En.Citatepedia^®.ro

If We Must Die

If we must die, let it not be like hogs
Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,
While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,
Making their mock at our accursèd lot.
If we must die, O let us nobly die,
So that our precious blood may not be shed
In vain; then even the monsters we defy
Shall be constrained to honor us though dead!
O kinsmen! we must meet the common foe!
Though far outnumbered let us show us brave,
And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow!
What though before us lies the open grave?
Like men we'll face the murderous, cowardly pack,
Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!

poem by Claude McKay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Legend Of The O Keeffes

It must be a fallacy that dead canines can fly
But of the mystery in myths and legends one cannot deny
And one legend I recall from decades gone by
Is when an O Keeffe dies in Cullen dogs bark in the sky.

The legend of the O Keeffes has travelled far and wide
They hunted with their dogs in Duhallow's country-side
And stories of them in Duhallow abound
Of how with their dogs they hunted on foot covering miles of ground.

'Tis said the O Keeffes the best hunting dogs kept
And with their wives in their beds their dogs with them slept
And for the kindness shown to them their dogs them did repay
The O Keeffes never did know a poor hunting day.

I tell it as I heard it and I don't tell you a lie
It is said that in Cullen when an O Keeffe die
The dogs of their dead ancestors bark in the moonlight
In the starry sky in the dead of the night.

You can make out of this whatever you may
But in Duhallow the legend is living today
Of when a Cullen O Keeffe dies canines bark in the sky
The ghosts of their ancestors dogs on them have wings to fly.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Makin Monsters For My Friends

Everybody said so man you could see it on t.v.
They stood there ashamed with nowhere to go
Nobody wants them now the kids are alright
Every day is a holiday and pushin people around
Im making monsters for my friends
Im making monsters for my friends
Someone caught one I could see so myself
I had to call 254 so they wouldnt blame me
We wanted to know how much trouble there was
When we asked our daddy he said its just because
Im making monsters for my friends
Im making monsters for my friends
I dont wanna open a can of worms and I dont want any spagetti-os
And I could always tell when someone is holding a grudge
Im making monsters for my friends
Im making monsters for my friends
Im making monsters for my friends
Im making monsters for my friends

song performed by by Ramones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blow By Blow

Written by dave mason, john cesario, and mark holden.
Its always something
Or it aint nothing at all
Its feast or famine
Too hot or out in the cold
So here we stand
Alone together
Our backs against the wall
If my heart wasnt in it
I wouldnt be here at all
Blow by blow
Well its blow by blow
And here we go again
(here we go again)
Well its blow by blow
Coming off the ropes
And fighting for the hope in us all
Are you in my corner
Or playing both sides of the wall
So make a stand
Its now or never
Cause life is much too short
And if your heart isnt in it
You shouldnt be here at all
Blow by blow
Well its blow by blow
And here we go again
(here we go again)
Well its blow by blow
Blow by blow
Well its blow by blow
Im back on my feet again
(Im back on my feet again)
Well its blow by blow
I can almost see through the tears
And Ive got my pride
The dreams that Ive hidden for years
Just wont be denied
So here we stand
Alone together
Our backs against the wall
If my heart wasnt in it
I wouldnt be here at all
Blow by blow
Well its blow by blow
And here we go again
(here we go again)
Well its blow by blow
Blow by blow
Well its blow by blow
Im back on my feet again
(Im back on my feet again)
Well its blow by blow

song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Hundred Years

It doesn't matter if we all die
Ambition in the back of a black car
In a high building there is so much to do
Going home time
A story on the radio
Something small falls out of your mouth
And we laugh
A prayer for something better
A prayer
For something better
Please love me
Meet my mother
But the fear takes hold
Creeping up the stairs in the dark
Waiting for the death blow
Waiting for the death blow
Waiting for the death blow
Stroking your hair as the patriots are shot
Fighting for freedom on the television
Sharing the world with slaughtered pigs
Have we got everything?
She struggles to get away . . .
The pain
And the creeping feeling
A little black haired girl
Waiting for saturday
The death of her father pushing her
Pushing her white face into the mirror
Aching inside me
And turn me round
Just like the old days
Just like the old days
Just like the old days
Just like the old days
Caressing an old man
And painting a lifeless face
Just a piece of new meat in a clean room
The soldiers close in under a yellow moon
All shadows and deliverance
Under a black flag
A hundred years of blood
Crimson
The ribbon tightens round my throat
I open my mouth
And my head bursts open
A sound like a tiger thrashing in the water
Thrashing in the water
Over and over
We die one after the other
Over and over
We die one after the other
One after the other
One after the other
One after the other
One after the other
It feels like a hundred years
A hundred years
A hundred years
A hundred years
A hundred years
One hundred years

song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Makin' Monsters For My Friends

