Variations of an Air
Old King Cole
Was a merry old soul
And a merry old soul was he
He called for his pipe
and he called for his bowl
and he called for his fiddlers three
after Lord Tennyson
Cole, that unwearied prince of Colchester,
Growing more gay with age and with long days
Deeper in laughter and desire of life
As that Virginian climber on our walls
Flames scarlet with the fading of the year;
Called for his wassail and that other weed
Virginian also, from the western woods
Where English Raleigh checked the boast of Spain,
And lighting joy with joy, and piling up
Pleasure as crown for pleasure, bade me bring
Those three, the minstrels whose emblazoned coats
Shone with the oyster-shells of Colchester;
And these three played, and playing grew more fain
Of mirth and music; till the heathen came
And the King slept beside the northern sea.
after W.B. Yeats
Of an old King in a story
From the grey sea-folk I have heard
Whose heart was no more broken
Than the wings of a bird.
As soon as the moon was silver
And the thin stars began,
He took his pipe and his tankard,
Like an old peasant man.
And three tall shadows were with him
And came at his command;
And played before him for ever
The fiddles of fairyland.
And he died in the young summer
Of the world's desire;
Before our hearts were broken
Like sticks in a fire.
after Walt Whitman
Me clairvoyant,
Me conscious of you, old camarado,
Needing no telescope, lorgnette, field-glass, opera-glass, myopic pince-nez,
Me piercing two thousand years with eye naked and not ashamed;
The crown cannot hide you from me,
Musty old feudal-heraldic trappings cannot hide you from me,
I perceive that you drink.
(I am drinking with you. I am as drunk as you are.)
I see you are inhaling tobacco, puffing, smoking, spitting
(I do not object to your spitting),
You prophetic of American largeness,
You anticipating the broad masculine manners of these States;
I see in you also there are movements, tremors, tears, desire for the melodious,
I salute your three violinists, endlessly making vibrations,
Rigid, relentless, capable of going on for ever;
They play my accompaniment; but I shall take no notice of any accompaniment;
I myself am a complete orchestra.
So long.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Variations of an Air
Old King Cole
Was a merry old soul
And a merry old soul was he
He called for his pipe
and he called for his bowl
and he called for his fiddlers three
after Lord Tennyson
Cole, that unwearied prince of Colchester,
Growing more gay with age and with long days
Deeper in laughter and desire of life
As that Virginian climber on our walls
Flames scarlet with the fading of the year;
Called for his wassail and that other weed
Virginian also, from the western woods
Where English Raleigh checked the boast of Spain,
And lighting joy with joy, and piling up
Pleasure as crown for pleasure, bade me bring
Those three, the minstrels whose emblazoned coats
Shone with the oyster-shells of Colchester;
And these three played, and playing grew more fain
Of mirth and music; till the heathen came
And the King slept beside the northern sea.
after W.B. Yeats
Of an old King in a story
From the grey sea-folk I have heard
Whose heart was no more broken
Than the wings of a bird.
As soon as the moon was silver
And the thin stars began,
He took his pipe and his tankard,
Like an old peasant man.
And three tall shadows were with him
And came at his command;
And played before him for ever
The fiddles of fairyland.
And he died in the young summer
Of the world's desire;
Before our hearts were broken
Like sticks in a fire.
after Walt Whitman
Me clairvoyant,
Me conscious of you, old camarado,
Needing no telescope, lorgnette, field-glass, opera-glass, myopic pince-nez,
Me piercing two thousand years with eye naked and not ashamed;
The crown cannot hide you from me,
Musty old feudal-heraldic trappings cannot hide you from me,
I perceive that you drink.
(I am drinking with you. I am as drunk as you are.)
I see you are inhaling tobacco, puffing, smoking, spitting
(I do not object to your spitting),
You prophetic of American largeness,
You anticipating the broad masculine manners of these States;
I see in you also there are movements, tremors, tears, desire for the melodious,
I salute your three violinists, endlessly making vibrations,
Rigid, relentless, capable of going on for ever;
They play my accompaniment; but I shall take no notice of any accompaniment;
I myself am a complete orchestra.
