Across The Lines
Left for dead? I—Charlie Coleman,
On the field we won—and lost,
Like a dog; the ditch my death-bed
My pillow but a log across.
Helpless hangs my arm beside me,
Drooping lies my aching head;
How strange it sounded when that soldier,
Passing, spoke of me as "dead."
Dead? and here—where yonder banner
Flaunts its scanty group of stars,
And that rebel emblem binds me
Close within those bloody bars.
Dead? without a stone to tell it,
Nor a flower above my breast!
Dead? where none will whisper softly,
"Here a brave man lies at rest!"
Help me, Thou, my mother's helper,—
Jesus, Thou who biding here,
Loved me like an earthly mother,
Be thou still to aid me near.
Give me strength to totter yonder,
Hold me up till o'er me shines
The flag of Union—there she promised
To meet me, just beyond the lines.
Well I know how she will wander
Where a woman's foot may stray,
Looking with those eyes so tender
Where the poor boys wounded lay.
How her hand will bring them water,
For her own boy Charlie's sake,
And when dying bid them whisper,
"I pray the Lord my soul to take."
Ah! I stand on foot but feebly,
And the blood runs very fast,
Yet by fence and bush I'll stagger
Till the rebel lines be past.
"Courage, Charlie! twist it tighter,—
The tourniquet about your arm;
Be a man—don't faint and shiver
When the lifetide trickles warm."
Faint and week,—still coming, mother,
Walking some, but creeping more,
Fearing lest the watchful sentry
Stops the heart-beat,—slow before
Stay—with fingers ruddy dabbled
Loose the belt your waist confines;
Write upon it "Charlie Coleman—
Carry him across the lines."
Trembling letters—but some stranger
Chance may read them when I'm gone,
And for the sake of love and pity
Bear my lifeless body on.
Coming! ah—what means this darkness—
Night too soon is coming on.
Mother, are you waiting?—"Jesus,
Tell her that with You I've gone."
Then the head her heart had pillowed,
Drooping laid it down to rest,
As calm as when in baby slumber
Its locks were cradled on her breast.
Glowed the sunset o'er the meadow,
Lighting up the gloomy pines,
Where a body only lingered—
Charlie's soul had crossed the lines.
A passing soldier—foe, yet human—
Stooped to read the words of blood;
So pitiful, so sadly earnest;
And bore him onward through the wood.
Beneath the white flag bore him safely.
Now, while Indian Summer shines,
A mother's tears dew springing myrtle,
O'er Charlie's grave across the lines.
poem by Ethel Lynn Beers from Pen Pictures of the War (1864)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
Dancing With Charlie
Charlie was a loser till that sunny day
No-one saw him leaving as he sailed away
Treated like a sinner, no-one gave a damn
Till charlie threw two sixes
Now hes got them in his hand
Now theyre waiting in line to go dancing with charlie
They wanna be seen dancing with charlie
No-one seems to know how
No-one seems to care
Doesnt really matter just as long as you are there
Party in the moonlight, free drinks at the bar
You can bet whats in your pocket that charlie wont be far
Now theyre waiting in line to go dancing with charlie
They wanna be seen dancing with charlie
Charlie bought a jet plane, charlie rides the sky
Friends appear from nowhere, charlie gets them high
Big d was a gambler with everything to lose
Charlie didnt have anything
So he didnt have to choose
And theyre waiting in line to go dancing with charlie
They wanna be seen dancing with charlie
And theyre standing in line to go dancing with charlie
They wanna be seen dancing with charlie
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nothing Is Missed and No Hearts Beat
I was driving home alone at the end of day
after three days of being away.
Lara sounded pleased on the telephone
that I was at last coming home.
As I accelerated out of a double bend,
beside me sat a departed friend.
How can that be my friend was dead,
was he truly here, or in my head?
“Hello Ben, I didn’t mean to startle you,
but your time on Earth is almost through.
I’m here to help you to your next chapter,
that’s what we call the life here after.”
My imagination is playing tricks with me,
I saw Charlie buried in the cemetery.
The dead are dead and can’t just reappear,
Charlie’s gone, and can’t be here.
“Sad but true Ben, but I have to see this through
and I’m only too happy to accompany you.