Everybody said so man you could see it on T.V.
They stood there ashamed with nowhere to go
Nobody wants them now the kids are all right
Every day is a holiday and pushin' people around

I'm making monsters for my friends
I'm making monsters for my friends

Someone caught one I could see so myself
I had to call 254 so they wouldn't blame me
We wanted to know now how much trouble there was
When we asked our daddy he said it's just because

I'm making monsters for my friends
I'm making monsters for my friends

I don't wanna open a can of worms and
I don't want any Spagetti-O's
And I could always tell when
someone is holding a grudge

I'm making monsters for my friends (4x)

song performed by by Ramones from Adios Amigos
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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SS-3

Ancient crown placed on your head
The hangman of Prague
Seven keys to the chamber
Surrendered to the God

Hunting
Fighting
Killing whore
Wade through blood and spill some more

Hunting
Fighting
Killing whore
Wade through blood and bleed some more

Golden door submits secrets
As this nation falls
Atmosphere of deadly terror
Subservient to all

Hunting
Fighting
Killing whore
Wade through blood and spill some more

Hunting
Fighting
Killing whore
Wade through blood and bleed some more

Burning sense of mission
Assassination
Symbol of oppression

Crusade from exile
Obliteration
Sabotaged campaign

Check resistance from afar
Planning the death of one
When the plot is executed
There will be nowhere to run
Ramafications will be high
A price paid in torment
The end justifies the means
To hell you will be sent

The wolf leader now is the stalked
Expansion state of horror
Guns echo over the grave
A thousand fates are sealed
Murderous power brought to an end
Only to rise again
Cold and ruthless and iron will
Protectorate of the dead

A thorough sweep
Prelude to death
Secrets kept
But no one left
Firing squad
Begins their work
Harsh reprisal
For what you took
Retribution selective terror
The stench of death is everywhere
A severed head
A floating mass
Will give me the answers to what I ask

song performed by by Slayer from Divine Intervention
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old Bark Hut

Oh, my name is Bob the Swagman, before you all I stand,
And I've had many ups and downs while travelling through the land.
I once was well-to-do, my boys, but now I am stumped up,
And I'm forced to go on rations in an old bark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
I'm forced to go on rations in an old bark hut.
Ten pounds of flour, ten pounds of beef, some sugar and some tea,
That's all they give to a hungry man, until the Seventh Day.
If you don't be moighty sparing, you'll go with a hungry gut
For that's one of the great misfortunes in an old bark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
For that's one of the great misfortunes in an old bark hut.
The bucket you boil your beef in has to carry water, too,
And they'll say you're getting mighty flash if you should ask for two.
I've a billy, and a pint pot, and a broken-handled cup,
And they all adorn the table in the old bark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
And they all adorn the table in the old bark hut.
Faith, the table is not made of wood, as many you have seen
For if I had one half so good, I'd think myself serene
'Tis only an old sheet of bark—God knows when it was cut
It was blown from off the rafters of the old bark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
It was blown from off the rafters of the old bark hut.
And of furniture, there's no such thing, 'twas never in the place,
Except the stool I sit upon—and that's an old gin case.
It does us for a safe as well, but you must keep it shut,
Or the flies would make it canter round the old hark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
Or the flies would make it canter round the old bark hut.
If you should leave it open, and the flies should find your meat,
They'll scarcely leave a single piece that's fit for man to eat.
But you mustn't curse, nor grumble—what won't fatten will fill up
For what's out of sight is out of mind in an old bark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
For what's out of sight is out of mind in an old bark hut.
In the summer time, when the weather's warm, this hut is nice and cool,
And you'll find the gentle breezes blowing in through every hole.
You can leave the old door open, or you can leave it shut,
There's no fear of suffocation in the old bark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
There's no fear of suffocation in the old bark hut.
In the winter time—preserve us all—to live in there's a treat
Especially when it's raining hard, and blowing wind and sleet.
The rain comes down the chimney, and your meat is black with soot
That's a substitute for pepper in an old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
That's a substitute for pepper in an old bark hut.
I've seen the rain come in this hut just like a perfect flood,
Especially through that great big hole where once the table stood.
There's not a blessed spot, me boys, where you could lay your nut,
But the rain is sure to find you in the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
But the rain is sure to find you in the old bark hut.
So beside the fire I make me bed, and there I lay me down,
And think myself as happy as the king that wears a crown.
But as you'd be dozing off to sleep a flea will wake you up,
Which makes you curse the vermin in the old bark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hu
Which makes you curse the vermin in the old bark hut.
Faith, such flocks of fleas you never saw, they are so plump and fat,
And if you make a grab at one, he'll spit just like a cat.
Last night they got my pack of cards, and were fighting for the cut
I thought the devil had me in the old bark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
I thought the devil had me in the old bark hut.
So now, my friends, I've sung my song, and that as well as I could,
And I hope the ladies present won't think my language rude,
And all ye younger people, in the days when you grow up,
Remember Bob the Swagman, and the old bark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
Remember Bob the Swagman, and the old bark hut.

