Tortoise Gallantry
Making his advances
He does not look at her, nor sniff at her,
No, not even sniff at her, his nose is blank.
Only he senses the vulnerable folds of skin
That work beneath her while she sprawls along
In her ungainly pace,
Her folds of skin that work and row
Beneath the earth-soiled hovel in which she moves.
And so he strains beneath her housey wall,
And catches her trouser-legs in his beak
Suddenly, or her skinny limb,
And strange and grimly drags at her
Like a dog,
Only agelessly silent, with a reptile's awful persistency.
Grim, gruesome gallantry, to which he is doomed.
Dragged out of an eternity of silent isolation
And doomed to partiality, partial being,
Ache, and want of being,
Want,
Self-exposure, hard humiliation, need to add himself on to her.
Born to walk alone,
Fore-runner,
Now suddenly distracted into this mazy side-track,
This awkward, harrowing pursuit,
This grim necessity from within.
Does she know
As she moves eternally slowly away?
Or is he driven against her with a bang, like a bird flying in the dark against a window,
All knowledgeless?
The awful concussion,
And the still more awful need to persist, to follow, follow, continue,
Driven, after aeons of pristine, fore-god-like singleness and oneness,
At the end of some mysterious, red-hot iron,
Driven away from himself into her tracks,
Forced to crash against her.
Stiff, gallant, irascible, crook-legged reptile,
Little gentleman,
Sorry plight,
We ought to look the other way.
Save that, having come with you so far,
We will go on to the end.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Lui et Elle
She is large and matronly
And rather dirty,
A little sardonic-looking, as if domesticity had driven her to it.
Though what she does, except lay four eggs at random in the garden once a year
And put up with her husband,
I don't know.
She likes to eat.
She hurries up, striding reared on long uncanny legs
When food is going.
Oh yes, she can make haste when she likes.
She snaps the soft bread from my hand in great mouthfuls,
Opening her rather pretty wedge of an iron, pristine face
Into an enormously wide-beaked mouth
Like sudden curved scissors,
And gulping at more than she can swallow, and working her thick, soft tongue,
And having the bread hanging over her chin.
O Mistress, Mistress,
Reptile mistress,
Your eye is very dark, very bright,
And it never softens
Although you watch.
She knows,
She knows well enough to come for food,
Yet she sees me not;
Her bright eye sees, but not me, not anything,
Sightful, sightless, seeing and visionless,
Reptile mistress.
Taking bread in her curved, gaping, toothless mouth,
She has no qualm when she catches my finger in her steel overlapping gums,
But she hangs on, and my shout and my shrinking are nothing to her.
She does not even know she is nipping me with her curved beak.
Snake-like she draws at my finger, while I drag it in horror away.
Mistress, reptile mistress,
You are almost too large, I am almost frightened.
He is much smaller,
Dapper beside her,
And ridiculously small.
Her laconic eye has an earthy, materialistic look,
His, poor darling, is almost fiery.
His wimple, his blunt-prowed face,
His low forehead, his skinny neck, his long, scaled, striving legs,
So striving, striving,
Are all more delicate than she,
And he has a cruel scar on his shell.
Poor darling, biting at her feet,
Running beside her like a dog, biting her earthy, splay feet,
Nipping her ankles,
Which she drags apathetic away, though without retreating into her shell.
Agelessly silent,
And with a grim, reptile determination,
Cold, voiceless age-after-age behind him, serpents' long obstinacy
Of horizontal persistence.
Little old man
Scuffling beside her, bending down, catching his opportunity,
Parting his steel-trap face, so suddenly, and seizing her scaly ankle,
And hanging grimly on,
Letting go at last as she drags away,
And closing his steel-trap face.
His steel-trap, stoic, ageless, handsome face.
Alas, what a fool he looks in this scuffle.
And how he feels it!
The lonely rambler, the stoic, dignified stalker through chaos,
The immune, the animate,
Enveloped in isolation,
Fore-runner.
Now look at him!
Alas, the spear is through the side of his isolation.