Try not to worry too much, I’ll be by your side,
we're fast approaching the next divide.”
The brakes failed and the car spun in the air,
what happened next I was unaware.
Daylight became night then light once again,
I was no longer solid and felt no pain.
Charlie led me to a place called the one way gate
where one bids farewell to a life of fate,
where everything in time eventually meets,
where nothing is missed and no hearts beat.
I became a swirling wind in a tunnelled cloud
away from the light where whispers grew loud.
All about me had turned to an Earthly dark,
I could see a streetlight and hear a dog bark.
Well at least I wasn’t dead and that’s a fact,
my seatbelt was still on and my body’s intact.
As I moved my head and looked into the sky
I could see friend Charlie waving goodbye.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Charlie, The Methodone Man
Living to get his freak on
Sporting his leopard skin thong
Charlie the Methadone Man
Plays Sunday nights in a rock and roll band
Charlie the metronome, the methadone man
Patience - the name of the game
Waiting on Dr. Kinkaid
Charlie the Methadone Man
Fills out the papers just as fast as he can
Charlie the methadone, the methadone man
When you're all alone
And you got nowhere to go
Better take it slow
Oh you get so tired of where you are
Kicking his lonley lit brain
Drinking to try and stay sane
Charlie the Methadone Man
Chases his tail just as fast as he can
Charlie the methadone, the methadone man
Charlie the methadone, methadone man
Waiting.....
song performed by by Fastball
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Charlie Methodone Man
Living to get his freak on
Sporting his leopard skin thong
Charlie the methadone man
Plays sunday nights in a rock and roll band
Charlie the metronome, the methadone man
Patience - the name of the game
Waiting on dr. kinkaid
Charlie the methadone man
Fills out the papers just as fast as he can
Charlie the methadone, the methadone man
When youre all alone
And you got nowhere to go
Better take it slow
Oh you get so tired of where you are
Kicking his lonley lit brain
Drinking to try and stay sane
Charlie the methadone man
Chases his tail just as fast as he can
Charlie the methadone, the methadone man
Charlie the methadone, methadone man
Waiting.....
song performed by by Fastball
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Charlie, The Methadone Man
Living to get his freak on
Sporting his leopard skin thong
Charlie the methadone man
Plays sunday nights in a rock and roll band
Charlie the methadone, the methadone man
Patience - the name of the game
Waiting on dr. kinkaid
Charlie the methadone man
Fills out the papers just as fast as he can
Charlie the methadone, the methadone man
When you're all alone
And you got nowhere to go
Better take it slow
Oh you get so tired of where you are
Kicking his lonely lit brain
Drinking to try and stay sane
Charlie the methadone man
Chases his tail just as fast as he can
Charlie the methadone, the methadone man
Kicking...
song performed by by Fastball
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Charlie Methadone Man
Living to get his freak on
Sporting his leopard skin thong
Charlie the methadone man
Plays sunday nights in a rock and roll band
Charlie the methadone, the methadone man
Patience - the name of the game
Waiting on dr. kinkaid
Charlie the methadone man
Fills out the papers just as fast as he can
Charlie the methadone, the methadone man
When youre all alone
And you got nowhere to go
Better take it slow
Oh you get so tired of where you are
Kicking his lonely lit brain
Drinking to try and stay sane
Charlie the methadone man
Chases his tail just as fast as he can
Charlie the methadone, the methadone man
Kicking...
song performed by by Fastball
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sad Spring
The Spring weeps, she is forlorn;
Well that she may weep, alas!
Now that many babes are born
Whose dear fathers lie in grass.
Snowdrops in the frozen earth
Faint and are not comforted;
Never was so sad a birth,
Never was so sad a bed.
She must bear her pangs alone.
Where is sorrow like to hers?
In an anguish cold as stone
Her dead soldier's child she bears.
Now her trembling arms will hold
Close the piteous downy thing
To a milky breast as cold
As the frozen water-spring.
Now she hopes and dreads to find
Likeness in the little son
To his father, brave and kind.
Like or not, her heart's undone.
Tender nurslings born in pain,
Mother's comfort, mother's grief,
When her tears run down like rain,
Lord, bring Thou a handkerchief.
Wipe the widow's tears away,
Father orphan boys and girls.
