My Dog
'Twas in a pub just off the Strand
When I was in my cups,
There passed a bloke with in his hand
Two tiny puling pups;
And one was on me with a bound,
Seeking to lick my face,
And so I bought him for a pound
And took him to my place.
Three acres by the shore I own,
A hut, a pint wood;
And there for fifteen years alone
He shared my solitude.
It was his own, his only world,
And when with hunting spent,
Each night beside my bed he curled,
And slept in sheer content.
My dog is dead. Though lone I be
I'll never have another;
For with his master-worship he
Was closer than a brother.
My foot is frail and I am old,
Yet how my heart can pity
Pups straining on a short leash-hold
And pent up in the city.
From all thought of self above,
And purged of sex emotion,
I know no form of living love
So deep as dogs devotion.
I have no hope at all of heaven,
I've lived in sin and strife;
But thank God! I at least have given
One dog a happy life.
poem by Robert William Service
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Related quotes
The Legend Of The O Keeffes
It must be a fallacy that dead canines can fly
But of the mystery in myths and legends one cannot deny
And one legend I recall from decades gone by
Is when an O Keeffe dies in Cullen dogs bark in the sky.
The legend of the O Keeffes has travelled far and wide
They hunted with their dogs in Duhallow's country-side
And stories of them in Duhallow abound
Of how with their dogs they hunted on foot covering miles of ground.
'Tis said the O Keeffes the best hunting dogs kept
And with their wives in their beds their dogs with them slept
And for the kindness shown to them their dogs them did repay
The O Keeffes never did know a poor hunting day.
I tell it as I heard it and I don't tell you a lie
It is said that in Cullen when an O Keeffe die
The dogs of their dead ancestors bark in the moonlight
In the starry sky in the dead of the night.
You can make out of this whatever you may
But in Duhallow the legend is living today
Of when a Cullen O Keeffe dies canines bark in the sky
The ghosts of their ancestors dogs on them have wings to fly.
poem by Francis Duggan
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In Praise of Dogs
Canine friend of man, today;
Faithful unto him in ways;
Guarding him, his house, all day;
Barking, keeping thieves at bay!
Sleeping with his ears on ground;
Listening to the faintest sound;
Well, he sees in dark and light;
Howls and growls in dead of night.
Tied for life, working o’er-time;
Longs to bite a bone, sometime;
Snarls at strangers when too near;
Wags his tail with joy, sans fear.
The police-dog, tracks criminals;
Hounds help tracing animals;
And sniff drugs with sense of smell;
Detecting bombs, pretty well.
Dogs can pull a sledge or cart;
In circus, do tricks by heart;
They can swim in waters deep;
Sit by master’s grave and weep!
They can retrieve long, lost things;
Joy to children, Dog, he brings;
Helps a lost man, find his home,
Orphaned in the streets, some roam.
Walking, running on command;
Petting, love, he will demand;
Lucky to find love and home;
Faithful friend, he will become.
Some are huge and some tiny;
Some are well-groomed, neat, shiny;
Some ferocious; some timid;
Some are brave and some stupid.
Dogs like humans, love their pups!
Nursing them till they grow up;
Like children, they love to play;
Dogs need love and care all day.
poem by John Celes
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Susie Asado
Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea.
Susie Asado.
Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea.
Susie Asado.
Susie Asado which is a told tray sure.
A lean on the shoe this means slips slips hers.
When the ancient light grey is clean it is yellow, it is a silver seller.
This is a please this is a please there are the saids to jelly.
These are the wets these say the sets to leave a crown to Incy.
Incy is short of incubus.
A pot. A pot is a beginning of a rare bit of trees. Trees tremble,
the old vats are in bobbles, bobbles which shade and shove and
render clean, render clean must.
Drink pups.
Drink pups drink pups lease a sash hold, see it shine and a bobolink
has pins. It shows a nail.
What is a nail. A nail is unison.
Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea.
poem by Gertrude Stein
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Dreams
Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream!
My spirit not awakening, till the beam
Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.
Yes! tho' that long dream were of hopeless sorrow,
'Twere better than the cold reality
Of waking life, to him whose heart must be,
And hath been still, upon the lovely earth,
A chaos of deep passion, from his birth.
But should it be- that dream eternally
Continuing- as dreams have been to me
In my young boyhood- should it thus be given,
'Twere folly still to hope for higher Heaven.
For I have revell'd, when the sun was bright
I' the summer sky, in dreams of living light
And loveliness,- have left my very heart
In climes of my imagining, apart
From mine own home, with beings that have been
Of mine own thought- what more could I have seen?
'Twas once- and only once- and the wild hour
From my remembrance shall not pass- some power
Or spell had bound me- 'twas the chilly wind
Came o'er me in the night, and left behind
Its image on my spirit- or the moon
Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon
Too coldly- or the stars- howe'er it was
That dream was as that night-wind- let it pass.