So long.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Musical Box
Play me "Old King Cole"
that I may join with you,
all your hearts now seem so far from me
it hardly seems to matter now.
And the nurse will tell you lies
of a Kingdom beyond the skies.
But I'm lost within this half-world,
it hardly seems to matter now.
Play me my song,
here it comes again.
Play me my song,
here it comes again.
Just a little bit,
just a little bit more time,
time left to live out my life.
Play me my song,
here it comes again.
Play me my song,
here it comes again.
Old King Cole was a merry ould soul,
and a merry old soul was he.
So he called for his pipe,
and he called for his bowl,
and he called the his fiddlers three.
And the clock, tick tock,
on the mantlepiece,
and I want,
and I fell,
and I know,
and I touch the wall.
She's a lady, she's got time.
Brush back you hair, and let me get to know your face.
She's a lady, she's mine.
Brush back you hair, and let me get to know your flesh.
I've been waiting here for so long
and all this time that passed me by.
It doesn't seem to matter now.
You stand there with your fixed expression
casting doubt on all I have to say.
Why don't you touch me, touch me?
Why don't you touch me, touch me?
Touch me now, now now, now, now ...
The musical box:
While Henry Hamilton-Smythe minor (8) was playing croquet with Cynthia Jane De Blaise-William (9), sweet smiling Cynthia
raised her mallet high and gracefully removed Henry's head. Two weeks later, in Henry's nursery, she discovered his treasured
musical box. Eagerly she opened it and as "Old King Cole" began to play, a small spirit-figure appeared. Henry had returned -
but not for long, for as he stood into the room his body began ageing rapidly, leaving a child's mind inside. A lifetime's desires
surged through him. Unfortunately the attempt to persuade Cynthia Jane to fulfill his romantic desire led his nurse to the
nursery to investigate the noise. Instinctively she hurled the musical box at the bearded child, destroying both
song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Musical Box
While henry hamilton-smythe minor (8) was playing croquet with cynthia jane de blaise-william (9), sweet-smiling cynthia raised her mallet high and gracefully removed henrys head. two weeks lat
N henrys nursery, she discovered his treasured musical box. eagerly she opened it and as old king cole began to play, a small spirit- figure appeared. henry had returned - but not f
Ng, for as he stood in the room his body began ageing rapidly, leaving a childs mind inside. a lifetimes desires surged through him. unfortunately the attempt to persuade cynthia jane to fulfi
S romantic desire led his nurse to the nursery to investigate the noise. instinctively nanny hurled the musical box at the bearded child, destroying both.
Play me old king cole
That I may join with you,
All your hearts now seem so far from me
It hardly seems to matter now.
And the nurse will tell you lies
Of a kingdom beyond the skies.
But I am lost within this half-world,
It hardly seems to matter now.
Play me my song.
Here it comes again.
Play me my song.
Here it comes again.
Just a little bit,
Just a little bit more time,
Time left to live out my life.
Play me my song.
Here it comes again.
Play me my song.
Here it comes again.
Old king cole was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he.
So he called for his pipe,
And he called for his bowl,
And he called for his fiddlers three.
But the clock, tick-tock,
On the mantlepiece -
And I want, and I feel, and I know, and I touch,
Her warmth...
Shes a lady, shes got time,
Brush back your hair, and let me get to know your face.
Shes a lady, she is mine.
Brush back your hair, and let me get to know your flesh.
Ive been waiting here for so long
And all this time has passed me by
It doesnt seem to matter now
You stand there with your fixed expression
Casting doubt on all I have to say.
Why dont you touch me, touch me,
Why dont you touch me, touch me,
Touch me now, now, now, now, now...
song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Musical Box
While henry hamilton-smythe minor (8) was playing croquet with cynthia jane de blaise-william (9), sweet-smiling cynthia raised her mallet high and gracefully removed henrys head. two weeks lat
N henrys nursery, she discovered his treasured musical box. eagerly she opened it and as old king cole began to play, a small spirit- figure appeared. henry had returned - but not f
Ng, for as he stood in the room his body began ageing rapidly, leaving a childs mind inside. a lifetimes desires surged through him. unfortunately the attempt to persuade cynthia jane to fulfi
S romantic desire led his nurse to the nursery to investigate the noise. instinctively nanny hurled the musical box at the bearded child, destroying both.
