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To Show What a Man Can Do

There has been many a grander deed since man had life to give,
And thousands have gone to certain death, eyes open, that men might live;
And many have gone for their country’s sake, when their numbers were all too few,
And bravely died that their mates may die—to show what a man can do.

Now this is the song of La Bella wreck at the harbour of Warnambool,
And this is the song of a brave, brave man of the grand old simple school:
We all know the forces of circumstance, and we blame not the lifeboat crew—
But this is the song of a fisherman who showed what a man can do.

With a single scull in his strong young hands, and his brave young eyes aglow,
He shot his skill o’er the raging hell, where the lifeboat dared not go!
It was twice and thrice that he went again, and the lives they were only two—
But this is the song of The Man Who Knows, and can show what a man can do.

And we need such deeds in this world of ours, lest the hearts of men might fail—
Oh we need such deeds in this world of ours, and a man to tell the tale!
When the eloquent gestures come from the wreck, and never a word comes through—
Oh, we need such deeds in our land to-day to show what a man can do!

And this is the moral of all that is,
And it’s only known to two
Put out in your dinghy with confidence,
To show what a man can do.

poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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As Good as New

OH, this is a song of the old lights, that came to my heart like a hymn;
And this is a song for the old lights—the lights that we thought grew dim,
That came to my heart to comfort me, and I pass it along to you;
And here is a hand to the good old friend who turns up as good as new.
And this is a song for the camp-fire out west where the stars shine bright—
Oh, this is a song for the camp-fire where the old mates yarn to-night;
Where the old mates yarn of the old days, and their numbers are all too few,
And this is a song for the good old times that will turn up as good as new.

Oh, this is a song for the old foe—we have both grown wiser now,
And this is a song for the old foe, and we’re sorry we had that row;
And this is a song for the old love—the love that we thought untrue—
Oh, this is a song of the dear old love that comes back as good as new.

Oh, this is a song for the black sheep, for the black sheep that fled from town,
And this is a song for the brave heart, for the brave heart that lived it down;
And this is a song for the battler, for the battler who sees it through—
And this is a song for the broken heart that turns up as good as new.

Ah, this is a song for the brave mate, be he Bushman, Scot, or Russ,
A song for the mates we will stick to—for the mates who have stuck to us;
And this is a song for the old creed, to do as a man should do,
Till the Lord takes us all to a wider world—where we’ll turn up as good as new.

poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Song of Brave Men

Man, is the Sea your master? Sea, and is man your slave? –
This is the song of brave men who never know they are brave:
Ceaselessly watching to save you, stranger from foreign lands,
Soundly asleep in your state room, full sail for the Goodwin Sands!
Life is a dream, they tell us, but life seems very real,
When the lifeboat puts out from Ramsgate, and the buggers put out from Deal!

A gun from the lightship! – a rocket! – a cry of, "Turn out, me lad!"
"Ship on the Sands!" they're shouting, and a rush of the oilskin-clad.
The lifeboat leaping and swooping, in the wake of the fighting tug,
And the luggers afloat in Hell's water – Oh, "tourist", with cushion and rug! –
Think of the freezing fury, without one minute's relief,
When they stood all night in the blackness by the wreck of the Indian Chief!

Lashed to their seats, and crouching, to the spray that froze as it flew,
Twenty-six hours in midwinter! That was the lifeboat's crew.
Twice she was swamped, and she righted, in the rush of the heavy seas,
And her tug was mostly buried; but these were common things, these.
And the luggers go out whenever there's a hope to get them afloat,
And these things they do for nothing, and those fishermen say, "Oh! it's nowt!"

(Enemy, Friend or Stranger! In every sea or land,
And across the lives of most men run stretches of Goodwin Sand;
And across the life of a nation, as across the track of a ship,
Lies the hidden rock, or the iceberg, within the horizon dip.
And wise men know them, and warn us, with lightship, or voice, or pen;
But we strike, and the fool survivors sail on to strike again.)

But this is a song of brave men, wherever is aught to save,
Christian or Jew or Wowser – and I knew one who was brave;
British or French or German, Dane or Latin or Dutch:
"Scandies" that ignorant British reckon with "Dagoes and such" –
(Where'er, on a wreck titanic, in a scene of wild despair,
The officers call for assistance, a Swede or a Norse is there.)

Tale of a wreck titanic, with the last boat over the side,
And a brave young husband fighting his clinging, hysterical bride;
He strikes her fair on the temple, while the decks are scarce afloat,
And he kisses her once on the forehead, and he drops her into the boat.
So he goes to his death to save her; and she lives to remember and lie –
Or be true to his love and courage. But that's how brave men die.

(I hate the slander: "Be British" – and I don't believe it, that's flat:
No British sailor and captain would stoop to such cant as that.
What – in the rush of cowards – of the help from before the mast –
Of the two big Swedes and the Norse, who stood by the mate to the last? –
In every mining disaster, in a New-World mining town,
In one of the rescue parties an Olsen or Hans goes down.)