Lead them out where they may play,
With Thy hand upon their curls.
poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Mother's Soul
When the moon was horned the mother died,
And the child pulled at her hand and knee,
And he rubbed her cheek and loudly cried:
'O mother, arise, give bread to me!'
But the pine tree bent its head,
And the wind at the door-post said:
'O child, thy mother is dead !'
The sun set his loom to weave the day;
The frost bit sharp like a silent cur;
The child by her pillow paused in his play:
'Mother, build up the sweet fire of fir !'
But the fir tree shook its cones,
And loud cried the pitiful stones:
'Wolf Death has thy mother's bones!'
They bore the mother out on her bier;
Their tears made warm her breast and shroud;
The smiling child at her head stood near;
And the long, white tapers shook and bowed,
And said with their tongues of gold,
To the ice lumps of the grave mold:
'How heavy are ye and cold!'
They buried the mother; to the feast
They flocked with the beaks of unclean crows.
The wind came up from the red-eyed east
And bore in its arms the chill, soft snows.
They said to each other: 'Sere
Are the hearts the mother held dear;
Forgotten, her babe plays here!'
The child with the tender snowflakes played,
And the wind on its fingers twined his hair;
And still by the tall, brown grave he stayed,
Alone in the churchyard lean and bare.
The sods on the high grave cried
To the mother's white breast inside:
'Lie still; in thy deep rest bide!'
Her breast lay still like a long-chilled stone,
Her soul was out on the bleak, grey day;
She saw her child by the grave alone,
With the sods and snow and wind at play.
Said the sharp lips of the rush,
'Red as thy roses,O bush,
With anger the dead can blush !'
A butterfly to the child's breast flew,*
Fluttered its wings on his sweet, round cheek,
Danced by his fingers, small, cold and blue.
The sun strode down past the mountain peak.
The butterfly whispered low
To the child: 'Babe, follow me; know,
Cold is the earth here below.'
The butterfly flew; followed the child,
Lured by the snowy torch of its wings;
The wind sighed after them soft and wild
Till the stars wedded night with golden rings
Till the frost upreared its head,
And the ground to it groaned and said:
'The feet of the child are lead!'
The child's head drooped to the brown, sere mold,
On the crackling cones his white breast lay;
The butterfly touched the locks of gold,
The soul of the child sprang from its clay.
The moon to the pine tree stole,
And silver-lipped, said to its bole:
'How strong is the mother's soul !'
The wings of the butterfly grew out
To the mother's arms, long, soft and white;
She folded them warm her babe about,
She kissed his lips into berries bright,
She warmed his soul on her breast;
And the east called out to the west:
'Now the mother's soul will rest!'
Under the roof where the burial feast
Was heavy with meat and red with wine,
Each crossed himself as out of the east
A strange wind swept over oak and pine.
The trees to the home-roof said:
' 'Tis but the airy rush and tread
Of angels greeting thy dead.'
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mid the Piteous Heaps of Dead
'MID the piteous heaps of dead
Goes one weary golden head
Tossing ever to and fro,
Calling loud and calling low.
Mother, mother, step so light,
Mother, lay your fingers white
On my forehead like a dew !
Mother, mother, where are you?
Still so loud he makes his cry
That the dying cannot die;
All the writhing field's one groan
While he lies and cries alone.
But his mother's far away;
Cannot hear him cry and say:
Mother, I am dying, come!
Mother, I am lost from home!
Mary, Mother of all men,
Come and comfort him in pain.
Take his young head to the breast
Where your Child and God had rest.
Mary, Mary, step so light.
Mary, lay your fingers white
On his forehead! He shall dream
That his mother comforts him.
Mary, Mother, croon him o'er
Lullabies you sang before!
Mary, ease him, crooning low,
In the way that mothers know!
poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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William House and Family
Come all kind friends, both far and near,
Come listen to me and you shall hear --
It's of a family and their fate,
All about them I will relate.
They once did live at Edgerton,
They once did live at Muskegon,
From there they went to Chicago,
Which proved their fatal overthrow.
It was William House's family,
As fine a family as you see --
His family was eleven in all,
I do not think it was very small.
Two children died some years ago,
Before they went to Chicago,
Five children there he had with him,
When death his home there enters in.