His adolescence saw him crucified into sex,
Doomed, in the long crucifixion of desire, to seek his consummation beyond himself.
Divided into passionate duality,
He, so finished and immune, now broken into desirous fragmentariness,
Doomed to make an intolerable fool of himself
In his effort toward completion again.
Poor little earthy house-inhabiting Osiris,
The mysterious bull tore him at adolescence into pieces,
And he must struggle after reconstruction, ignominiously.
And so behold him following the tail
Of that mud-hovel of his slowly rambling spouse,
Like some unhappy bull at the tail of a cow,
But with more than bovine, grim, earth-dank persistence.
Suddenly seizing the ugly ankle as she stretches out to walk,
Roaming over the sods,
Or, if it happen to show, at her pointed, heavy tail
Beneath the low-dropping back-board of her shell.
Their two shells like domed boats bumping,
Hers huge, his small;
Their splay feet rambling and rowing like paddles,
And stumbling mixed up in one another,
In the race of love --
Two tortoises,
She huge, he small.
She seems earthily apathetic,
And he has a reptile's awful persistence.
I heard a woman pitying her, pitying the Mère Tortue.
While I, I pity Monsieur.
'He pesters her and torments her,' said the woman.
How much more is he pestered and tormented, say I.
What can he do?
He is dumb, he is visionless,
Conceptionless.
His black, sad-lidded eye sees but beholds not
As her earthen mound moves on,
But he catches the folds of vulnerable, leathery skin,
Nail-studded, that shake beneath her shell,
And drags at these with his beak,
Drags and drags and bites,
While she pulls herself free, and rows her dull mound along.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beneath The Skin
Beneath the Skin a caustic red river
Beneath the Skin corrosive abuser
Beneath the Skin genetic in rupture
Beneath the Skin all cold and hungered
Beneath the Skin a still born forgiveness
Beneath the Skin cell transfer in whispers
Beneath the Skin a lover cries murder
Beneath the Skin all cold and hungered
Beneath the Skin i wasted this moment
Beneath the Skin old undiscovered
Beneath the Skin another lies ruptured
Beneath the Skin all cold and hungered
song performed by by Queen Adreena
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Driven Crazy or Crazy Driven
Are you driven crazy or crazy driven?
Are you driven by what people say OR are you crazy driven by an awesome day.
Are you driven crazy after a big fight OR crazy driven by a long night
If your driven crazy don't let anything get under your skin.
And if your crazy driven. It's your time to sin...
poem by Shauntae Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Future Imperfect
Beneath a gray and weeping sky
I watched a horse drawn hearse go by
A sight we very rarely see
It seems to have more dignity
Than any slowly driven limousine
Two horses black as ebony
A well matched pair walk sedately
Almost as if the horses know
The must put on a finer show
Than any slowly driven limousine
The hearse itself is gleaming black
With etched glass windows in the back
Through which it’s possible to see
The coffin more respectfully
Than any slowly driven limousine
The cortege as it passes by
Is guaranteed to catch the eye
It is a sight that seemingly
Most people would prefer to see
Than any slowly driven limousine
Though fashions change there is a cost
The sense of dignity is lost
Although I’m sure they do their best
Nothing attracts less interest
Than any slowly driven limousine
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Baby Tortoise
You know what it is to be born alone,
Baby tortoise!
The first day to heave your feet little by little from the shell,
Not yet awake,
And remain lapsed on earth,
Not quite alive.
A tiny, fragile, half-animate bean.
To open your tiny beak-mouth, that looks as if it would never open,
Like some iron door;
To lift the upper hawk-beak from the lower base
And reach your skinny little neck
And take your first bite at some dim bit of herbage,
Alone, small insect,
Tiny bright-eye,
Slow one.
To take your first solitary bite
And move on your slow, solitary hunt.
Your bright, dark little eye,
Your eye of a dark disturbed night,
Under its slow lid, tiny baby tortoise,
So indomitable.
No one ever heard you complain.
You draw your head forward, slowly, from your little wimple
And set forward, slow-dragging, on your four-pinned toes, Rowing slowly forward.
Whither away, small bird?