Play me old king cole
That I may join with you,
All your hearts now seem so far from me
It hardly seems to matter now.
And the nurse will tell you lies
Of a kingdom beyond the skies.
But I am lost within this half-world,
It hardly seems to matter now.
Play me my song.
Here it comes again.
Play me my song.
Here it comes again.
Just a little bit,
Just a little bit more time,
Time left to live out my life.
Play me my song.
Here it comes again.
Play me my song.
Here it comes again.
Old king cole was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he.
So he called for his pipe,
And he called for his bowl,
And he called for his fiddlers three.
But the clock, tick-tock,
On the mantlepiece -
And I want, and I feel, and I know, and I touch,
Her warmth...
Shes a lady, shes got time,
Brush back your hair, and let me get to know your face.
Shes a lady, she is mine.
Brush back your hair, and let me get to know your flesh.
Ive been waiting here for so long
And all this time has passed me by
It doesnt seem to matter now
You stand there with your fixed expression
Casting doubt on all I have to say.
Why dont you touch me, touch me,
Why dont you touch me, touch me,
Touch me now, now, now, now, now...
song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old King Cole
In Tilbury Town did Old King Cole
A wise old age anticipate,
Desiring, with his pipe and bowl,
No Khan’s extravagant estate.
No crown annoyed his honest head,
No fiddlers three were called or needed;
For two disastrous heirs instead
Made music more than ever three did.
Bereft of her with whom his life
Was harmony without a flaw,
He took no other for a wife,
Nor sighed for any that he saw;
And if he doubted his two sons,
And heirs, Alexis and Evander,
He might have been as doubtful once
Of Robert Burns and Alexander.
Alexis, in his early youth,
Began to steal—from old and young.
Likewise Evander, and the truth
Was like a bad taste on his tongue.
Born thieves and liars, their affair
Seemed only to be tarred with evil—
The most insufferable pair
Of scamps that ever cheered the devil.
The world went on, their fame went on,
And they went on—from bad to worse;
Till, goaded hot with nothing done,
And each accoutred with a curse,
The friends of Old King Cole, by twos,
And fours, and sevens, and elevens,
Pronounced unalterable views
Of doings that were not of heaven’s.
And having learned again whereby
Their baleful zeal had come about,
King Cole met many a wrathful eye
So kindly that its wrath went out—
Or partly out. Say what they would,
He seemed the more to court their candor;
But never told what kind of good
Was in Alexis and Evander.
And Old King Cole, with many a puff
That haloed his urbanity,
Would smoke till he had smoked enough,
And listen most attentively.
He beamed as with an inward light
That had the Lord’s assurance in it;
And once a man was there all night,
Expecting something every minute.
But whether from too little thought,
Or too much fealty to the bowl,
A dim reward was all he got
For sitting up with Old King Cole.
“Though mine,” the father mused aloud,
“Are not the sons I would have chosen,
Shall I, less evilly endowed,
By their infirmity be frozen?
“They’ll have a bad end, I’ll agree,
But I was never born to groan;
For I can see what I can see,
And I’m accordingly alone.
With open heart and open door,
I love my friends, I like my neighbors;
But if I try to tell you more,
Your doubts will overmatch my labors.
“This pipe would never make me calm,
This bowl my grief would never drown.
For grief like mine there is no balm
In Gilead, or in Tilbury Town.
And if I see what I can see,
I know not any way to blind it;
Nor more if any way may be
For you to grope or fly to find it.
“There may be room for ruin yet,
And ashes for a wasted love;
Or, like One whom you may forget,
I may have meat you know not of.
And if I’d rather live than weep
Meanwhile, do you find that surprising?
Why, bless my soul, the man’s asleep!
That’s good. The sun will soon be rising.”
