Hellfire & Reuben Rose
A hundred and thirty years has passed
Since Reuben strode our turf,
A Hell-fire Methodist Preacher
Cursing souls with every breath,
He claimed an exclusive license, sanctioned
By our gracious Lord,
To dispense both sulphur and brimstone
To the sinners of the world.
At Moonta, in the mining days,
When copper ruled as king,
A fluctuation in the price
Soon ruined everything.
Families left in droves; for jobs
Were harder then to find,
The congregations withered,
They were the few that stayed behind.
There wasn't enough to pay the fund
To keep their minister,
So he took off to Castlemaine
To save Victoria,
And when the Primitive Methodists
Declined to send another,
All Hell broke loose at the altar then,
Set brother against brother.
Enraged at the Executive
For showing them such contempt,
Half of the congregation said:
'We'll fix their argument!
We'll just secede from the Primitives
And run our own affairs.'
But Reuben Rose was a Primitive,
Who had his own ideas.
'Who owns the Church, ' he sagely said,
'The age-old Primitives! '
'Not so, ' declared the rebels, then,
'We paid for it with our tithes! '
But neither side would give an inch,
They claimed it, theirs alone,
Two armies of the Lord lined up
To seize the good lord's throne.
And so it was that, Sunday noon,
The rebels got there first,
They sang a lot of Sankey's hymns
To scorn the Primitive's verse,
They raised their voices mightily
And damn near raised the roof,
The Lord was on their side, they said
To the others, in reproof.
The Primitives stood there at the back,
And thought to rush the font,
A thrust along the centre aisle
A rush around the flank,
But Reuben Rose stood still and grim
His eyes as black as sin,
The veins along his forehead popped
Like corn in the summertime.
He waited 'til the evening prayer
And reached the altar first,
Secured it for the Primitive's
Against a greater force.
The earth seemed then to open up
To fill men's eyes and bones
With the stink of the smell of sulphur
And a tisane of old brimstone.
The rebels seized the chapel gate,
Locked it against the foe,
The Primitives went around the side,
Took an iron bar to the door,
Reuben Rose picked up a stone,
And held it up on high,
Then burst the lock on the chapel door,
Left the rebels high and dry.
The people from the mine soon heard
The threats no Lord forgives,
Then marched up there in a body to
Eject the Primitives,
'The battle's not yet over, '
Reuben Rose was heard to shout,
'You may be one with the devil,
But you never will lock us out! '
It came to Bloody Monday, when
The Primitives took hold,
Assaulted the chapel building
In the morning, gained control.
But soon retaliation was
The order of the day,
The rebels beat the victors off,
The rebels soon held sway.
They nailed up the windows and
They boarded up the doors,
They made a mighty fortress of
The chapel of the Lord,
And so in pure frustration, when
The Primitives saw black,
They marched to the one time minister,
Demanded his furniture back.
A crowd of angry women soon,
They marched there, hobble-hob,
They'd had their fill of Primitives,
And Reuben Rose's mob,
Each woman carried the sweeping broom
That lay about her house,
To sweep the Primitive Methodists
Away from East Moonta South.
The seeds of time have swallowed
Reuben Rose, and all his clan,
The church, it lies in rubble,
All in one with the works of man.
But if you listen carefully,
Right next to the pile of lime,
You'll hear the veins of his forehead,
Pop like corn in the summertime.
(And somewhere up in heaven
By the side of the Pearly Gates,
The Primitives are waiting,
Over a hundred years too late.
The rebels are inside, cosy, while
Old Reuben is heard to shout:
'You may be one with the devil,
But you never will lock us out!)
20 July 2008
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Reuben James
Reuben james
In my song you live again
And the phrase that I rhyme
Are just a footstep out of time
From the time when I knew you
Reuben james
Reuben james, all the folks around hadison county
Cussed your name
Youre just a no-count, sharecropping colored man
Youd steal anything you can
And everybody laid the blame on reuben james
Reuben james, for you still walk
Over fields of my mind
Faded shirt, weathered brow
Colored hands upon the plow
Loved you then and I love you now
Reuben james
For a grave
The gossiper of hadison county died with chide
Although your skin was black
You were the one that didnt turn your back
On the hungry white child with no name
Reuben james, reuben james
With your mind on the soul
And a bottle in your right hand
You said turn the other cheek
For theres a better world awaiting for the meek
In my mind these words remain from reuben james
Reuben james one dark cloudy day
They brought you from the field
And to your lonely crambox
Came just a preacher
Me and the rain
Just to sing one last refrain to reuben james
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blue, White And Red.