Rather like a baby working its limbs,
Except that you make slow, ageless progress
And a baby makes none.
The touch of sun excites you,
And the long ages, and the lingering chill
Make you pause to yawn,
Opening your impervious mouth,
Suddenly beak-shaped, and very wide, like some suddenly gaping pincers;
Soft red tongue, and hard thin gums,
Then close the wedge of your little mountain front,
Your face, baby tortoise.
Do you wonder at the world, as slowly you turn your head in its wimple
And look with laconic, black eyes?
Or is sleep coming over you again,
The non-life?
You are so hard to wake.
Are you able to wonder?
Or is it just your indomitable will and pride of the first life
Looking round
And slowly pitching itself against the inertia
Which had seemed invincible?
The vast inanimate,
And the fine brilliance of your so tiny eye,
Challenger.
Nay, tiny shell-bird,
What a huge vast inanimate it is, that you must row against,
What an incalculable inertia.
Challenger,
Little Ulysses, fore-runner,
No bigger than my thumb-nail,
Buon viaggio.
All animate creation on your shoulder,
Set forth, little Titan, under your battle-shield.
The ponderous, preponderate,
Inanimate universe;
And you are slowly moving, pioneer, you alone.
How vivid your travelling seems now, in the troubled sunshine,
Stoic, Ulyssean atom;
Suddenly hasty, reckless, on high toes.
Voiceless little bird,
Resting your head half out of your wimple
In the slow dignity of your eternal pause.
Alone, with no sense of being alone,
And hence six times more solitary;
Fulfilled of the slow passion of pitching through immemorial ages
Your little round house in the midst of chaos.
Over the garden earth,
Small bird,
Over the edge of all things.
Traveller,
With your tail tucked a little on one side
Like a gentleman in a long-skirted coat.
All life carried on your shoulder,
Invincible fore-runner.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bang-bang
Bang bang, you shot me down
Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my baby shot me down
I was five and you were six
We rode on horses made of sticks
I wore black, you wore white
You would always win the fight
Bang bang, you shot me down
Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my baby shot me down
Seasons came and changed the time
I grew up, I called you mine
You would always laugh and say
Remember when we used to play
Bang bang, you shot me down
Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my baby shot me down
Music played and people sang
Just for me the church bells rang
After echoes from a gun
We both vowed that wed be one
Now youre gone I dont know why
Sometimes I cry
You didnt say goodbye
You didnt take the time to lie
Bang bang, you shot me down
Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my baby shot me down
song performed by by Cher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Bat
His awful skin
stretched out by some tradesman
is like my skin, here between my fingers,
a kind of webbing, a kind of frog.
Surely when first born my face was this tiny
and before I was born surely I could fly.
Not well, mind you, only a veil of skin
from my arms to my waist.
I flew at night, too. Not to be seen
for if I were I'd be taken down.
In August perhaps as the trees rose to the stars
I have flown from leaf to leaf in the thick dark.
If you had caught me with your flashlight
you would have seen a pink corpse with wings,
out, out, from her mother's belly, all furry
and hoarse skimming over the houses, the armies.
That's why the dogs of your house sniff me.
They know I'm something to be caught
somewhere in the cemetery hanging upside down
like a misshapen udder.
poem by Anne Sexton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Driven
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
Driven up and down in circles
Skidding down a road of black ice
Staring in and out storm windows
Driven to a fools paradise
But its my turn to drive
Driven to the margin of error
Driven to the edge of control
Driven to the margin of terror
Driven to the edge of a deep, dark hole
Driven day and night in circles
Spinning like a whirlwind of leaves
Stealing in and out back alleys
Driven to another den of thieves
But its my turn to drive
Driven in --- driven to the edge
Driven out --- on the thin end of the wedge
Driven off --- by things Ive never seen
Driven on --- by the road to somewhere Ive never been
Its my turn to drive
The road unwinds towards me
What was there is gone
The road unwinds before me
And I go riding on
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Hands Of Self Will
Why did the killer kill?
Driven to it. Like you are.
Driven to eat chocolate.
Opportunity offers. Sentient hands.