The small-pox then was raging there,
And Oh! it would not their house spare,
For all but one was sick of them,
A dreadful house it must have been.
The eldest girl was married then,
The eldest boy was in Michigan,
The second boy he was at home,
And took care of them all alone.
His father and his mother dear,
And dear sister, too, I hear,
Were very sick and in his care,
And no kind friends to help him there:
Two little brothers, and a baby too,
Made six in all -- what could he do,
He had to take care of them all,
The baby, too, was very small.
As he would go to his father's bed,
And try to soothe his aching head,
"My son, I pray you leave me, do
Go take care of poor mother, too."
"Your mother and sister need your care,
And your little infant brother there;
Oh! Charlie, Charlie, take care of them,
My son, do all for them you can."
It seemed as though he did not know
That his poor soul so soon must go,
And leave his little ones he loved,
To go to that bright world above.
But God he called his soul away,
It had to leave, it could not stay --
He never more on earth will be,
His soul is from sin and sorrow free.
Charles helped the sexton, I am told,
To lay his form in the coffin cold --
How sad, how sad, poor soul was he,
When last his father's form did see.
Minnie May House she had to go,
And leave her friends that loved her so --
She was a girl in her teens,
A lovely flower as e'er was seen.
Minnie and her mother lay on one bed,
And when Charles said, "our Minnie is dead,"
His mother then she did grow wild,
And early after knew her child.
They buried Minnie by her father's side,
And left them there where they had died --
Charles took his mother and brothers then
And brought them back to Michigan.
For the mother and the baby too,
Kind friends did all that they could do,
But those poor souls they could not save,
For now they're sleeping in their grave.
Oh! what a noble son was he,
His age was then only sixteen --
Charles House's name I have told before
God bless his soul forever more.
poem by Julia A Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where Has All The Sunshine Gone?
Just another face in a crowded sea,
Just another statistic for you to see.
Hold onto the picture frame,
Lifeline between you and me.
Where has all the sunshine gone?
Why did my love go away?
Where has all the sunshine gone?
Why did she go away?
Counting all the words
Within these lines.
Finding a way of just passing time,
There’s nothing left for me.
Where has all the sunshine gone?
Why did my love go away?
Where has all the sunshine gone?
Why did she go away?
Why am I in the rain?
Why do I howl amidst a storm?
Why do I just scream and cry?
Where has all the light gone?
Where has all the sunshine gone?
Why did my love go away?
Where has all the sunshine gone?
Why did she go away?
©Charlie F. Kane
poem by Charlie F. Kane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Feast Of The Assumption
Dark! Dark! Dark!
The sun is set; the day is dead:
Thy Feast has fled;
My eyes are wet with tears unshed;
I bow my head;
Where the star-fringed shadows softly sway
I bend my knee,
And, like a homesick child, I pray,
Mary, to thee.
Dark! Dark! Dark!
And, all the day -- since white-robed priest
In farthest East,
In dawn's first ray -- began the Feast,
I -- I the least --
Thy least, and last, and lowest child,
I called on thee!
Virgin! didst hear? my words were wild;
Didst think of me?
Dark! Dark! Dark!
Alas! and no! The angels bright,
With wings as white
As a dream of snow in love and light,
Flashed on thy sight;
They shone like stars around thee, Queen!
I knelt afar --
A shadow only dims the scene
Where shines a star!
Dark! Dark! Dark!
And all day long, beyond the sky,
Sweet, pure, and high,
The angel's song swept sounding by
Triumphantly;
And when such music filled thy ear,
Rose round thy throne,
How could I hope that thou wouldst hear
My far, faint moan?
Dark! Dark! Dark!
And all day long, where altars stand,
Or poor or grand,
A countless throng from every land,
With lifted hand,
Winged hymns to thee from sorrow's vale
In glad acclaim;
How couldst thou hear my lone lips wail
Thy sweet, pure name?
Dark! Dark! Dark!
Alas! and no! Thou didst not hear
Nor bend thy ear,
To prayer of woe as mine so drear;
For hearts more dear
Hid me from hearing and from sight
This bright Feast-day;
Wilt hear me, Mother, if in its night
I kneel and pray?
Dark! Dark! Dark!