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mirror Mirror on the Wall

*couldn't find Two Souls Intertwined so here*

Mirror, mirror on the wall. Sit and watch me take my fall.
Reflect the world right back to me and mock me against it all.
Mirror, mirror on the wall. It’s not as it should seem.
The truths are lies the lies are truth and I can’t even scream.

Mirror, mirror on the wall. You lie straight to my face.
Though the picture may be clear my mind you slowly erase.

Mirror, mirror on the wall. You’re complexion is smooth and cold.
But beneath that reflecting beauty lies something worse than bold.

Walls that see my every move; that hear my every word.
Can you hear my heart beat quicken like a tiny caged bird.

Windows that show the freedom. Out there beyond my world.
What you paint is like the mirror; deceiving at every turn.
Mirror, mirror on the wall. You see what’s in my hand.
Walls that know my secrets. I think you know my plan.

Windows that show my freedom. Shall I toss her out of you?
Face that reflects with a glimmer. Is this what you choose?

Eyes that stare back at me. I do not recognize.
The walls, the mirror, the windows too are all out for my demise.

Mind that’s been corrupted. Stare upon thy face.
If I destroy this ‘home’…shall I to be erased?
Mirror, mirror on the wall. You have seen me take my fall.
Mirror, mirror on the wall. You were never there at all.

poem by Vanessa Kingsley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Some Mothers Son

Some mothers son lies in a field
Someone has killed some mothers son today
Head blown up by some soldiers gun
While all the mothers stand and wait
Some mothers son aint coming home today
Some mothers son aint got no grave
Two soldiers fighting in a trench
One soldier glances up to see the sun
And dreams of games he played when he was young
And then his friend calls out his name
It stops his dream and as he turns his head
A second later he is dead
Some mothers son lies in a field
Back home they put his picture in a frame
But all dead soldiers look the same
While all the parents stand and wait
To meet their children coming home from school
Some mothers son is lying dead
Somewhere someone is crying
Someone is trying to be so brave
But still the world keeps turning
Though all the children have gone away
Some mothers son lies in a field
But in his mothers eyes he looks the same
As on the day he went away
They put his picture on the wall
They put flowers in the picture frame
Some mothers memory remains

song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Psalm 69 part 2

v.14-21,26,29,32
C. M.
The passion and exaltation of Christ.

Now let our lips with holy fear
And mournful pleasure sing
The suff'rings of our great High Priest,
The sorrows of our King.

He sinks in floods of deep distress;
How high the waters rise!
While to his heav'nly Father's ear
He sends perpetual cries.

"Hear me, O Lord, and save thy Son,
Nor hide thy shining face;
Why should thy fav'rite look like one
Forsaken of thy grace?

"With rage they persecute the man
That groans beneath thy wound,
While for a sacrifice I pour
My life upon the ground.

"They tread my honor to the dust,
And laugh when I complain;
Their sharp insulting slanders add
Fresh anguish to my pain.

"All my reproach is known to thee,
The scandal and the shame
Reproach has broke my bleeding heart,
And lies defiled my name.

"I looked for pity, but in vain;
My kindred are my grief:
I ask my friends for comfort round,
But meet with no relief.

"With vinegar they mock my thirst,
They give me gall for food;
And sporting with my dying groans,
They triumph in my blood.

