The Drums of Ages
Drums of all that’s right and wrong—of love and hate and scorn,
And the new-born baby hears them and it wails when it is born.
Drums of all that is to be, and all that has gone by,
And we hear them when we’re dreaming, and we hear them while we die.
Drums of martyred innocence and drums of driven guilt
Beating backward from the future when the first rude town was built;
Beating louder through the slave days and the dark and hungry nights,
While the hovels filled the valleys and the castles crowned the heights;
Beating louder while the mansions shifted east from miles of slums—
Don’t you hear them? Don’t you hear them? Don’t you hear the alley drums?
Drums of human sacrifice and drums of war at home—
While the Romans conquered nations they were beating loud in Rome.
Children heard them through the ages, mothers paused and glanced behind,
Madmen saw and heard the drummers, but the rest were deaf and blind.
Peasants starved on fields of plenty, workmen rotted in the slums—
Till the drummers came to Paris and the nations heard the drums.
Drums of hope and bursting hearts—the drums of Westward Ho!—
From the homes of generations and their native land they go.
’Groom and bride and grey-haired mother, bent old men who go alone—
Fleeing bitter persecution for the terrible unknown:
Seeking freedom, rest, or justice—and the peace that never comes—
And the wilderness was conquered when the pilgrims beat their drums.
Drums of Greed that followed fast where men had made the way,
Waking drums of stern rebellion when the exiles turned at bay,
Spreading death and desolation, breeding old-world hells anew,
Until England lost a nation for the blindness of a few.
Still the dirty Jewish talon reached from palaces and slums
Till a hundred thousand English died to stop the farmers’ drums.
Drums of tortured hearts o’ men—the drums that never ceased—
Throbbing through the British Empire from the heart of London East;
Growling louder still wherever, in the wake of those who lead,
Comes the murmur of the board-room and the stealthy steps of greed;
Growling through the Southern cities, murmuring in the Western gums,
Till the Empire falls to pieces at the beating of the drums!
Drums of all that’s right and wrong—of love and hate and scorn;
And the new-born baby hears them, and he wails when he is born.
Drums of all that is to be, and all that has gone by—
And we hear there when we’re dreaming, and we hear then while we die.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Drums of Battersea
They can’t hear in West o’ London, where the worst dine with the best—
Deaf to all save lies and laughter, they can’t hear in London West—
Tailored brutes and splendid harlots, and the parasites that be—
They can’t hear the warning thunder of the Drums of Battersea.
More drums! War drums!
Drums of Misery—
Beating from the hearts of men—the Drums of Battersea.
Where the hearses hurry ever, and where man lives like a beast,
They can feel the war-drums beating—men of Hell! and London East.
And the far-off foreign farmers, fighting fiercely to be free,
Found new courage in the echo of the Drums of Battersea.
More drums! War drums!
Beating for the free—
Beating on the hearts of men—the Drums of Battersea.
And the drummers! Ah! the drummers!—stern and haggard men are those
Standing grimly at their meetings; and their washed and mended clothes
Speak of worn-out wives behind them and of grinding poverty—
But the English of the English beat the Drums of Battersea!
More drums! War drums!
Drums of agony—
The big bruised heart of England’s in the Drums of Battersea.
Where in fields slave Englishwomen, Oh! the sound of drums is there:
I have heard it in the laughter of the nights of Leicester Square—
Sailing southward with the summer, London but a dream to me,
Still I feel the distant thunder of the Drums of Battersea!
More drums! War drums!
Drums of Liberty—
Rolling round the English world—the Drums of Battersea.
Oh! I heard them in the Queen’s Hall—aye! and London heard that night—
While we formed up round the leaders while they struck one blow for right!
And the old strength, that old fire, that I thought was dead in me,
Blazed up fiercely at the beating of the Drums of Battersea!
More drums! War drums!
They beat for victory—
When above the roar of Jingoes rolled the Drums of Battersea.
And where’er my feet may wander, and howe’er I lay my head,
I shall hear them while I’m dreaming—I shall hear them when I’m dead!
For they beat for men and women, beat for Christ, and you and me:
There is hope and there is terror in the Drums of Battersea!
More drums! War drums!