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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King Without A Crown
Welcome to the great republic
Guess I should show you round
Where once I was a king
And now I am a clown
The love that we once shared
Made a king of me
But now youre gone... but now youre gone
All I face is poverty
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
Hell hath no fury
Like a woman scorned
But heaven dont boast - no heaven dont boast
The jewel - the pretty jewel I just pawned
Every cloud has a silver lining
Every dog has its day
Oh but I guess the sun stopped shining
On the day you went away
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Yes Im a king - king! king without a crown
Bathed in former glory
Deposed from my throne
How do I get to tell my story?
When all gets your answerphone...
But you aint home
With the love you gave
I felt like royalty
But now youre face to face - face to face
With one ex-member of the aristocracy
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
Theres no need to feel down
Yeah just take a look around
Youll see a man whos just a man
Nothing more
A king without a crown
song performed by by Abc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stage Love
WHEN the game began between them for a jest,
He played king and she played queen to match the best;
Laughter soft as tears, and tears that turned to laughter,
These were things she sought for years and sorrowed after.
Pleasure with dry lips, and pain that walks by night;
All the sting and all the stain of long delight;
These were things she knew not of, that knew not of her,
When she played at half a love with half a lover.
Time was chorus, gave them cues to laugh or cry;
They would kill, befool, amuse him, let him die;
Set him webs to weave to-day and break to-morrow,
Till he died for good in play, and rose in sorrow.
What the years mean; how time dies and is not slain;
How love grows and laughs and cries and wanes again;
These were things she came to know, and take their measure,
When the play was played out so for one man’s pleasure.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter LXXX: Story
Story about future is called imagination
Story about past is called memories
Story about present is called reality
Story that becomes true is called prophecy
Story that becomes unfulfilled is called regret
Story that becomes no end is called boasting
Small story is called experience
Epic story is called history
Forgotten story is called lesson
Story that becomes obsession is called ambition
Story that becomes untold is called secret
Story that becomes go its own way is called life
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Mixed-up Song
Jack Sprat could eat no fat
His wife could eat no
Little lamb, little lamb
It followed her to
Red Robin. Yum!
And crossed the street
In the middle, in the middle
Of the hole in the bucket
Dear Liza, dear Liza
There’s a hole in the bucket
Dear Liza, on the clock
And the party ain’t stopping
No-o-o-oh! No-o-o-oh!
But the party don’t start til Trale Lewous walks in…
Hey, it's me. Trale Lewous.
People have been eating since medieval times
Colors were invented in the 1950s
If the 1950s and medieval times had a baby, it would be Skitells.
Skitells are. Really good.
Fruit salad, yummy yummy
It makes me dance like a fool, forget that
Old King Cole was a merry old soul
And a merry old soul was he
He called for his pipe and he called for his bowl
And he makes me
Feel like I’m livin’ a
Teenage dream
The way he turns me on
I can’t sleep
Let’s run away and p-p-poker face p-p-poker face
I wanna hold ‘em like they do in Texas please
So no no no no baby no no no no don’t lie
Stop sstop stop sstop stop lying
Na na na na na na na-a.
Na na na na na na-a.
U-u, u-u, u-u, undo it!
The end.
The City of the Soul: II
What shall we do, my soul, to please the King?
Seeing he hath no pleasure in the dance,
And hath condemned the honeyed utterance
Of silver flutes and mouths made round to sing.
Along the wall red roses climb and cling,
And oh! my prince, lift up thy countenance,
For there be thoughts like roses that entrance
More than the languors of soft lute-playing.
Think how the hidden things that poets see
In amber eves or mornings crystalline,
Hide in the soul their constant quenchless light,
Till, called by some celestial alchemy,
Out of forgotten depths, they rise and shine
Like buried treasure on Midsummer night.
poem by Lord Alfred Douglas
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The mystic rose
In ancient times
a warrior prince travelled to the East
to find the wisest man on earth.
Stars guided him
over uncharted terrain
to the court of Enoch
who counselled with the Almighty God.
Great and knowledgeable king,
point me the way
to find the most beautiful flower of all,
it’s called the mystic rose,
and like crystal its leaves glitters
in colours of blue, violet and ruby red
and its odour is more divine
than that of any other bloom.
Why do you need this spectre flower
the great wise king asked?
To win the heart of the girl that I desire
the prince proclaimed.
Where will I find the mystic rose?