The sun is set, the day is dead;
Thy Feast hath fled;
My eyes are wet with the tears I shed;
I bow my head;
Angels and altars hailed thee, Queen,
All day; ah! be
To-night what thou hast ever been --
A mother to me!
Dark! Dark! Dark!
Thy queenly crown in angels' sight
Is fair and bright;
Ah! lay it down; for, oh! to-night
Its jeweled light
Shines not as the tender love-light shines,
O Mary! mild,
In the mother's eyes, whose pure heart pines
For poor, lost child!
Dark! Dark! Dark!
Sceptre in hand, thou dost hold sway
Fore'er and aye
In angel-land; but, fair Queen! pray
Lay it away.
Let thy sceptre wave in the realms above
Where angels are;
But, Mother! fold in thine arms of love
Thy child afar!
Dark! Dark! Dark!
Mary, I call! Wilt hear the prayer
My poor lips dare?
Yea! be to all a Queen most fair,
Crown, sceptre, bear!
But look on me with a mother's eyes
From heaven's bliss;
And waft to me from the starry skies
A mother's kiss!
Dark! Dark! Dark!
The sun is set; the day is dead;
Her Feast has fled;
Can she forget the sweet blood shed,
The last words said
That evening -- 'Woman! behold thy Son!
Oh! priceless right,
Of all His children! The last, least one,
Is heard to-night.
poem by Abram Joseph Ryan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Forsaken
Holy Mother of God, Merciful Mary. Hear me! I am very weary. I have come
from a village miles away, all day I have been coming, and I ache for such
far roaming. I cannot walk as light as I used, and my thoughts grow confused.
I am heavier than I was. Mary Mother, you know the cause!
Beautiful Holy Lady, take my shame away from me! Let this fear
be only seeming, let it be that I am dreaming. For months I have hoped
it was so, now I am afraid I know. Lady, why should this be shame,
just because I haven't got his name. He loved me, yes, Lady, he did,
and he couldn't keep it hid. We meant to marry. Why did he die?
That day when they told me he had gone down in the avalanche, and could not
be found until the snow melted in Spring, I did nothing. I could not cry.
Why should he die? Why should he die and his child live? His little child
alive in me, for my comfort. No, Good God, for my misery! I cannot face
the shame, to be a mother, and not married, and the poor child to be reviled
for having no father. Merciful Mother, Holy Virgin, take away this sin I did.
Let the baby not be. Only take the stigma off of me!
I have told no one but you, Holy Mary. My mother would call me 'whore',
and spit upon me; the priest would have me repent, and have
the rest of my life spent in a convent. I am no whore, no bad woman,
he loved me, and we were to be married. I carried him always in my heart,
what did it matter if I gave him the least part of me too? You were a virgin,
Holy Mother, but you had a son, you know there are times when a woman
must give all. There is some call to give and hold back nothing.
I swear I obeyed God then, and this child who lives in me is the sign.
What am I saying? He is dead, my beautiful, strong man! I shall never
feel him caress me again. This is the only baby I shall have.
Oh, Holy Virgin, protect my baby! My little, helpless baby!
He will look like his father, and he will be as fast a runner and as good
a shot. Not that he shall be no scholar neither. He shall go to school
in winter, and learn to read and write, and my father will teach him to carve,
so that he can make the little horses, and cows, and chamois,
out of white wood. Oh, No! No! No! How can I think such things,
I am not good. My father will have nothing to do with my boy,
I shall be an outcast thing. Oh, Mother of our Lord God, be merciful,
take away my shame! Let my body be as it was before he came.
No little baby for me to keep underneath my heart for those long months.
To live for and to get comfort from. I cannot go home and tell my mother.
She is so hard and righteous. She never loved my father, and we were born
for duty, not for love. I cannot face it. Holy Mother, take my baby away!
Take away my little baby! I don't want it, I can't bear it!
And I shall have nothing, nothing! Just be known as a good girl.
Have other men want to marry me, whom I could not touch, after having known
my man. Known the length and breadth of his beautiful white body,
and the depth of his love, on the high Summer Alp, with the moon above,
and the pine-needles all shiny in the light of it. He is gone, my man,
I shall never hear him or feel him again, but I could not touch another.
I would rather lie under the snow with my own man in my arms!