"Shine into my distressed soul,
Let thy compassions save;
And though my flesh sink down to death,
Redeem it from the grave.

"I shall arise to praise thy name,
Shall reign in worlds unknown;
And thy salvation, O my God,
Shall seat me on thy throne."

poem by Isaac Watts
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One Too Many Mornings

Down the street the dogs are barkin
And the day is a-gettin dark.
As the night comes in a-fallin,
The dogs ll lose their bark.
An the silent night will shatter
From the sounds inside my mind,
For Im one too many mornings
And a thousand miles behind.
From the crossroads of my doorstep,
My eyes they start to fade,
As I turn my head back to the room
Where my love and I have laid.
An I gaze back to the street,
The sidewalk and the sign,
And Im one too many mornings
An a thousand miles behind.
Its a restless hungry feeling
That dont mean no one no good,
When evrything Im a-sayin
You can say it just as good.
Youre right from your side,
Im right from mine.
Were both just too many mornings
An a thousand miles behind.

song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Foe

A Belgian Priest-Soldier Speaks;

GURR! You cochon! Stand and fight!
Show your mettle! Snarl and bite!
Spawn of an accursed race,
Turn and meet me face to face!
Here amid the wreck and rout
Let us grip and have it out!
Here where ruins rock and reel
Let us settle, steel to steel!
Look! Our houses, how they spit
Sparks from brands your friends have lit.
See! Our gutters running red,
Bright with blood your friends have shed.
Hark! Amid your drunken brawl
How our maidens shriek and call.
Why have you come here alone,
To this hearth's blood-spattered stone?
Come to ravish, come to loot,
Come to play the ghoulish brute.
Ah, indeed! We well are met,
Bayonet to bayonet.
God! I never killed a man:
Now I'll do the best I can.
Rip you to the evil heart,
Laugh to see the life-blood start.
Bah! You swine! I hate you so.
Show you mercy? No! . . . and no! . . .

There! I've done it. See! He lies
Death a-staring from his eyes;
Glazing eyeballs, panting breath,
How it's horrible, is Death!
Plucking at his bloody lips
With his trembling finger-tips;
Choking in a dreadful way
As if he would something say
In that uncouth tongue of his. . . .
Oh, how horrible Death is!

How I wish that he would die!
So unnerved, unmanned am I.
See! His twitching face is white!
See! His bubbling blood is bright.
Why do I not shout with glee?
What strange spell is over me?
There he lies; the fight was fair;
Let me toss my cap in air.
Why am I so silent? Why
Do I pray for him to die?
Where is all my vengeful joy?
Ugh! My foe is but a boy.

I'd a brother of his age
Perished in the war's red rage;
Perished in the Ypres hell:
Oh, I loved my brother well.
And though I be hard and grim,
How it makes me think of him!
He had just such flaxen hair
As the lad that's lying there.
Just such frank blue eyes were his. . . .
God! How horrible war is!

I have reason to be gay:
There is one less foe to slay.
I have reason to be glad:
Yet -- my foe is such a lad.
So I watch in dull amaze,
See his dying eyes a-glaze,
See his face grow glorified,
See his hands outstretched and wide
To that bit of ruined wall
Where the flames have ceased to crawl,
Where amid the crumbling bricks
Hangs a blackebed crucifix.

Now, oh now I understand.
Quick I press it in his hand,
Close his feeble finger-tips,
Hold it to his faltering lips.
As I watch his welling blood
I would stem it if I could.
God of Pity, let him live!
God of Love, forgive, forgive.

* * * *

His face looked strangely, as he died,
Like that of One they crucified.
And in the pocket of his coat
I found a letter; thus he wrote:
The things I've seen! Oh, mother dear,
I'm wondering can God be here?
To-night amid the drunken brawl
I saw a Cross hung on a wall;
I'll seek it now, and there alone
Perhaps I may atone, atone. . . .

Ah no! 'Tis I who must atone.
No other saw but God alone;
Yet how can I forget the sight
Of that face so woeful white!
Dead I kissed him as he lay,
Knelt by him and tried to pray;
Left him lying there at rest,
Crucifix upon his breast.

Not for him the pity be.
Ye who pity, pity me,
Crawling now the ways I trod,
Blood-guilty in sight of God.

poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Tiger Smells Blood

Silently resting neath a tree,
Pawing at the straw of grass.
Eyes piercing the horizon,
Searching all senses alas.