Drums of destiny—
There’s hope!—there’s hope for England in the Drums of Battersea.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Song Of The Beating Drums We’re Never Apart
The song of the beating drums we’re never apart
Overfills a dam just like a beating flood
The beating love for a beating heart
The beating song of a beating heart
Play the song of the beating drums
The love lust of the beating blood
Always together never ever apart
The beating song of the drums
Crashing through everything
We’re here for each other
Never ever beating apart
Just like a beating heart
Our beating hearts
The Beating Song OF The Drums
The beating song of the drums
The beating song of a beating heart
The love lust of the beating blood
Overfills a dam just like a beating flood
Crashing through everything
Never ever beating apart
The beating love for a beating heart
Just like a beating heart
Always together never ever apart
We’re here for each other
Our beating hearts
Play the song of the beating drums
The song of the beating drums we’re never apart
All I ever wanted to do was play the drums; I felt good about myself when I played the drums. So I worked anywhere and everywhere I could lug my drums in.
quote by Max Weinberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sound Of Drums
I hear the sound of drums on a melody
I hear the sound of drums
Well, singing the names above in the city
Yeah, revolution for fun
I feel the time has come like a remody
I feel the time has come
Were shaking the spear of love in the city
Yeah, I hear the sound of drums
Yeah, can you feel the love for me, yeah yeah
I feel the time has come
I hear the sound of drums
I hear the sound of drums on a melody,
Calling me to return
Well, I laugh and catch the sun
cause its gonna be revolution for fun
Yeah, can you feel the love for me, yeah yeah
I feel the time has come
I hear the sound of drums..oh oohh...
Well, I feel the time has come with the melody
I see the golden one
Well, Im not the only one with the remedy
Im not the only one
I feel the time has come
I hear the sound of drums
song performed by by Kula Shaker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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D Is For Drums
JL: Hey John.
JF: Oh, hey John.
JL: What's going on?
JF: Man, I'm confused.
JL: You're confused? Why?
JF: I'm no good at remembering stuff.
JL: Really?
JF: Yeah.
JL: Like what?
JF: I can't remember what 'D' is for.
JL: You can't remember what 'D' is for?
JF: I think it's for an instrument that you play in a band.
JL: I'm surprised you can't remember what 'D' is for.
JF: I can't remember there's too much noise.
JL: Put your Thinking Cap on John, I'll give you a hint.
JF: See, I can't find my Thinking Cap.I think it's lost.
JL: John, come on, tell me. 'D' is for what?
JF: 'D' is for something that you play with sticks.
JL: That's right, that's right. You're getting close.
JF: 'D' is for drums!
Both: Yes, 'D' is for drums!
'D' is for drums!
Yes, 'D' is for drums!
JL: Well, I'm glad we got that straight.
JF: Hey John.
JL: Yeah.
JF: I need some juice.
JL: I got some juice.
JF: Well, let's go to your house.
JL: Okay, I'll meet you over there.
JF: Okay.
'D' is for drums! 'D' is for drums!
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Beat Goes On
Drums keep pounding rhythm to the brain
La-dee-da-dee-dee
La-dee-da-dee-da
Wait till you have reached the age
Blah blah
History has turned the page
Blah blah
We still want to hear a brand new thing
Uh huh
We still need a song to sing
Uh huh
And the beat goes on (6x)
Drums keep pounding rhythm to the brain
La-dee-da-dee-dee
La-dee-da-dee-da
Love is a thirsting, lasting on my mind
From tomorrow until the end of time
And the beat goes on (4x)
And the beat goes
And the beat goes
And the beat goes on
Drums keep pounding rhythm to the brain
La-dee-da-dee-dee
La-dee-da-dee-da
We still move to a rhythm just like this
We still dream of sharing our first kiss
And the beat goes on (4x)
Drums keep pounding rhythm to the brain
La-dee-da-dee-dee
La-dee-da-dee-da
Well our kids are turning faster everyday (everyday)
We still want to dance the night away
And the beat goes on
And the beat goes on
And the beat goes on
And the beat goes on...
(to fade)
song performed by by Britney Spears
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Proud Love
Send out some smoke signals.
Beat the drums out loud.
Shout to the crowds that can hear it
that the love I feel is proud.
Don't smother all the smoke
Don't quiet the drums to a thud.
For all the nothingness in my life
would slowly drain my blood.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Drums Of The Islands
(words & music by polynesian cultural centre - tepper - bennett)
Drums of the islands youre beating in my heart
Youre with me no matter where I roam
If ever I wander if ever were apart
I know that you will lead me home
If I should journey across the deep blue sea
Ill never forget these coral shores
Drums of the islands I hear you calling me
And Ill return forever yours
I love each valley each grain of sand each hill
The flowers the music of the isles
These are the things I love and always will
Though I may roam ten thousand miles
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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England In Egypt
FROM the dusty jaded sunlight of the careless Cairo streets,
Through the open bedroom window where the pale blue held the
palms,
There came a sound of music, thrilling cries and rattling beats,
That startled me from slumber with a shock of sweet alarms
For beneath this rainless heaven with this music in my ears
I was born, and all my boyhood with its joy was glorified,
And for me the ranging Red-coats hold a passion of bright tears,
And the glancing of the bayonets lights a hell of savage pride.