So I shall live on and on. Just a good woman. With nothing to warm my heart
where he lay, and where he left his baby for me to care for. I shall not be
quite human, I think. Merely a stone-dead creature. They will respect me.
What do I care for respect! You didn't care for people's tongues
when you were carrying our Lord Jesus. God had my man give me my baby,
when He knew that He was going to take him away. His lips will comfort me,
his hands will soothe me. All day I will work at my lace-making,
and all night I will keep him warm by my side and pray the blessed Angels
to cover him with their wings. Dear Mother, what is it that sings?
I hear voices singing, and lovely silver trumpets through it all. They seem
just on the other side of the wall. Let me keep my baby, Holy Mother.
He is only a poor lace-maker's baby, with a stain upon him,
but give me strength to bring him up to be a man.
poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Abused Love
She was a stout little girl who grew up in a semi-abusive world
Physically and emotionally
Yeah what a ride it was
Most people don’t understand how much pain it causes and how much hurt it does
But I can relate
A scared little girl is the perfect hitting bait
So leave her on the floor to cry
Broken and bent and ready to die
Tears roll down her face
As she sits with her heart beating at a slow and uneasy pace
She draws a short breath
Not knowing her life will soon be taken by that thing we call death
Her vision is getting blurry by all the tears she’s shed
Her mother came in two hours to find her daughter dead
Yeah in the corner were she laid
Her mother dropped to her knees and tried to come to her baby’s aid
But it was to late her daughter was gone and there was nothing she could do
She let the man she loved beat her daughter dead blue
On the contrary dear child rest in peace
You’re in a better place
He can no longer hurt you
Or beat on your pretty face
poem by Charlie Watson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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After Death
IF we must part, this parting is the best:
How would you bear to lay
Your head on some warm pillow far away--
Your head, so used to lying on my breast?
But now your pillow is cold;
Your hands have flowers, and not my hands, to hold;
Upon our bed the worn bride-linen lies.
I have put the death-money upon your eyes,
So that you should not wake up in the night.
I have bound your face with white;
I have washed you, yes, with water and not with tears,--
Those arms wherein I have slept so many years,
Those feet that hastened when they came to me,
And all your body that belonged to me.
I have smoothed your dear dull hair,
And there is nothing left to say for you
And nothing left to fear or pray for you;
And I have got the rest of life to bear:
Thank God it is you, not I, who are lying there.
If I had died
And you had stood beside
This still white bed
Where the white, scented, horrible flowers are spread,--
I know the thing it is,
And I thank God that He has spared you this.
If one must bear it, thank God it was I
Who had to live and bear to see you die,
Who have to live, and bear to see you dead.
You will have nothing of it all to bear:
You will not even know that in your bed
You lie alone. You will not miss my head
Beside you on the pillow: you will rest
So soft in the grave you will not miss my breast.
But I--but I--Your pillow and your place--
And only the darkness laid against my face,
And only my anguish pressed against my side--
Thank God, thank God, that it was you who died!
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Charlie And Fred
The Hollies
Charlie and Fred
(Allan Clarke/Tony Hicks/Graham Nash)
Track 8 on album 'Butterfly' october 1967
He rides on his horse and cart, Charlie does.
working from six until nine.
Collecting old rags and used bicycles,
old iron of description of any kind.
Here comes Charlie, Charlie the Ragman.
Throw out your old clothes for Charlie and Fred.
Earning a living off things we've discarded.
Earning enough for the board and the bed.
You hear him shout "Rags and old iron."
Everyone knows him that way.
Once a week, they come 'round calling.
How long it's been, I can't say.
chorus
They live all alone in a hovel.
He puts his money away.
Taking enough to just live on,
and at the end of the day
he's saving enough
to put Fred out to graze.
(repeat)
Has anyone seen Charlie lately?
Charlie just ain't been around.
Everyone's seen Fred is grazing,
chewing the grass from the ground.
Children say Charlie is happy
giving balloons to the angels instead.
Where is Charlie, Charlie the Ragman?
Don't throw your clothes out.
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Charlie & Fred
(clarke / hicks / nash)
He rides on his horse and cart, charlie does.
Working from six until nine.
Collecting old rags and used bicycles,
Old iron of description of any kind.
Here comes charlie, charlie the ragman.
Throw out your old clothes for charlie and fred.