Fetishes cravings. Easily fulfilled.
Can’t help. Can’t help yourself.
Driven driven driven to it.
Like obese victim of self-driven
compulsive consumption.
Driven to it. To do it. Do it. Do it.
Like jaded junkie craving
each driven deadly dream
razored raw needle shot veins.
Seasoned alcoholic sucking last
pitiful drops desperately
fetish fevered tongue
dating neck dead empty bottle.
Clothed clotting vomit sweet
slow sickening soul
sucking addiction induced desires.
Driven to it. Demonic possession driven.
Like leeches carefully campaign causes
to save worthy world. Social crusaders
driven reflective reform in own image.
Driven Driven Driven By Hands
With A Will Of Their Own.
God alone can judge each betrayal
weigh each deed on cosmic scale.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The mania started with insomnia and not eating and being driven, driven to find an apartment, driven to see everybody, driven to do New York, driven to never shut up.
quote by Patty Duke
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Dog
You little friend, your nose is ready; you sniff,
Asking for that expected walk,
(Your nostrils full of the happy rabbit-whiff)
And almost talk.
And so the moment becomes a moving force;
Coats glide down from their pegs in the humble dark;
The sticks grow live to the stride of their vagrant course.
You scamper the stairs,
Your body informed with the scent and the track and the mark
Of stoats and weasels, moles and badgers and hares.
We are going OUT. You know the pitch of the word,
Probing the tone of thought as it comes through fog
And reaches by devious means (half-smelt, half-heard)
The four-legged brain of a walk-ecstatic dog.
Out in the garden your head is already low.
(Can you smell the rose? Ah, no.)
But your limbs can draw
Life from the earth through the touch of your padded paw.
Now, sending a little look to us behind,
Who follow slowly the track of your lovely play,
You carry our bodies forward away from mind
Into the light and fun of your useless day.
* * * * *
Thus, for your walk, we took ourselves, and went
Out by the hedge and the tree to the open ground.
You ran, in delightful strata of wafted scent,
Over the hill without seeing the view;
Beauty is smell upon primitive smell to you:
To you, as to us, it is distant and rarely found.
Home ... and further joy will be surely there:
Supper waiting full of the taste of bone.
You throw up your nose again, and sniff, and stare
For the rapture known
Of the quick wild gorge of food and the still lie-down
While your people talk above you in the light
Of candles, and your dreams will merge and drown
Into the bed-delicious hours of night.
poem by Harold Monro
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Heads, hands and legs
Some are over-driven, ambitious.
Some are duly driven, complacent.
Some are under-driven, lax and content.
Society needs them as heads, hands and legs.
15.10.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Sudden Shower
Barefooted boys scud up the street
Or skurry under sheltering sheds;
And schoolgirl faces, pale and sweet,
Gleam from the shawls about their heads.
Doors bang; and mother-voices call
From alien homes; and rusty gates
Are slammed; and high above it all,
The thunder grim reverberates.
And then, abrupt,--the rain! the rain!--
The earth lies gasping; and the eyes
Behind the streaming window-pane
Smile at the trouble of the skies.
The highway smokes; sharp echoes ring;
The cattle bawl and cowbells clank;
And into town comes galloping
The farmer's horse, with streaming flank.
The swallow dips beneath the eaves,
And flirts his plumes and folds his wings;
And under the catawba leaves
The caterpillar curls and clings.
The bumble-bee is pelted down
The wet stem of the hollyhock;
And sullenly, in spattered brown,
The cricket leaps the garden walk.
Within, the baby claps his hands
And crows with rapture strange and vague;
Without, beneath the rosebush stands
A dripping rooster on one leg.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Another Saturday Night
Another saturday night and I aint got nobody
Ive got some money cause I just got paid
Now how I wish I had someone to talk to
Im in an awful way.
I got in town a month ago
I seen a lot of girls since then,
If I could meet em I could get em
But as yet I havent met em
Thats how Im in the state Im in.
Chorus
Another fella told me
He had a sister who looked just fine
Instead of bein my deliverance
She had a strange resemblance
To a cat named frankenstein.
