and coil
Time on the canvas paths.
He films my vanity.
Shot in the wind, by tilted arcs,
Over the water come
Children from homes and children's parks
Who speak on a finger and thumb,
And the masked, headless boy.
His reels and mystery
The winder of the clockwise scene
Wound like a ball of lakes
Then threw on that tide-hoisted screen
Love's image till my heartbone breaks
By a dramatic sea.
Who kills my history?
The year-hedged row is lame with flint,
Blunt scythe and water blade.
'Who could snap off the shapeless print
From your to-morrow-treading shade
With oracle for eye?'
Time kills me terribly.
'Time shall not murder you,' He said,
'Nor the green nought be hurt;
Who could hack out your unsucked heart,
O green and unborn and undead?'
I saw time murder me.
poem by Dylan Thomas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jane
My daughter Jane makes dresses
For beautiful Princesses;
But though she's plain is Jane,
Of needlework she's vain,
And makes such pretty things
For relatives of Kings.
She reads the picture papers
Where Royalties cut capers,
And often says to me:
'How wealthy they must be,
That nearly every day
A new robe they can pay.'
Says I: 'If your Princesses
Could fabric pretty dresses,
Though from a throne they stem
I would think more of them.
Peeress and shopgirl are
To my mind on a par.'
Says Jane: 'But for their backing
I might be sewing sacking.
Instead, I work with joy
In exquisite employ,
Embroidering rich dresses
For elegant Princesses . . .
Damn social upsetters
Who criticise their betters!'
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ladies Pay
All the sailors theyre all home from leave
And everybodys waiting for them to try to deceive
The storekeepers have drawn their lace curtains bare
And all the women and the wee young girls all waiting there
Oh, but how the ladies pay
Oh, if they only knew how the ladies pay
Yeah now, how the ladies pay
Oh, when the men theyve gone away
Nobody is standing on upon the door
And nobody is feeding any of the poor
The poor sick soldier lies in bed beside his girl
Thinking of another place on the other side of the world
Ah
How the ladies pay
Oh-oh, oh, how the ladies pay
When the men theyve gone away
Oh, I wish I knew how the ladies pay
Day and night, night and day
How the ladies pay
Day and night, night and day
How the ladies pay
Day and night
Night and day
Day and night
Day and night, night and day, ladies pay now
Night and day, day and night
How the ladies pay
Day and night, night and day
How the ladies pay
Day and night now
Night and day and now
How the pay now
Oh, how the pay now
Ladies pay, ladies pay
Ah, ladies pay the way now
Ladies pay, ah, ladies pay
Ah, ladies pay
Night and day, night and day, night and day
Oh, how the ladies pay
Oh, night and day, night and day, night and day
Oh, how the ladies pay
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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His Own Small Store
he's just an old man...
working behind the counter
of his own small store
for forty years...
the young toughs
kept robbing him...
grabbing stuff off the shelves
and running...
threatening him,
and the old woman...
till they lived in fear
day and night...
then they went too far!
coming across the counter
and grabbing him by the collar:
'give me the money, old man! '
quick, and sudden,
the gunshot rings out...
the young tough falls
to the floor in a
puddle of blood...
now the old man's going to court
for excessive use of force,
and an unregistered handgun...
to the halls of justice,
sterile and cold...
the stench of dignity dying
fills the air...
and the hands on the clock
cant be turned back!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ancient Warrior
Theres no end - theres no beginning -
To the old mans story
Does he still remember me -
From lives gone by
Oh I see his spirit rising
Upon the back of time
Ive got nowhere to hide
Will he keep a place for me
He is the king of all kings
The keeper of light
He holds eternitys wings
In his eyes an oceans burning
Swollen seat of tears
Troubled mind the beating
War drums in his ears
No one ever hears his warning
Am I the one he calls
When they tell me theyre afraid
Some say Ill be put away
He is the king of all kings
The keeper of light
He holds eternitys wings
My blood will spill my blood
My blood will spill my blood
In the wisdom of the prophets
Never ending tale
Open up the eyes
Within your mind, he says
Crowned in his ancient glory
Theres a king within us all
Some will say its all in vain
That he doesnt have a name
He is the king of all kings
The keeper of light
He holds eternitys wings
song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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