So I leaped and ran, and looked,
And I stood, and listened there,
Till I heard the fifes and drums,
Till I heard the fifes and drums,
The fifes and drums of England
Thrilling all the alien air! —
And 'England, England, England,'
I heard the wild fifes cry,
'We are here to rob for England,
And to throttle liberty!'
And 'England, England, England,'
I heard the fierce drums roar,
'We are tools for pious swindlers
And brute bullies evermore!'
And the silent Arabs crowded, half-defiant, half-dismayed.
And the jaunty fifers fifing flung their challenge to the breeze,
And the drummers kneed their drums up as the reckless drumsticks
played,
And the Tommies all came trooping, tripping, slouching at their ease.
Ah Christ, the love I bore them for their brave hearts and strong
Ah! Christ, the hate that smote me for their stupid dull conceits —
I know not which was greater, as I watched their conquering bands
In the dusty jaded sunlight of the sullen Cairo streets.
And my dream of love and hate
Surged, and broke, and gathered there,
As I heard the fifes and drums,
As I heard the fifes and drums,
The fifes and drums of England
Thrilling all the alien air! —
And 'Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,'
I heard the wild fifes cry,
'Will you never know the England
For which men, not fools, should die?'
And 'Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,'
I heard the fierce drums roar,
'Will you always be a cut-throat
And a slave for evermore?'
No, I shall never see it with these weary death-dim eyes,
The hour of Retribution, the hour of Fate's desire,
When before the outraged millions, as at last — at last they rise,
The rogues and thieves of England are as stubble to the fire!
When the gentlemen of England, eaten out with lust and sin,
When the shop-keepers of England, sick with godly greed as well,
Face the Red-coats and the Red-shirts, as the steel-ring closes in
And hurls them, howling madly, down the precipice of hell!
But O, I knew, that hour,
Standing sick and dying there,
As I heard the fifes and drums,
As I heard the fifes and drums,
The fifes and drums of England
Thrilling all the alien air!
And 'Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,'
I heard the wild fifes cry,
'It is time to cease your fooling;
It is time to do or die!'
And 'Johnnie, Johnnie, Johnnie,'
I heard the fierce drums roar,
'It is time to break your fetters
And be free for evermore!'
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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Dr Livingstone
Steam ship, sail down the river
Fight the mosquitoes that fly in a swarm
White smoke covers the jungle
See Dr. Livingston land with a thunk
Down where the sad willows gather
Young women weep for their dying babies
I am a white man in Africa
If I were to stay here
There'd be no one to save me
I hear the drums
I know it's urgent
I hear survival in his hands
Switch to record
I get the picture
But I will never understand
Mad world, invisible army
Blow up the bridges and come like a storm
Young girl, eyes full of promise
Carry the baby and keeping it warm
Down where the sad willows gather
Young men go down on their knees
I am a white man in Africa
With more than just my god to appease
I hear the drums
I know it's urgent
I hear survival in his hands
Switch to record
I get the picture
But I will never understand
How there is love in his face
'Midst of all this waste
In the Mozambique sun
Under the gun
I hear the drums
I hear survival in his hands
I hear the drums
There is a curse upon this land
I hear the drums
I know it's urgent
I hear survival in his hands
Hit record
Get the picture
I will never understand
Carry the sound and the fury
Left all alone in a war zone
Carry the sound and the fury
Hours later
Thoughts of my bed
Leave me tired and ready for sleep
So tell me about all the places you go
All the lives that you swallow, the people you keep
Deep in a monastery
That's where I want to be
Wrestle my soul
song performed by by Crowded House
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beat! Beat! Drums!
BEAT! beat! drums!--Blow! bugles! blow!
Through the windows--through doors--burst like a ruthless force,
Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation;
Into the school where the scholar is studying;
Leave not the bridegroom quiet--no happiness must he have now with
his bride;
Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, plowing his field or gathering his
grain;
So fierce you whirr and pound, you drums--so shrill you bugles blow.
Beat! beat! drums!--Blow! bugles! blow!
Over the traffic of cities--over the rumble of wheels in the streets:
Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? No sleepers
must sleep in those beds; 10
No bargainers' bargains by day--no brokers or speculators--Would they
continue?
Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing?
Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the
judge?
Then rattle quicker, heavier drums--you bugles wilder blow.
Beat! beat! drums!--Blow! bugles! blow!