I have been happy, tho' in a dream.
I have been happy- and I love the theme:
Dreams! in their vivid coloring of life,
As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife
Of semblance with reality, which brings
To the delirious eye, more lovely things
Of Paradise and Love- and all our own!
Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known.
poem by Edgar Allan Poe
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Second Hand Devotion
Here you go playin' with my heart again-
Practicin' your second hand devotion-
Stirrin' me into a lovin' hope again-
You're playin' with my emotion;
Why'd you have to come back anyway?
Messin' with my wore out heart?
Drivin' hope into my lonely soul-
Only-to take it all apart;
You say and do all kinds of lovin' things-
But then you begin to sorta' wear thin-
Actin' bored and our loved you ignore-
And im wonderin' just where your heart has been;
Here you go playin' with my heart again-
Practicin' your second hand devotion-
Stirrin' me into a lovin' hope again-
You're playin' with my emotion;
You're a tried and true Casanova ya know-
A gigalo of the love starved and those alone-
Playin' all of us fast and loose now-
Who invited you back into my heart and home?
'Cause home is where my heart truly is-
And ya know what you're feelin' ain't true-
So why don't ya just go-'cause ya know-
That my world is better without you;
Here ya go playin' with my heart again-
Practicin' your second hand devotion-
Stirrin' me into lovin' hope again-
You're playin with my emotion;
Song Lyrics
May 15,2010
poem by Theodora Onken
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Siste Viator
WHAT is it that is dead?
Somewhere there is a grave, and something lies
Cold in the ground, and stirs not for my sighs,
Nor songs that I can make, nor smiles from me,
Nor tenderest foolish words that I have said;
Something that was has hushed, and will not be.
Did it go yesterday?
Or did it wane away with the old years?
There hath not been farewell, nor watchers' tears,
Nor hopes, nor vain reprieves, nor strife with death,
Nor lingering in a meted out delay;
None closed the eyes nor felt the latest breath.
But, be there joyous skies,
It is not in their sunshine; in the night
It is not in the silence, and the light
Of all the silver stars; the flowers asleep
Dream no more of it, nor their morning eyes
Betray the secrets it has bidden them keep.
Birds that go singing now
Forget it and leave sweetness meaningless;
The fitful nightingale, that feigns distress
To sing it all away, flows on by rote;
The seeking lark, in very heaven, I trow,
Shall find no memory to inform her note.
The voices of the shore
Chime not with it for burden; in the wood,
Where it has soul of the vast solitude,
It hath forsook the stillness; dawn and day
And the deep-thoughted dusk know it no more;
It is no more the freshness of the May.
Joy hath it not for heart;
Nor music for its second, subtler, tongue,
Sounding what music's self hath never sung;
Nor very Sorrow needs it help her weep.
Vanished from everywhere! what was a part
Of all and everywhere; lost into sleep!
What was it ere it went?
Whence had it birth? What is its name to call,
That gone unmissed has left a want in all?
Or shall I cry on Youth, in June-time still?
Or cry on Hope, who long since am content?
Or Love, who hold him ready at my will?
What is it that is dead?
Breath of a flower? sea-freshness on a wind?
Oh, dearest, what is that that we should find,
If you and I at length could win it back?
What have we lost and know not it hath fled?
Heart of my heart, could it be love we lack?
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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The End of Darkness
There is a darkness on every side, and with it a prevailing evil tide.
And this evil that is all around us, fills our heart with deep disgust.
From the evil we attempt to hide, but its effects can not be denied.
But soon it shall be behind us, this present world with all its lusts.
We will no longer be in this world, when by God Eternity’s unfurled.
Darkness pervades each corner of life, causing all unwanted strife.
Darkness is evil’s vessel friend, with destruction as its ultimate end.
Satan wants to hand you defeat, as he desires to sift you like wheat.
What God says about our enemy, is resist the devil and he will flee.
For Christ has achieved the victory, for evil to be banished eternally.
Until then darkness isn’t a friend, and Christ’s Light is to be our end.
Darkness is dispelled by His Light, along with all the evil of the night.
When darkness mounts against us, we must lean on whom we trust.
One day the darkness all about us, will be blown away like the dust.
In Heaven there will be no night, for Christ will be The Eternal Light.
Lust of the flesh will be no more, when we reach that celestial shore.
We’ll have a pure mind and heart, as an eternity with Christ we start.
No more temptation for us to face, for Heaven will be a Perfect place.
Purged of all sin and iniquity, a New Heaven and Earth is what will be.
A place where Truth is not denied, for His Light will be on every side.