The rich prince asked again
while his servants
brought great gifts to the wise king.
Enoch looked the prince in the eye
and said:
Somewhere in the depths
of your inner soul
lies the flower that you seek.
Without words the prince
studied the wise king
and thought about his words
without really comprehending.
The words were perplexing to the prince.
What is the mystic rose,
the prince asked at last
Its unconditional, self-sacrificing
and called perfect love
the wisest man said to him.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Hearts On Fire
We saw the writings on the wall
When heathens ruled above us all
Tormented, we still heard the call
You come to bring us down
Wield the scepter, steal the crown
Time on the throne is running out
Cause seasons change but we are still the same
Event though the cold winds blow were burning like a flame
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Burning, burning with desire
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Burning, burning with desire
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Burning, burning with desire
Burning for the steel
Hearts On Fire
For years shunned by society
Outcasts, condemned for our beliefs
Our legions grew in secrecy
And now, the time is here
I see the Templars everywhere
The Freedom Call is drawing near
We hold our rebel banners up with pride
The colours crimson and the Hammer is the sign
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Burning, burning with desire
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Burning, burning with desire
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Burning, burning with desire
Burning for the steel
Solo: Stefan
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Burning, burning with desire
Hearts On Fire
song performed by by Hammerfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Peddling Round the World
When at first in foreign parts
Was her flag unfurled,
England was a Gipsy lass
Peddling round the world.
Sailing on the Spanish Main—
Everywhere you roam—
Peddling in the Persian Gulf
Things she’d made at home.
Peddling round the world,
Peddling round the world—
England was a Gipsy lass
Peddling round the world.
England never wanted war,
Not on land or sea—
Other nations rising up
Couldn’t let her be.
England only wanted peace,
And the ocean’s breath;
So there came, in course of time,
Queen Elizabeth.
Queen Elizabeth—
Queen Elizabeth—
Came a plain, bad-tempered queen,
Called Elizabeth.
Queen Elizabeth, she called
Drake, and Raleigh too—
Essex, Howard, and the rest
Of the pirate crew;
“See what you can do,” she said.
“England’s feeling sick—
If you don’t, I’ll hang you all!
Better do it quick.”
“Better do it quick,” she said—
“Better do it quick”;
And they knew she’d keep her word,
So they did it quick.
Drake and Raleigh sailed away—
(Only Bess they feared)
Cleared the Spanish Main and singed
The King of Spain his beard—
Singed the King of Spain his beard,
And his hair they curled.
England was a Gipsy’s love
Peddling round the world.
Peddling round the world,
Peddling round the world.
England was a Gipsy’s love
Peddling round the world.
Once again, when Cromwell came,
England wanted room;
So he lowered Holland’s tone,
Smashed the Dutchman’s broom.
Sent a message to Algiers;
Made its meaning plain—
On the way they called once more
On the King of Spain.
On the King of Spain—
On the King of Spain:
Called, to jog his memory,
On the King of Spain.
So the years went round and round,
Over hills and flats—
England was a Gipsy wife—
England had her brats;
Peddling in the China Sea,
Far from English ground;
Doing biz with Mrs. Jap—
Peddling all around.
Peddling all around—
Peddling all around;
Making friends with Mrs. Jap—
Peddling all around.
When the war is past and gone,
With its blood and tears;
And the world may count upon
Peace for fifty years—
When the gory battle-flags
Round their sticks are furled—
Then you’ll see a Gipsy crone
Peddling round the world.
Peddling round the world—
Peddling round the world.
Then you’ll see a Gipsy crone
A-peddling round the world!
Shawl as old as Joseph’s coat,
Hair as white as snow,
Mind as bright as Seventeen—
Eyes still like the sloe—
Peddling in the Southern Seas—
Everywhere you roam—
And she’ll fill her baskets here
With things we’ll make at home.
Things we’ll make at home—
Things we’ll make at home—
Call to fill her baskets here
With things we’ll make at HOME.
poem by Henry Lawson
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When a Merry Maiden Marries
When a merry maiden marries,
Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries;
Every sound becomes a song,
All is right and nothing's wrong!