Chorus
Its hard on a fella
When he dont know his way around
If I dont find me a honey
To help me spend my money
Im gonna have to blow this town.
Another saturday night and I aint got nobody
Ive got some money cause I just got paid
How I wish I had someone to talk to
Im in an awful, ooh, Im in an awful way,
Hes in an awful way, Im in an awful way,
Im in an awful way, hes in an awful way.
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
For Aurora
Our thoughts go
To Aurora Colorado,
Where many a bleeding heart
Brace beneath
The awful bequeath
Of fate's cruelest dart.
Such grim felony.
A twist of irony:
Cold, senseless, tart.
Angst and fears,
And bitter tears,
Are but just a part.
T'were heroes there,
Destined to share
As angels set apart,
With a role to play
On such dark day—
All in the name of art.
poem by Walterrean Salley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
America, A Prophecy
The shadowy Daughter of Urthona stood before red Orc,
When fourteen suns had faintly journey'd o'er his dark abode:
His food she brought in iron baskets, his drink in cups of iron:
Crown'd with a helmet and dark hair the nameless female stood;
A quiver with its burning stores, a bow like that of night,
When pestilence is shot from heaven: no other arms she need!
Invulnerable though naked, save where clouds roll round her loins
Their awful folds in the dark air: silent she stood as night;
For never from her iron tongue could voice or sound arise,
But dumb till that dread day when Orc assay'd his fierce embrace.
'Dark Virgin,' said the hairy youth, 'thy father stern, abhorr'd,
Rivets my tenfold chains while still on high my spirit soars;
Sometimes an Eagle screaming in the sky, sometimes a Lion
Stalking upon the mountains, and sometimes a Whale, I lash
The raging fathomless abyss; anon a Serpent folding
Around the pillars of Urthona, and round thy dark limbs
On the Canadian wilds I fold; feeble my spirit folds,
For chain'd beneath I rend these caverns: when thou bringest food
I howl my joy, and my red eyes seek to behold thy face--
In vain! these clouds roll to and fro, and hide thee from my sight.'
Silent as despairing love, and strong as jealousy,
The hairy shoulders rend the links; free are the wrists of fire;
Round the terrific loins he seiz'd the panting, struggling womb;
It joy'd: she put aside her clouds and smiled her first-born smile,
As when a black cloud shews its lightnings to the silent deep.
Soon as she saw the terrible boy, then burst the virgin cry:
'I know thee, I have found thee, and I will not let thee go:
Thou art the image of God who dwells in darkness of Africa,
And thou art fall'n to give me life in regions of dark death.
On my American plains I feel the struggling afflictions
Endur'd by roots that writhe their arms into the nether deep.
I see a Serpent in Canada who courts me to his love,
In Mexico an Eagle, and a Lion in Peru;
I see a Whale in the south-sea, drinking my soul away.
O what limb-rending pains I feel! thy fire and my frost
Mingle in howling pains, in furrows by thy lightnings rent.
This is eternal death, and this the torment long foretold.'
poem by William Blake
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Prostye Dvizheniya
I continue simple moves
You continue my continuations
I am you, and you are me
I repeat, you repeat.
If you want -be silent,
Wait until it stops.
If you want keys,
2 turns around
If you want yours,
If you want somebody's,
If you want be like me
And I continue
Simple moves, I continue...
Simple moves..
We continue simple moves
Destroying irrigation.
Somewhere you find,
Somewhere you lose
I repeat, you repeat.
This is love,
Springs are jumping.
Tomorrow everyone
Can be smaller then snowflake.
We have to be on time
Not refusing.
We should be able
Continue to live.
Simple moves, continuing to live...
Simple moves...
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Simple moves...
song performed by by Tatu
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Preludium
The shadowy daughter of Urthona stood before red Orc.