Menasheh and Ephraim were the children of Yahseph,
But Reuben was a brother to Yahseph;
So Menasheh and Ephraim were the nephews of Reuben,
And Reuben was their uncle!
Get wisdom and learn from this poem,
For today Reuben is France;
And Menasheh is Britain while,
Ephraim is the U.S.A.!
They are all with the colours blue, white and red in their National Flags;
But Yaaqob (Israyl) was the main root for the this tree.
They captured Germany after the Second World War and,
Divided West Germany (BRD) into three zones;
With Russia taking East Germany (DDR) to thier advantage!
So do get wisdom from this poem;
For this earth is the place of leraning.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Primitive
My heart keeps beating me to death
I see you move and I can't catch my breath
I want to touch you with my lips
I want to touch you with a kiss
My heart keeps pounding like a fist
I see you there and I just can't resist
You make me tremble like this
You make me tremble like a jellyfish
It's primitive
You got me
Oh
It's primitive
You make me feel
Primitive
When you lock me in your arms
You chain me to your heart
...Oh
I hear you calling out my name
And when you talk your words they numb my brain
You make this fire in me start
I want to touch you with my heart
I hear you whisper in the dark
And when you touch me I just come apart
I feel the fever in your hands
We feel things we don't even understand
It's primitive
You got me
Oh
It's primitive
You make me feel
Primitive
When you lock me in your arms
You chain me to your heart
...Oh
It's animal
Like the moon pulls at the tide
I'm at your side
The world in which we live
It's primitive
You got me
Oh
It's primitive
You make me real
Primitive
When you lock me in your arms
You chain me to your heart
...Oh
song performed by by Cyndi Lauper from A Night To Remember
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rebels
Rebels! 't is a holy name!
The name our fathers bore,
When battling in the cause of Right,
Against the tyrant in his might,
In the dark days of yore.
Rebels! 't is our family name!
Our father, Washington,
Was the arch-rebel in the fight,
And gave the name to use,-a right
Of father unto son.
Rebels! 't is our given name!
Our mother, Liberty,
Received the title with her fame,
In days of grief, of fear, and shame,
When at her breast were we.
Rebels! 't is our sealed name!
A baptism of blood!
The war-aye, and the din of strife-
The fearful contest, life for life-
The mingled crimson flood.
Rebels! 't is a patriot's name!
In struggles it was given;
We bore it then when tyrants raved
And through their curses 't was engraved
On the doomsday-book of heaven.
Rebels! 't is our fighting name!
For peace rules o'er the land,
Until they speak of craven woe-
Until our rights receive a blow,
From foe's or brother's hand.
Rebels! 't is our dying name!
For, although life is dear,
Yet, freemen born and freemen bred,
We'd rather live as freemen dead,
Than live in slavish fear.
Then call us rebels if you will-
We glory in the name;
For bending under unjust laws,
And swearing faith to an unjust cause,
We count a greater shame.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Better Than Being Satre
I think
I'll stick
with the fauves and primitives
if I have
any luck
I'll turn into Charles B.
and become a lusty
satyr.
poem by Vince Gullaci
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The Time Of Day
All the ghosts in the schoolyard
Young rebels with no dreams
Dying of old age
At seventeen
Some blame their mothers
For this unforgiving world
Others point the finger
At the flag the wind unfurls
But I say
You are the lock you are the key
You are the master of your destiny
The devils the dude who sells poison for pay
Dont give the devil the time of day
Dont you give him the room or and inch to play
Dont give the devil the time of day
Dont give the devil the time of day
Theres a face in the mirror
You dont recognize
So you shatter the lights
cause they sting your bloodshot eyes
You walk on with a stranger
Who rolls your soul up in his wad
You place your trust in him
Like you once placed it in god
Well I say
You are the lock you are the key
You are the master of your destiny
The devils the dude who sells poison for pay
Dont give the devil the time of day
Dont you give him the room or and inch to play
Dont give the devil the time of day
Dont give the devil the time of day
Caught between the cyclone fence and a red brick wall
Yeah, you melt like chocolate in the sun
Then you see your angel walking with his high-tops on
And he hands you heaven hotter than a loaded gun
(the time of day)
Dont you give him
(the time of day)
Dont you give him
(the time of day)
You are the lock you are the key
You are the master of your destiny
The devils the dude who sells poison for pay
Dont give the devil the time of day
Dont you give him the room or and inch to play
Dont give the devil the time of day
Dont give the devil the time of day
All the ghosts in the schoolyard
Young rebels with no dreams
Dying of old age
At seventeen
Well I say
You are the lock you are the key
You are the master of your destiny
The devils the dude who sells poison for pay
Dont give the devil the time of day
Dont you give him the room or and inch to play
Dont give the devil the time of day
Dont give the devil the time of day
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From a distance
From a distance Lord I followed You
as I wondered what the crowd would do.