Resting on the cool mud,
Then the Tiger smells blood.

The Tigers nostrils become filled,
Running toward the freshly killed.

The Tiger stalks through the meadow,
Sun to back, ready to attack.

A pack of dogs surround the meat,
He leaps into the pack ready to eat.

The pack filled with fear,
Stare at the mighty beast.
Would they stand fast,
Or become a part of the feast.

The Tiger snarls shoulders hunch,
Who would stand before his lunch.

The dogs bark and run away,
They would not eat their prey.

The Tiger eats the carcass crushing bones,
He then returns to lay beneath the tree.
His meal digested and stomach moans,
He licks his paws, then smiles with glee.

An old man robbed by ruthless hood,
Like a pack of dogs they draw blood.
They leave him laying in their city pride,
In the jungle, the beast will eat their hide.

poem by Saint Eule
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Horrors of Majuba

'Twas after the great Majuba fight:
And the next morning, at daylight,
Captain Macbean's men were ordered to headquarters camp,
So immediately Captain Macbean and his men set out on tramp.

And there they were joined by the Blue Jackets and 58th men,
Who, for unflinching courage, no man can them condemn;
And that brave little band was commissioned to bury their dead,
And the little band numbered in all about one hundred.

And they were supplied with a white flag, fit emblem of death,
Then they started off to O'Neill's farm, with bated breath,
Where their comrades had been left the previous night,
And were lying weltering in their gore, oh! what a horrible sight.

And when they arrived at the foot of Majuba Hill,
They were stopped by a Boer party, but they meant no ill,
Who asked them what they wanted without dismay,
And when they said, their dead, there was no further delay.

Then the brave heroes marched on, without any dread,
To the Hill of Majuba to collect and bury their dead;
And to see them climbing Majuba it was a fearful sight,
And much more so on a dark pitch night.

And on Majuba there was a row of dead men,
Numbering about forty or fifty of them;
There were also numbers of wounded men lying on the ground,
And when Captain Macbean's party gazed on them their sorrow was profound.

Oh, heaven! what a sight of blood and brains!
While the grass was red all o'er with blood-stains;
Especially at the edge of the Hill, where the 92nd men were killed,
'Twas there that the eyes of Macbean's party with tears filled,

When they saw their dead and dying comrades in arms,
Who were always foremost in the fight during war's alarms;
But who were now lying dead on Majuba Hill,
And, alas! beyond the aid of all human skill.

They then went about two hundred yards down the Hill,
And collected fourteen more bodies, which made their blood run chill;
And, into one grave, seventy-five bodies they buried there,
All mostly 92nd men, who, I hope, are free from all care.

Oh! think of that gallant British band,
Who, at Majuba, made such a heroic stand,
And, take them altogether, they behaved like brave men,
But, alas! they were slaughtered like sheep in a pen.

Poor fellows! there were few of them left to retire,
Because undauntedly they faced that murderous fire,
That the mighty host poured in upon them, left and right,
From their numerous rifles, day and night.

The conduct of the 92nd was most brave throughout,
Which has always been the case, without any doubt;
At least, it has been the case in general with the Highland Brigade,
Because in the field they are the foremost, and seldom afraid.

And to do the British justice at Majuba they behaved right well,
But by overwhelming numbers the most of them fell,
Which I'm very sorry to relate,
That such a brave little band met with such a fate.

The commanders and officers deserve great praise,
Because they told their men to hold Majuba for three days;
And so they did, until the most of them fell,
Fighting nobly for their Queen and country they loved right well.

But who's to blame for their fate I'm at a loss to know,
But I think 'twas by fighting too numerous a foe;
But there's one thing I know, and, in conclusion, will say,
That their fame will be handed down to posterity for many a day!

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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England Isn't England

Why go to war
When England isn't England any more?

I don't like to complain
Or say those soldiers died in vain,
Who died for us before;

Each hero turning in his grave
Because we didn't save
The honour he was fighting for!

Gone to the dogs,
Gone to the swine and hogs,
Who in their greed and rage
Are now Our Leaders in this Plastic Age;

Dishonouring those years,
Laughing at our fears,
Promoting their careers,
Devaluing the coinage of our heroes' tears;

Oh no, don't go to war,
England isn't England anymore!