Make no parley--stop for no expostulation;
Mind not the timid--mind not the weeper or prayer;
Mind not the old man beseeching the young man;
Let not the child's voice be heard, nor the mother's entreaties;
Make even the trestles to shake the dead, where they lie awaiting the
hearses, 20
So strong you thump, O terrible drums--so loud you bugles blow.
poem by Walt Whitman
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So now I don't have time to practice drums. It's been five years since I've touched the drums.
The drums of war are the drums of hunger.
South African proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beat Goes On
Drums keep pounding rhythm to the brain
La-dee-da-dee-dee
La-dee-da-dee-da
Wait till you have reached the age Blah blah
History has turned the page Blah blah
We still want to hear a brand new thing Uh huh
We still need a song to sing Uh huh
And the beat goes on
And the beat goes on
And the beat goes on
And the beat goes on
And the beat goes on
And the beat goes on
Drums keep pounding rhythm to the brain
La-dee-da-dee-dee
La-dee-da-dee-da
Love is a thirsting
song performed by by Britney Spears from ...Baby One More Time
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye
WHILE going the road to sweet Athy,
Hurroo! hurroo!
While going the road to sweet Athy,
Hurroo! hurroo!
While going the road to sweet Athy,
A stick in my hand and a drop in my eye,
A doleful damsel I heard cry:
“Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
“With drums and guns, and guns and drums,
The enemy nearly slew ye;
My darling dear, you look so queer,
Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
“Where are your eyes that looked so mild?
Hurroo! hurroo!
Where are your eyes that looked so mild?
Hurroo! hurroo!
Where are your eyes that looked so mild,
When my poor heart you first beguiled?
Why did you run from me and the child?
Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
With drums, etc.
“Where are the legs with which you run?
Hurroo! hurroo!
Where are thy legs with which you run?
Hurroo! hurroo!
Where are the legs with which you run
When first you went to carry a gun?
Indeed, your dancing days are done!
Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
With drums, etc.
It grieved my heart to see you sail,
Hurroo! hurroo!
It grieved my heart to see you sail,
Hurroo! hurroo!
It grieved my heart to see you sail,
Though from my heart you took leg-bail;
Like a cod you’re doubled up head and tail,
Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
With drums, etc.
“You haven’t an arm and you haven’t a leg,
Hurroo! hurroo!
You haven’t an arm and you haven’t a leg,
Hurroo! hurroo!
You haven’t an arm and you haven’t a leg,
You’re an eyeless, noseless, chickenless egg;
You’ll have to be put with a bowl to beg:
Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
With drums, etc.
“I’m happy for to see you home,
Hurroo! hurroo!
I’m happy for to see you home,
Hurroo! hurroo!
I’m happy for to see you home,
All from the Island of Sulloon;
So low in flesh, so high in bone;
Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
With drums, etc.
“But sad it is to see you so,
Hurroo! hurroo!
But sad it is to see you so,
Hurroo! hurroo!
But sad it is to see you so,
And to think of you now as an object of woe,
Your Peggy’ll still keep you on as her beau;
Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
With drums and guns, and guns and drums,
The enemy nearly slew ye;
My darling dear, you look so queer,
Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye.
poem by Anonymous English
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From The Italian
AS a little child whom his mother has chidden,
Wrecked in the dark in a storm of weeping,
Sleeps with his tear-stained eyes closed hidden
And, with fists clenched, sobs still in his sleeping,
So in my breast sleeps Love, O white lady,
What does he care though the rest are playing,
With rattles and drums in the woodlands shady,
Happy children, whom Joy takes maying!
Ah, do not wake him, lest you should hear him
Scolding the others, breaking their rattles,
Smashing their drums, when their play comes near him--
Love who, for me, is a god of battles!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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My son now is 22 months old, he's been playing since he was 12 months old and he gets standing ovations on the drums. He's been with us since he was 10 weeks old, he's been on the drums. He's got blisters on his fingers before he can even talk.
Giving Hope A Chance...
we are assured about the sound
of drum beats
from all the continents of the world
so assuring
that hope has given birth to more children
of hopes
the women dance and the men beat the drums
the children watch for a while
and liking the sounds of these drums beating
slowly then wildly and then
contagiously exciting
the children begin to clap their hands
and step their toes
sway their bodies
and sing the songs of hope
again
the world spins
the universe sways and gives birth to another star
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Stop Banging the Drums of War
stop banging the drums
of war!
war
is
murder,
disguised
under
the shield
of self-agrandizing
political agendas...
war defies morality!
war
never
brings
peace!
stop banging the drums
of war!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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