Keeping silent I walked by myself.
There undetected I moved with stealth.
In the distance You were on Your own
before the Sanhedrin all alone.
By the fireside I stood keeping warm
leaving You alone to face the storm.
Then, 'You're one of them' I heard her say
so I turned my head and looked away.
'I don't know this man' out loud I said
and cursing denied my Lord instead.
Far from You my Lord I swore out loud
unable now to hide in the crowd.
With oaths and curses as I stood there
three times denying they heard me swear.
Your eyes met mine in the distance Lord
they spoke much louder than any word.
For the way, Lord that You looked at me
convicted me of my hypocrisy.
I felt so ashamed of what I'd done
and into the distance tried to run.
Though I wept and sobbed deep tears of grief
I was unable to find any relief.
In the distance as You climbed the hill
I kept myself hidden there until
You were led away and crucified.
The Lord I'd forsaken and denied.
'Too late' I thought as I saw You die.
'Too late to say sorry' was my cry.
So I left behind that shameful cross
and went back to fishing feeling my loss.
All through the night I was toiling there
as the dawn rose I looked in despair.
Then a voice called out loud from the shore
'On the other side you'll catch much more.'
On the other side we filled our net.
So many fish I'll never forget.
'It is the Lord' I heard someone say.
I leapt out of the boat straight away.
To be close to You was my desire
swimming to join You there by the fire.
The others joined with us at the meal
their wonder unable to conceal.
Three times You asked me if I loved You.
Three times I said 'Lord, You know I do.'
I thought as we dined by the sea shore
'I'll not keep my distance any more.'
Learn from the Nature
Man came from monkey. Both are there.
Mammals evolved from reptiles and
Vertebrate from invertebrate.
The nature nurtures primitives too.
(03.07.2011)
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Demon under the Altar Stone
As a boy in a ruff and a surplice, gown,
I sang in the choir of a country town,
Under the eye of the Reverend Burr
In a church that had stood for a thousand years.
A church so old that it reeked of damp
From the days of an Anglo-Saxon camp,
They'd built their Church on a Druid site
To banish the wailing ghosts at night!
The Romans had slaughtered the Druid priests
In a river of blood at a Druid Feast,
And still their cries could be heard on nights
When the moon gleamed red by the altar lights.
The beams streamed in through the leadlight glass
With an eerie glow that was overcast,
Illumined the ancient altar stone
That covered the Bishop of Cædmon's bones.
The slab that lay on the floor was lipp'd
As it covered the age-old church's crypt,
And there was a crack, an inch around
Through to the crypt there, under the ground.
From where I sat in the old oak pew
I could see the back of the altar, too,
And through a gap where the floor was bare
Were moving shadows that shouldn't be there!
The crypt had been sealed, eight hundred years
Since the Normans had taken the Saxon Reeves,
Imprisoned them down in the crypt for good
Then walled them in - (so I understood!)
And there they suffered and there they died
The Shire Reeves of the countryside,
And no-one had ever been down there since,
Or disturbed their bones... for the merest glimpse.
The Reverend Burr was hellfire bent,
His sermons called to the sinners, 'Repent! '
He ranted and raved of a jealous God,
And asked why nobody reck'd his rod.
The smell of sulphur hung in the air
After a sermon by Reverend Burr,
And brimstone caught in my nostrils so
That I almost gagged at the horror below.
One Sunday, kneeling at evensong
I stared at the ancient altar stone,
And there I saw, and to my surprise,
A glow that appeared to be two red eyes!
They glowed bright red, and they stared at me
As if I were alone in the gallery,
My mind was full of the vicar's gall,
And I felt that a demon had pawned my soul.
The eyes dropped down in the crypt instead
And shadows moved, to my mounting dread,
So after the service I hurried on home,
As far as I could from that altar stone!
A week went by, and I thought of things,
Convinced they must be imaginings,
So off I went to the choir again,
But just to be safe, I whispered, 'Ben! '
'You see the crack in the altar stone,
Just tell me if I'm the only one,
I saw two eyes in that crack last week,
They scared me so much that I couldn't speak! '
The vicar stood by the altar there
With his bulging eyes and his crazy hair
And he roared and he pounded his fist on down
'Til it shook and it rattled the altar stone.