When fourteen suns had faintly journey'd o'er his dark abode;
His food she brought in iron baskets, his drink in cups of iron;
Crown'd with a helmet & dark hair the nameless female stood;
A quiver with its burning stores, a bow like that of night,
When pestilence is shot from heaven; no other arms she need:
Invulnerable tho' naked, save where clouds roll round her loins,
Their awful folds in the dark air; silent she stood as night;
For never from her iron tongue could voice or sound arise;
But dumb till that dread day when Orc assay'd his fierce embrace.
Dark virgin; said the hairy youth, thy father stern abhorr'd;
Rivets my tenfold chains while still on high my spirit soars;
Sometimes an eagle screaming in the sky, sometimes a lion,
Stalking upon the mountains, & sometimes a whale I lash
The raging fathomless abyss, anon a serpent folding
Around the pillars of Urthona, and round thy dark limbs,
On the Canadian wilds I fold, feeble my spirit folds.
For chaind beneath I rend these caverns; when thou bringest food
I howl my joy! and my red eyes seek to behold thy face
In vain! these clouds roll to & fro, & hide thee from my sight.
Silent as despairing love, and strong as jealousy,
The hairy shoulders rend the links, free are the wrists of fire;
Round the terrific loins he siez'd the panting struggling womb;
It joy'd: she put asider her clouds & smiled her first-born smile;
As when a black cloud shews its light'nings to the silent deep.
Soon as she saw the terrible boy then burst the virgin cry.
I know thee, I have found thee, & I will not let thee go;
Thou art the image of God who dwells in darkness of Africa;
And thou art fall'n to give me life in regions of dark death.
On my American plains I feel the struggling afflictions
Edur'd by roots that writhe their arms into the nether deep:
I see a serpent in Canada, who courts me to his love;
In Mexico an Eagle, and a Lion in Peru;
I see a Whale in the South-sea, drinking my soul away.
O what limb rendering pains I feel. thy fire & my frost
Mingle in howling pains, in furrows by the ligtnings rent;
This is eternal death; and this the torment long foretold.
poem by William Blake from America a Prophecy (1793)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Suddenly Silence
Where there was communication,
Suddenly silence.
Where there was conversation,
Suddenly silence.
Where there was interaction,
Suddenly silence.
Where there were possibilities,
Suddenly silence.
Where there was happiness,
Suddenly silence.
So where have you gone,
That suddenly you are silent?
What is your reason that
Suddenly you are silent?
How will I know why
You are suddenly silent?
Must I be suddenly silent, too?
(4.30.7 Inner Thoughts (PFD))
poem by Heather Z. Hanna
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beneath A Desert Moon
From the mountains of the moon to the mighty delta
From the deserts of the West to the shining sea
Beneath the canopy of stars flowed the serpent river
Flowing through my father's land that he left to me
From the baker to the priest to the candle maker
From the highest to the low in my father's land
We make our offer to the sun 'fore the break of morning
Or else everything we have will just turn to sand
I have a lot to ask
I have a lot that I need to say
I have so much to do
And all I need is another day
From the soldier to the scribe to the carpet maker
All the different colored threads in a carpet loom
A woven tapestry of life is our mighty nation
This is the writing on the wall of my father's tomb
We have a lot to ask
We have a lot that we need to say
We have so much to do
And all we need is another day
Beneath the desert moon I call you
Beneath the desert moon I sing
Beneath the desert moon so lonely
I'm just a boy who would be king
With just the moon to guide us
We sometimes lose our way
If there's a light inside us
We'll follow, follow it to the brightness of the day
Every single blade of grass every yellow flower
Every ripple on the sea or the blue blue Nile
Every leaf on every tree every single creature
From the smallest little bird to the crocodile
We have a lot to ask
We have a lot that we need to say
We have so much to do
And all we need is another day
Beneath the desert moon I call you
Beneath the desert moon we sing
Beneath the desert moon we're waiting
Before the coming of the king
Beneath the desert moon that's sinking
We see the Eastern skies on fire
This is where darkness leaves
And shining waters fall
And let the shadows run
And we'll say, "welcome to the sun"
Brand new day...
From the mountains of the moon to the mighty delta
From the deserts of the West to the shining sea
Beneath the canopy of stars flowed the serpent river
Flowing through my father's land that he left to me
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!