Earning a living off things weve discarded.
Earning enough for the board and the bed.
You hear him shout rags and old iron.
Everyone knows him that way.
Once a week, they come round calling.
How long its been, I cant say.
Chorus
They live all alone in a hovel.
He puts his money away.
Taking enough to just live on,
And at the end of the day
Hes saving enough
To put fred out to graze.
(repeat)
Has anyone seen charlie lately?
Charlie just aint been around.
Everyones seen fred is grazing,
Chewing the grass from the ground.
Children say charlie is happy
Giving balloons to the angels instead.
Where is charlie, charlie the ragman?
Dont throw your clothes out.
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Feud
I hear a cry from the Sansard cave,
O mother, will no one hearken?
A cry of the lost, will no one save?
A cry of the dead, though the oceans rave,
And the scream of a gull as he wheels o'er a grave,
While the shadows darken and darken.'
'Oh, hush thee, child, for the night is wet,
And the cloud-caves split asunder,
With lightning in a jagged fret,
Like the gleam of a salmon in the net,
When the rocks are rich in the red sunset,
And the stream rolls down in thunder.'
'Mother, O mother, a pain at my heart,
A pang like the pang of dying.'
'Oh, hush thee, child, for the wild birds dart
Up and down, and close and part,
Wheeling round where the black cliffs start,
And the foam at their feet is flying.'
'O mother, a strife like the black clouds'
And a peace that cometh after.'
'Hush, child, for peace is the end of life,
And the heart of a maiden finds peace as a wife,
But the sky and the cliffs and the ocean are rife
With the storm and thunder's laughter.'
'Come in, my sons, come in and rest,
For the shadows darken and darken,
And your sister is pale as the white swan's breast,
And her eyes are fixed and her lips are pressed
In the death of a name ye might have guessed,
Had ye twain been here to hearken.'
'Hush, mother, a corpse lies on the sand,
And the spray is round it driven,
It lies on its face, and one white hand
Points through the mist on the belt of strand
To where the cliffs of Sansard stand,
And the ocean's strength is riven.'
'Was it God, my sons, who laid him there?
Or the sea that left him sleeping?'
'Nay, mother, our dirks where his heart was bare,
As swift as the rain through the teeth of the air;
And the foam-fingers play in the Saxon's hair,
While the tides are round him creeping.'
'Oh, curses on you, hand and head,
Like the rains in this wild weather
The guilt of blood is swift and dread,
Your sister's face is cold and dead,
Ye may not part whom God would wed
And love hath knit together.'
poem by Frederick George Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Can Read Between The Lines
Roy orbison/joe melson
Girl I got your letter telling me youre coming home tonight
The lines were sweet and tender signed with all your love
Pretty words to make me feel alright
Then I read it over I got the feeling youre not completely mine
I held it to my chest, where you always rest
And I cried cos I can read between the lines
Between the lines I see youre making believe
But I cant help it, I still want you
Between the lines its plain youre playing that old game
But I still love you, and I cant change
Baby Ill be waiting at the downtown station right on time
Reaching out to hold you, the way I always do
Ill pretend that you are only mine
And while Im loving you I cant read between the lines
While Im loving you I cant read between the lines
Transcribed by the teenking
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Charlie Manson Blues
The seance has just been told,
The slaughter has just been sold,
To some people who wont get old,
Cause their skin is getting cold.
The room thats in the back,
Thats where I lost it all.
In the room thats in the back,
Lets go have a ball.
Cause Im slipping into the charlie manson blues.
Im a stupid dressed jesus son.
Im slipping into the charlie manson blues.
Im a stupid dressed jesus son.
Head burning up, chain-smoking,
Everybody here is choking.
Shrunken heads are joking,
And new-born skull is broke.
And the room thats in the back,
Is where I lost it all.
In the room thats in the back,
Lets go have a ball.
Cause Im slipping into the charlie manson blues.
Im a stupid dressed jesus son.
Im slipping into the charlie manson blues.
Im a stupid dressed jesus son.
Cause Im slipping into the charlie manson blues.
Im a stupid dressed jesus son.
Im slipping into the charlie manson blues.
Im a stupid dressed jesus son.
Whoa, goddammit!
Shit!
song performed by by Flaming Lips
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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