He spoke of torment and endless grief,
For the sin of pride, and the skulking thief,
For the lover of all material things,
The women who covered their hands with rings!
Adulterers were the scourge of God
And would fall in the cracks of the earth, he said,
While those who harboured an impure thought,
Their hopes of heaven were set at naught.
(But all the while it was widely known
That the vicar had been with the widow Rowan,
She'd visited him at the rectory,
And breakfasted in the Refectory) .
His voice rose up and the altar stone
Began to rumble and then to groan,
I felt Ben tense at the side of me
As the eyes rose up, as red as could be!
The eyes rose up and peered from the gloom
Of the crypt, long cursed by a Druid Moon,
The more the vicar harangued and roared,
The more that it rumbled under the floor.
The doors blew open, the wind blew in
Like a storm raised up from the depths of sin,
The people ran for the path outside,
'You've raised the devil, ' the people cried.
And then the floor it had opened up
Where the vicar stood, he had said enough!
Just for a moment we caught a glimpse
Of the thing in the crypt that we've not seen since!
An evil demon with blood-red eyes,
With hands like hooks of a monstrous size,
And teeth that grinned in the fading gloom,
The vicar fell into that terrible room.
We heard him scream just once down there
The sound of a sinner beyond despair,
And then the demon went down with a drone,
Covered the hole with the altar stone!
That church stood empty, unused for years,
They said that it carried a Druid curse,
But who would go down to the crypt alone,
Or think to disturb the altar stone?
29 June 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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O. R. R.
(gary rossington -- johnny vanzant -- hughie thomasson -- rickey medlocke)
Theres a story to tell about days of old
A man and his gun, a street fighter Im told
Theres one in every town, tryin to make himself a name
If hes quicker on the draw, comes glory and fame
They say hes always alone, he rides a horse with no name
His only friend was the devil by his side but it caused him so much pain
If his guns could talk, oh, the stories they would tell
Of all the men who tried and lost, all the ones he sent to hell
(chorus)
They are outlaws, renegades, rebels on the run
They pay the price every day they live like the wrong end of a gun
Move around from town to town cant stay in any place to long
Outlaws, renegades... rebels on the run
Things havent changed much these days
Faces are younger, but still they keep playing the deadliest game
Brothers and sisters, what are we fightin for
Its not for the fame or the glory anymore
I hear the mothers cryin
Too many children dyin
How many tears have to fall to bring this to an end
They are outlaws, renegades, rebels on the run
They pay the price every day they live like the wrong end of a gun
Move around from town to town cant stay in any place to long
Outlaws, renegades... oh
Theyre all outlaws, renegades, rebels on the run
They pay the price every day they live like the wrong end of a gun
Move around from town to town cant stay in any place to long
Outlaws, renegades... rebels on the run
song performed by by Lynyrd Skynyrd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The perversion
To get access to what one desires
And part-with not what one possess
Breed among the cultured all evils.
That anyone is free to befriend any
And that no one confines to any
Rid primitives of any monotony.
01.07.96
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Wedding of Jenny McGill
There were red roses, and white roses
At the wedding of Jenny McGill,
For she was a Roman Catholic,
And he of the other ilk,
But the priest had refused the Catholic Church
In the way that it was, back then,
For she was a Roman Catholic,
And he Presbyterian.
But her love had bloomed like a red, red rose
And his love had bloomed as well,
For love is the great uniting force
Of the Lord, this side of hell.
So she baked the bread with her loving hands
And he broke the bread with his,
The love shone out of his Protestant eyes
At the thought of wedded bliss.
Now she'd been raised in West Belfast
And he on the Shankill Road,
They were never supposed to fall in love
Like this, so they'd been told,
For the Orange Lord is an English Lord
And shunned, in the Irish way,
While the Lord of the Green is an Irish Lord,
So said the I.R.A.
They warned her once, they warned her twice
This wedding could never be,
For he was a Presbyterian
This John McGonachy,
And children had to be brought up right,
Believe in the Catholic scene,
And fight to unite dear Ireland
For St. Patrick and the Green.
McGonachy was told as well,
No good would come of this,
For he was a Presbyterian
And Jenny a Catholic.
His parents threatened to cut him off,
His friends just said: 'We'll see! '
He even got a visit at work
From the uniformed R.U.C.