Men who fought for their village, away on their country's edge:
The priest with his cross – and a musket, and the blacksmith with his sledge;
The butcher with cleaver and pistols, and the notary with his pike.
And the clerk with what he laid hands on; but all were ready to strike.
And – Tennyson notwithstanding – when the hour of danger was come,
The shopman has struck full often with his "cheating yard-wand" home!

This is a song of brave men, ever, the wide world o'er –
Starved and crippled and murdered by the land they are fighting for.
Left to freeze in the trenches, sent to drown by the Cape,
Throttled by army contractors, and strangled bv old red-tape.
Fighting for "Home" and "Country", or "Glory", or what you choose –
Sacrificed for the Syndicates, and a monarch "in" with the Jews.

Australia! your trial is coming! Down with the party strife:
Send Your cackling, lying women back to the old Home Life.
Brush trom your Parliament benches the legal chaff and dust:
Make Federation perfect, as sooner or later you must.
Scatter your crowded cities, cut up your States – and so
Give your brave sons of the future the ghost of a White Man's show.

poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Elis Song

This song was first released on the spirit album. it is the only album it has been released on.
Born in the month of june
No silver spoon to help you out
Your mother had you naturally
Naturallys the way you came out
You know your your own mind
And you show it to me
Give me the high sign
When you want to be free
And open up my eyes
To the wonders that you see
See the airplane fly
See the trees rush by
Be brave and strong when you hurt yourself
And dont you have a worry in the world
For the love thats been given you
Is the one thing time cant erase
And evryday its growin
Like the knowin smile upon your face
Youre startin out strong
You get a kick out of life
You like to sing songs
Be in the spotlight
And when everybodys watchin you
You shine so bright
See the airplane fly
See the trees rush by
Be brave and strong when you hurt yourself
And dont you have a worry in the world
You know your your own mind
And you show it to me
Give me the high sign
When you want to be free
And open up my eyes
To the wonders that you see
See the airplane fly
See the trees rush by
Be brave and strong when you hurt yourself
And dont you have a worry in the world
Words and music by jack williams

song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Freedom Lies

Freedom, theres more to your life so now[? ]
Old laws, man has made only blind.
Oh, give us freedom, a call to the brave and the strong,
To stand in the face of all wrong and show the way.
Freedom lies, freedom lies, freedom lies.
Freedom to live out the dream in a song,
Give hope to the hearts of the young.
Oh, give us freedom to act out of love and not fear,
So all that is true will be clear.
Hear tomorrow, calling hold me, show me.
Freedom lies, freedom lies, freedom lies.
Freedom lies, freedom lies, freedom lies.

song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Gotta Have A Song

Got no place to be
No ones needing me
My girl just said were through
Love was here to stay
Only yesterday
Today my world is blue
So show me to where theres music
Show me to where theres music
With music I just might go on.
I gotta have a song
To go it alone.
A happy happy song
Had a happy home
Now its turned to stone
Kitchens cold and bare
Shed cook all day for me
I still hurry home to see
But I know that shes not there
So show me to where theres music
Show me to where theres music
With music I just might go on.
I gotta have a song
To go it alone.
A happy happy song
Show me to where theres music
Show me to where theres music
With music, I just cant go wrong..
I gotta have a song.
To go it alone
A happy happy song..
(Repeat)

song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The sing of song

it's a song without title
a song without word
a song without sound

a song in our eyes
a song in our ears
a song in our hands
a song in our feet

We are singing the song
without title
a nameless song
It's a distant song
It's a future song

A song who says:
beyond future, beyond distances,
beyond nothing, beyond always

a song in a single colour
that we don't see

many colours
much colours
unknown colours

this was
a song of your mother
a song of your grandmothers
a song of one very old woman

Sleep, sleep my little love
Dream, dream my little love
when you close open your wide eyes

poem by Jean Francois Le Goff
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Strong

My breath smells of a thousand fags
And when I'm drunk I dance like me Dad
I've started to dress a bit like him

Early morning when I wake up
I look like Kiss but without the make up
And that's a good line to take it to
The bridge

And you know and you know
Cos my life's a mess
And I'm trying to grow so before
I'm old I'll confess
You think that I'm strong you're wrong
You're wrong
I'll sing my song my song my song

My bed's full of takeaways and fantasies
Of easy lays
The pause button's broke on my video
And is this real cos I feel fake
Oprah Winfrey Ricki Lake
Teach me things I don't need to know

And you know and you know
Cos my life's a mess
And it's starting to show so before
I'm old I'll confess
You think that I'm strong you're wrong
You're wrong
I'll sing my song my song my song

If I did it all again I'd be a nun
The rain was never cold when I was young
I'm still young we're still young
Life's too short to be afraid
Step inside the sun

And you know and you know
Cos my life's a mess
And I'm trying to grow

You think that I'm strong you're wrong
You're wrong
I'll sing my song my song my song

Life's too short to be afraid
So take a pill to numb the pain
You don't have to take the blame

song performed by by Robbie Williams from I've Been Expecting You
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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