Knife Man
Knife Man
I see most days the thin man who always carries a document map
that appears as slim as him. He has a distant look in his face like he
lives in a world of his own, and we pass each other like shadows in
the night. I have often thought of speaking to him, but I remember
fifteen years when his left him he went quite insane, when she came
out of a shop he stabbed her several with hunting knife till she died.
Sent to an asylum he was after five years declared sane and released,
so it is better to leave him well alone, one never knows he might be
armed with a new shining hunting knife bought at the gypsy market,
just waiting to feel slighted so he can use the knife again.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Hope Dieth: Hope Liveth
Strong are thine arms, O love, & strong
Thine heart to live, and love, and long;
But thou art wed to grief and wrong:
Live, then, and long, though hope be dead!
Live on, & labour thro’ the years!
Make pictures through the mist of tears,
Of unforgotten happy fears,
That crossed the time ere hope was dead.
Draw near the place where once we stood
Amid delight’s swift-rushing flood,
And we and all the world seemed good
Nor needed hope now cold and dead.
Dream in the dawn I come to thee
Weeping for things that may not be!
Dream that thou layest lips on me!
Wake, wake to clasp hope’s body dead!
Count o’er and o’er, and one by one
The minutes of the happy sun
That while agone on kissed lips shone,
Count on, rest not, for hope is dead.
Weep, though no hair’s breadth thou shalt move
The living Earth, the heaven above
By all the bitterness of love!
Weep and cease not, now hope is dead!
Sighs rest thee not, tears bring no ease,
Life hath no joy, and Death no peace:
The years change not, though they decrease,
For hope is dead, for hope is dead.
Speak, love, I listen: far away
I bless the tremulous lips, that say,
“Mock not the afternoon of day,
Mock not the tide when hope is dead!”
I bless thee, O my love, who say’st:
“Mock not the thistle-cumbered waste;
I hold Love’s hand, and make no haste
Down the long way, now hope is dead.
With other names do we name pain,
The long years wear our hearts in vain.
Mock not our loss grown into gain,
Mock not our lost hope lying dead.
Our eyes gaze for no morning-star,
No glimmer of the dawn afar;
Full silent wayfarers we are
Since ere the noon-tide hope lay dead.
Behold with lack of happiness
The master, Love, our hearts did bless
Lest we should think of him the less:
Love dieth not, though hope is dead!”
poem by William Morris
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I've Spent To Long
I've spent to long not caring,
I've spent to long away,
And now you want me back,
To live just like before,
You want to take my hand again,
You want my love to stay,
But I've spent to long not caring,
And my love it flew away.
I've spent to long in solitude,
I've spent to long in hope,
And now you want me in your arms,
To stay and hold you close,
You want to take my love again,
Feel despair take it's place,
But I've spent to long in solitude,
And you've lost this blood soaked race.
I've spent to long not caring,
Spent to long away,
Spent to long denying,
I've spent to long awake,
And now you want my slumber,
You want a love to stay,
But I've spent to long not caring,
And love? It fades away.
poem by Holly Heron
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Perfect Union
W.K.C.--3rd MARCH, 1879.
'A free man thinks of nothing so little as of death; and his wisdom is a meditation, not of death, but of life.' --Spinoza.
'DRAW back the curtain, wife,' he said;
And, dying, raised his feeble head,
As all his gathered soul leaped sheer
Into his waning eyes, and yearned
After the journeying sun which turned
Towards that other hemisphere.
Then, as its incandescent bulk
Sank slowly, like the foundering hulk
Of some lone burning ship at sea,
His life set with it--bright as brief--
In that invincible belief
Of Man's august supremacy.
Truth's vanward hero! Calmly brave
Fronting the dumb unfathomed grave
With unintimidated eyes;
Though not for him, beyond its night,
Resuscitated Hope alight
Prescient, on peaks of Paradise.
And like some solemn parting word
From one belovèd friend on board
Bound for some undiscovered shore,
To one who stands with straining gaze
To catch the last look of a face
Which he may see, ah never more--
So, ere he drifted to the deep
Unknowable, the utter sleep,
Out, out beyond life's harbour bar,
He whispered, 'Perfect! no one knows
How perfect!' and his eyes did close
Even like a sun-extinguished star.
His eyes did close: I held his hand:
I loved, so came to understand
The inmost working of his mind;
Yea, in that clasp, I know not how,
Did not his life of life then flow
Through mine, while mine was left behind?
I know not how, and yet it seems
As in some prank of shifting dreams,
That it was I who died, not he:
And then again, I know not how,
I feel new powers upheave and glow,
And all his life that stirs in me.
I am no longer what I was;
My nature is the pictured glass,
Where he who lived lives on and on;
All ye who loved him, ye may see
His spirits still investing me,
As moonlight but reflects the sun.