But love should break down barriers,
And love should reign supreme,
They looked for a church to wed them both,
The Presbyterian.
She looked a picture when down the aisle
She walked, like an Angel queen,
He wore an Orange buttonhole,
And she a spray of Green.
The vicar read the service as
They gazed in each other's eyes,
Her love had bloomed as a red, red rose,
And his as a white surprise,
They made their vows so tenderly
Her dress, so white, so pale,
And then 'twas time to kiss the bride,
She lifted up her veil.
The stained glass window by the nave
That showed our Lord in grace,
Had lost some of the coloured glass
Around the Saviour's face,
Two shots rang out, and then two more,
The air was very still,
When red, red roses bloomed once more
On the dress of Jenny McGill.
The lovers died in each other's arms
And love died too, that day,
They carried them out of the chapel door
As some others turned to pray,
And some prayed to the Orange Lord
And some to the Green Lord still,
The Lord in the stained glass window wept
At the wedding of Jenny McGill.
They buried her down in a Catholic row,
And him by the Shankill Road,
Even in death they'd be kept apart
By the Green and the Orange code.
But the Lord is love, and he lifted them up
To a dwelling all white and cream,
Where the roses bloom in the wintertime,
And there's neither Orange nor Green.
27 July 2008
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Now That He’s Risen
Now that Christ has risen above, we should reflect upon His Love,
Love displayed for you and me, by The Savior and Lord of eternity.
And with the price completely paid, we will one day too, be raised,
Raised to be just like Jesus Christ, on the day we enter eternal life.
Now that He’s back on His Throne, He’s made us an eternal home.
A dwelling place where we can be, together with Christ for Eternity.
All things for us will be made new, and this with Eternity in full view.
Death and darkness will be no more, in the light of Christ our Lord.
Never concerned with death again, if you know The Lord my friend,
But looking forward to Eternal Life, secured for all by Jesus Christ.
Even if on this earth we should die, we’ll be transported to the sky.
And this with a new body fitted for, eternity so we will die no more.
And for all those who haven’t died, we will be raptured to His side,
Changed in the twinkling of an eye, to meet the Lord up in the sky.
We will be escorted by Jesus Christ, right into His Eternal Paradise,
The place prepared for all those, who believe in The One who rose.
Jesus rose to secure the victory, over death and sin for you and me.
It was Love which moved The Lord, to die so we could be restored,
Reconciled to The Father above, through The Son’s matchless Love.
A Love we’ll reflect on forevermore, when home above with our Lord.
(Copyright ©04/2006)
The Heart Is A Chapel
(the heart is a chapel, and the words, feelings
thoughts, ' are the people'
you don't know what will come in
or leave thru those doors.
but! you are the pastor of this chapel
and you see only the goodness
that the LORD has given you.)
so you open those doors wide
for no one will be denied.
you hear and see the hurt and pain
and you know that it's a shame
that people can not see the beauties
but! just the misery.
this chapel will overcome anything
that comes its way.
for it cannot be torn down, burned down
or layed to the ground.
for your LORD made it strong from the start
this is why he calls it the 'heart'.
there will be a light so strong
and so bright
that it will brighten even the darkess night.
this chapel is a chapel of dreams
of things seen and unseen.
for the more that you have
hopes and aspirations
this will strengten the foundation.
it will make it stronger than its ever been
and repel all the sins.
this is the chapel that the
LORD gave to us.
and in him, we put our trust.
a strong heart will always heal
for it is something that you cannot steal
or shape to your desire.
it is a growing fire, that will spread
to everything in its way
and get stronger day by day.
poem by Louis Rams
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Out Of The Fires Of Hell
To my co poets - this is in response to "I lay down my pen"
Out of the fires of hell (7/14/12)
I have pulled myself up out of the fires of hell
Where pain, sorrow, depression, lost faith do dwell.
I recall as I closed my eyes all I could see
Was the devil staring back at me.
His eyes were bloodshot red - cause on my fears he had fed.
The hideous laugh bouncing around in my head
I thought for sure that I was dead.
They pulled me down when I was weak
And with their strength I could not compete.
All four of them were working to keep me down
When I saw HIS LIGHT, HIS EYES, HIS CROWN
It was the LORD beckoning me to him
And seeing this - I knew I'd win.
His hand came down and I grabbed it and held on tight
Closed my eyes and prayed with all my might.
I rose out of those flames completely intact
And I knew there would be no turning back.
The devil like the lion would wait for its prey
And thought with certainties he would get his way
But my LORD had something to say.