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Charge At Port Hudson

'Niggers won't fight' ah ha!
'Niggers won't fight' ah ha!
'They are no good for war,
One in a hundred.'
Let Mississippi's shore,
Flooded with negro gore,
Echo back evermore:
See our six hundred.

Firm as the granite rock,
Full to the cannon's shock,
With a faith none dare mock,
Earth's ties all sundered;
Every man firm in his place
Staring death in the face,
Battling for home and race
Marched our six hundred.

Crash falls the iron hail,
Making the stoutest pale,
All but the bravest fail,
Old veterans wondred.
Fighting with purpose high,
Fighting until they die,
Bravely for liberty,
Fell that six hundred.

Villians that shun the light,
Traitors who hate the right,
Cowards who dare not fight,
Own that ye blundered.
Spurning the name of slave,
Bravest amid the brave,
Each fills a soldier's grave,
Noble six hundred.

poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Victorious Soldier

Fighting for his country,
Not knowing if he will live.
Brave soldier
Standing up for what he believes
and fighting for freedom.
Brave soldier
Fighting for whats right,
Dying Heroes, Dying evil men
Brave soldier
Leaving every thing he owns
To be loyal to his country.
Brave soldier.

Coming home at end of war....
Victorious soldier.

poem by Megan Streett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Hundered Years

It doesn't matter if we all die
Ambition in the back of a black car
In a high building there is so much to do
Going home time
A story on the radio...
Something small falls out of your mouth
And we laugh
A prayer for something better
A prayer
For something better
Please love me
Meet my mother...
But the fear takes hold
Creeping up the stairs in the dark
Waiting for the death blow
Stroking your hair as the patriots are shot
Fighting for freedom on the television
Sharing the world with slaughtered pigs
Have we got everything?
She struggles to get away...
The pain
And the creeping feeling
A little black haired girl
Waiting for Saturday
The death of her father pushing her
Pushing her white face into the mirror
Aching inside me
And turn me round
Just like the old days
Just like the old days
Caressing an old man
And painting a lifeless face
Just a piece of new meat in a clean room
The soldiers close in under a yellow moon
All shadows and deliverance
Under a black flag
A hundred years of blood
Crimson
The ribbon tightens round my throat
I open my mouth
And my head bursts open
A sound like a tiger thrashing in the water
Thrashing in the water
Over and over
We die one after the other
Over and over
We die one after the other after the other...
It feels like a hundred years
One hundred years

song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Face To Face

We never talk to one another
We just disagree
Im the one who runs for cover
And you turn your back on me
They say nothings gonna last forever
But some things are worth fighting for
Yeah, well love could bring us back together
But love dont come round here no more
The words unspoken in the night
Locked away in my heart
And Im feeling out of place
But if love is the key
Let it open the door
So well be standing -- face to face
You never want to see me face to face
Think it over
Face to face
If only it could be just face to face
Baby you and me
Face to face
I may be better off without it
I cant go on this way
Time has come to talk about it
This is our judgement day
You know we swore it would last forever
Always felt so sure it would
But its looking like now or never
Time to turn a bad thing into good
The words that echo in the night
Theyre fading away
And theyre gone without a trace
Now its up to you and me
Lets open the door
And meet each other -- face to face
Its time we saw each other face to face
To talk it over
Face to face
You know its gotta be just face to face
Baby you and me
Face to face
We gotta see each other -- face to face
And talk about it
Face to face
Hope it aint too late to meet face to face
Just you and me
(solo)
Face to face
Its time we saw each other face to face
To talk it over
Face to face
You know its gotta be just face to face
Baby you and me
Face to face
We gotta see each other
Face to face
And talk about it
Face to face
I hope it aint too late to meet
Face to face
Dont turn your back on me
Face to face
Its time we saw each other
Face to face
To talk it over

song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Him

Fire burns,
In his heart.
He seeks only death,
And blood.
I seek death,
And I also,
Kill.

He thinks himself,
Strong and handsome.
He thinks himself,
Brave and smart.
He thinks himself,
Tall and fierce.
He thinks himself,
Killer and fighter.

I think of him,
Weak and hidious.
I think of him,
Frightened and dumb.
I think of him,
Short and cowardly.
I think of him,
Helpless and food.

I am stronger,
Braver,
Smarter,
Taller,
Fiecer,
And blood seeker.

He is nothing,
But lies.
I am nothing,
But a blood seeker,
And killer.

poem by Dragon Crenshaw
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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