From to-day and ever after
Let your tears be tears of laughter -
Every sigh that finds a vent
Be a sigh of sweet content!
When you marry merry maiden,
Then the air with love is laden;
Every flower is a rose,
Every goose becomes a swan,
Every kind of trouble goes
Where the last year's snows have gone;
Sunlight takes the place of shade
When you marry merry maid!
When a merry maiden marries
Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries;
Every sound becomes a song,
All is right, and nothing's wrong.
Gnawing Care and aching Sorrow,
Get ye gone until to-morrow;
Jealousies in grim array,
Ye are things of yesterday!
When you marry merry maiden,
Then the air with joy is laden;
All the corners of the earth
Ring with music sweetly played,
Worry is melodious mirth,
Grief is joy in masquerade;
Sullen night is laughing day -
All the year is merry May!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Jesus: The Man from Nazareth
Behold the Man! He's called God's Son. He's called the King of Kings.
He's called the Lord of Lords, at one with God, to whom He clings.
Christ calls God 'Father' all the time, yet what now can He pray?
For blasphemy was called His crime and this is Judgment Day...
Behold the Man! Behold Him now... transfixed for all to see.
With deep-pressed crown upon His brow... Blood-stained on Calvary...
From the wounds these soldiers open, when such are crucified,
His Blood drips down like mortal men who bleed on either side.
Behold the Man raised from the dead! Some say His wounds they felt.
The very places He once bled convinced them, so they knelt,
To worship Him and praise the Lord and preach to save the lost.
Such revelations aren't ignored by those who count the cost.
Behold the Man! Anointed Christ... The Saviour of Mankind.
The Lamb of God once sacrificed... The greatest love you'll find.
If Heaven waits, it won't wait long. God's Word tells what to do.
So trust in Christ who did no wrong. The King who died for you...
(July 2011)
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Coronation
At the king's gate the subtle noon
Wove filmy yellow nets of sun;
Into the drowsy snare too soon
The guards fell one by one.
Through the king's gate, unquestioned then,
A beggar went and laughed, 'This brings
Me chance, at last, to see if men
Fare better being kings.'
The king sat bowed beneath his crown,
Propping his face with listless hand;
Watching the hour-glass sifting down
Too slow its shining sand.
'Poor man, what wouldst thou have of me?'
The beggar turned, and pitying,
Replied, like one in dream, 'Of thee,
Nothing. I want the king.'
Uprose the king, and from his head
Shook off the crown, and threw it by.
'O man, thou must have known,' said he,
'A greater king than I.'
Through all the gates, unquestioned then,
Went king and beggar hand in hand.
Whispered the king, 'Shall I know when
Before
his
throne I stand?'
The beggar laughed. Free winds in haste
Were wiping from the king's hot brow
The crimson lines the crown had traced.
'This is his presence now.'
At the king's gate, the crafty noon
Unwove its yellow nets of sun;
Out of their sleep in terror soon
The guards waked one by one.
'Ho here! Ho There! Has no man seen
The king?' The cry ran to and fro;
Beggar and king, they laughed, I ween,
The laugh that free men know.
On the king's gate the moss grew gray;
The king came not. They called him dead;
And made his eldest son one day
Slave in his father's stead.
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The King Of Broken Hearts
The king of broken hearts doesnt ask much from his friends
And he has quite a few of them
They know he will understand
Thats just the way it goes
Theking of broken hearts doesnt know hes a king
Hes tryin to forget other things
Like some old ship at sea
Hes walkin through life alone
He talks to angels
And the stars start to spin
He thinks of troubles that hes gotten in
He recalls how his heart got broken
And how its still that way
The king of broken hearts is so sad and wise
He can smile while hes cryin inside
We know hell be brave tonight
Cause hes the king of broken hearts
He talks to angels
And the stars start to spin
He thinks of the troubles that hes gotten in
He recalls how his heart got broken
And how its still that way
The king of broken hearts thinks that hes no fool
Hes a little like me and you
So whats a king like that supposed to do
With all that blue time
We know hell be brave tonight
Cause hes the king of broken hearts
Hes the king of broken hearts
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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King Of Somewhere Hot
King of somewhere hot
By: jimmy buffett, ralph macdonald, william salter, robert greenidge
1988
Robert greenidge and ralph macdonald finally got me to trinidad and when I heard the desperados playing my song up on laventhill I felt like a king and it was hot.