You had caught me at a time of weakness and despair
And thought that my life with you I'd share
But my inner spirit saw the guiding light
And I fought with all my might.
The LORD had heard my plea, and responded
And I rose out of the fires with a smile on my face
poem by Louis Rams
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Surrender to be Free
I used to spend my youth
trying to imitate all the rebels
running about
shooting off my mouth
pretending to be free
proudly flexing my
animal individuality
unlike all the rest
just like
all the rebels
used to enter battle
wielding ego-sword
hiding behind
self important shields
providing scant protection
aimless years I spent displaced
wandering in exile with all the rebels
now I lay down at night
praying for my
soul's surrender
pledging my will to conform
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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Primitive Love
Primitive love
I want what it used to be, primitive love
No modern love, its all a hustle
Whats done is done, now its my turn to have some fun
Youre much to sly, dont give me alibis
I dont want to know, I dont want to know
Primitive love
I want what it used to be
I want it, primitive love
Primitivie love, I want what is used to be
I want what it used to be, primitive love
I want, I need, primtive love
You dont have to worry , I dont want your money
I dont have to think, right now youve got me at the brink
This is good-bye for all the times I cried
Dont want no more, dont want no more
Primitive love
I want what it used to be
I want it, primitive love
Primitivie love, I want what is used to be
I want what it used to be, primitive love
I want, I need, primitive love
Is it right, or is it wrong?
Primitive drums call me backward into stone
Pack up and leave, Im not yours to deceive
Dont want you no more, dont want you no more
Primitive love
I want what it used to be
I want it, primitive love
Primitivie love, I want what is used to be
I want what it used to be, primitive love
I want, I need, primtive love
song performed by by Gloria Estefan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Today is rebels' day. And yet we work
Today is rebels' day. And yet we work—
All of us rebels, until day is done.
And when the stars come out we celebrate
A revolution that's not yet begun.
Today is rebels' day. And men in jail
Tread the old mill-round until day is done.
And when night falls they sit alone to brood
On revolution that's not yet begun.
Today is rebels' day. Let all of us
Take courage to fight on until we're done—
Fight though we may not live to see the hour
The Revolution's splendidly begun.
poem by Lesbia Harford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jewish Africa
Just like the Israelites we wander
In the wilderness for years we gather
Picked from Benjamin to Reuben
To work in the vineyard of Buren
Our Charles they modified to Oroonoko
Until the Lord heard our cry of woe
Then they sent us back to our Canaan land
After they had through us raised pyramids amongst sand
We never knew but were made to know
The men ye called savage still had the glow
To transmit the story across ages
For it to be criticized fairly by all sages
We strife to rebuild the wall the Chaldees pulled down
But the cedar tree had been burnt to its gown
We try to repair the ruins of the temple
But the pillar of brass they long trample
Our saviours Herod primed for destruction
From Nazi our leaders take instruction
To betray and destroy us in holocaust
To fill their bags with cash at all cost
Tribe to tribe against each other we fight
For our selfish interest to reach limelight
Why not come together to reach an agreement
And live out the world
poem by Anthony Seyi Abiodun
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Women Is Losers
Women is losers
Women is losers
Women is losers
Women is losers.
Well, i know you must have heard it all,
Lord, ev'rywhere
Men always seem to end up on top.
I said, if they told you that they want you
Say they come around and wind up your door.
Whoa i say now, if they don't desert you,
They'll leave you and never be here for more!
Women is losers
Women is losers
Women is losers, lord, lord, lord, lord!!!!!
I said i know you must have heard it all,
Lord, everywhere
Men always seem to end up on top.
I say they wear a nice shiny armor
Until there is a dragon for to slay.
Now baby,
Course with men beggin' to pay 'em
I'll say they're bound to run away, oh!
Women is losers
Women is losers
Women is losers, lord, lord, lord, lord!!!!!!
I said, i know you must have heard it all
Lord, ev'rywhere
Men almost seem to end up on top, oh!
Women is losers
Women is losers
Women is losers, lord, lord, lord, lord,
Well, i know you must have heard it all,
Men always seem to end up on top.
Oh yeah, they'll use you and confuse you
They'll leave you when no one has thought to play.
They might say to watch out after your conduct
Why the hell there ain't another way, oh!
Women is losers
Women is losers
Women is losers, lord, lord, lord, lord!!!!!!
So now i know you must have heard it all,
Ev'rywhere
Men always seem to end up on top.
song performed by by Janis Joplin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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