Ive travelled all around the world
And there are places that still stand out to me
None can really quite compare
To my island in the sea
My personal utopia
A place to run to where I can hide away
Where I can truly reign supreme
Somewhere fresh and clean where a man can dream
Chorus:
Im king, (king) king of somewhere hot
Im king, (king) like every man should be
Im king, (king) king of somewhere hot
Where the music in my soul(music in my soul)
Makes me start to lose control (start to lose control)
And Ill melt right on the spot
Im the king of somewhere hot (hot)
King of somewhere hot (hot)
King of somewhere hot (hot)
King of somewhere hot (hot)
Now you just rent yourself a tile and dance the night away
Just like the locals do
A million miles from robin leach, life is just a beach
So far out of reach
Chorus:
Im king, (king) king of somewhere hot
Im king, (king) like every man should be
Im king, (king) king of somewhere hot
Where the music in my soul(music in my soul)
Makes me start to lose control (start to lose control)
And Ill melt right on the spot
Im the king of somewhere hot (hot)
King of somewhere hot (hot)
King of somewhere hot (hot)
King of somewhere hot (hot)
So hot!
(pan solo)
Some day I hope to find my queen I know shell come my way
Ill give her all my love
Its not a complicated thing someplace I can swing
Where a man can be a king
Chorus:
Im king, (king) king of somewhere hot
Im king, (king) like every man should be
Im king, (king) king of somewhere hot
I dont care how hard you look (dont care how hard you look)
Ooh you wont find me in the book (wont find me in the book)
cause Im here right on the spot
Oh! Im the king of somewhere hot (hot)
King of somewhere hot (to trot)
King of somewhere hot (hot)
Hot to trot
King of somewhere hot (to trot)
(king of somewhere hot)
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Soul Cages
The boy child is locked in the fishermans yard
Theres a bloodless moon where the ocean died
A shoal of nightstars hang fire in the nets
And the chaos of cages where the crayfish lie
Where is the fisherman, where is the goat?
Where is the keeper in his carrion coat?
Eclipse on the moon when the dark bird flies
Where is the child with his fathers eyes?
There are the soul cages these are the soul cages
Hes the king of the ninth world
The twisted son of the fog bells toll
In each and every lobster cage
A tortured human soul
These are the souls of broken factories
The subject slaves of the broken crown
The dead accounting of old guilty promises
These are the souls of the broken town
These are the soul cages these are the soul cages
These are the soul cages these are the soul cages
i have a wager the brave child spoke
The fisherman laughed, though disturbed at the joke
you will drink what I drink but you must equal me
And if the drink leaves me standing,
A soul shall go free
i have here a cask of most magical wine
A vintage that blessed every ship in the line
Its wrung from the blood of the sailors who died
Young white bodies adrift in the tide
and whats in it for me my pretty young thing?
Why should I whistle, when the caged bird sings?
If you lose a wager with the king of the sea
Youll spend the rest of forever in the cage with me
These are the soul cages these are the soul cages
These are the soul cages these are the soul cages
A body lies open in the fishermans yard
Like the side of a ship where the iceberg rips
One less soul in the soul cages
One last curse on the fishermans lips
These are the soul cages these are the soul cages
These are the soul cages these are the soul cages
Swim to the light swim to the light
He dreamed of the ship on the sea
It would carry his father and he
To a place they could never be found
To a place far away from this town
A newcastle ship without coals
They would sail to the island of souls
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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deep in my heart i know God
deep in my heart
i know God as a friend
waiting for me
in the valleys and plains
for a thousand years
he was called Master
by the slaves and he
did not answer
for another thousand
years he is called the
Creator by his creatures
he did not listen
for another thousand years
he is called the Father
of his sons and he did not mind
until then when you call him
Your friend, your peer, your partner
did he look upon you and smile
and in this understanding
God has come, patting you on your shoulder
welcoming you to sit as a friend
on his table to take his glass
and drink the wine of eternity
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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