For ever deepening grows his sway:
A voice cries in me night and day:
'He'll never die to me, his wife;
In our strong love death hath no part;
I hold and fold him in my heart--
There he shall live while I have life.'
poem by Mathilde Blind
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At A Funeral
I loved her too, this woman who is dead.
Look in my face. I have a right to go
And see the place where you have made her bed
Among the snow.
I loved her too whom you are burying.
I have a right to stand beside her bier,
And to my handful of the dust I fling,
That she may hear.
I loved her; and it was not for the eyes
Which you have shut, nor for her yellow hair,
Nor for the face which in your bosom lies.
Let it lie there!
Nor for the wild--birds' music of her voice,
Which we shall hear in dreams till we too sleep;
Nor for the rest, which made the world rejoice,
The angels weep.
It was not for the payment of sweet love,
Though love is often straitened for a kiss,
Nor for the hope of other joys above,
But only this,
That she had laid her hand upon my heart
Once in the summer time when we were young,
And that her finger--tips had left a smart,
And that my tongue
Had spoken words which might not be unspoken
Lest they should make a by--word of love's truth,
And I had sworn that love should be the token
Of my youth.
And so I gave her all, and long ago
The treasure of my youth was put in pawn;
And she was little richer that I know
When that was gone.
But I have lived a beggar since that day
And hide my face it may be from men's eyes;
For often I have seen them shrink away,
As in surprise
That such a loathsome cripple should be found
To walk abroad in daylight with the rest,
And scarce a rag to cover up the wound
Upon his breast.
Yet no man stopped to ask how this might be,
Or I had scared them, and let loose my tongue,
How I had bought myself this misery
When I was young.
Yet I have loved her. This must be my pay,
The pension I have earned me with these tears;
The right to kneel beside her grave to--day,
Despite these years,
With all her kisses burning on my cheek,
As when I left her and our love was dead,
And our lips trembled though they did not speak,
The night I fled;
The right to bid you stand aside, nor be
A witness of our meeting. Did you love
In joy as I have loved in misery?
You did not prove
Your love was stronger than the strength of death,
Or she had never died upon your hand.
I would have fed her breathing with my breath;
I would have fanned
A living wind of Heaven to her lips;
I would have stolen life from Paradise.
And she is dead, and you have seen eclipse
Within those eyes.
If I could know that you had loved her well;
If I could hold it for a certainty
That you had sold your life as I did sell;
If I could see
The blackness of your soul, and with my tongue
Taste the full bitterness of tears unshed;
If I should find your very heart was wrung
And maimed and dead;
If I should feel your hand's grasp crumble mine,
And hug the pain when I should grasp in turn;
If I could dip my fingers in the brine
Of eyes that burn;
If I could hear your voice call back the dead
With such a mighty cry of agony
That she should turn and listen in the bed
Where she doth lie,
And all the heavens should together roll,
Thinking they heard the angel's trumpet tone,
I could forget it that you bought a soul
Which was my own;
I could forget that she forgot her vows,
That aught was bartered for the wealth of love;
I could untell the story of my woes,
Till God above
Should hold her guiltless and condone the wrong
Done to His justice; I could take your hand
And call you brother, as we went along
To take our stand
Before His judgment--seat with her again
Where we are hurrying,--for we could not keep
Our place unchallenged in the ranks of men
Who do not weep.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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I Left Last Night for London
Leave your bed your sanctuary
Asylum from the nightmare
Leave your life, your sanity
Come smile come share a while
I left last night for London though I don’t know the way
I’ll follow cars and follow far and hope I find my way
Chasing tarmac serpents snaking breaking on my way
I left last night for London; I hope I find my way.
Bowler hats and tailored suits, will I find them there?
Fashion students with pierced lips and red dye in their hair?
Umbrellas soaking wet and dogs all sick of barking
A sign in every place a go telling me that there’s no parking
I’ve lost myself upon the bridge, the tower bridge is folding
I find myself upon the verge with nothing I’m left holding.
A Double-decker phone box, will I find one there?
Surround by the punks and junk with wood glue in their hair?
Studded jackets, DM boots, will I see them there?
Stomping on the very ground that once was never there?
Her majesty, the Queen of England, will I see her there?
On speakers corner ranting rants, I hope I find her there.
I want to hear her shouting down all the sh*t around her
Until she can see as we the free that all that sh*t has bound her
No freedom found in palace grounds, no life beyond the walls
As marks of weakness, marks of woe come round to do the calls.
We’ll skin her pups and wear them in our revolutions rising
No crown for we, for we the free, we see the crown is dying.
I’m sure she’s sweet and has royal feet but that don’t cut my bacon
We need the walls a crumbling down and all foundations shaken.
It’s getting messy living here in England’s green for sure,
And popping pills in Satanic mills surely is no cure.
Still we the young the hopeful keep finding our own way
Living every second and dying every day.
I left last night for home, I hope I find my way.
I’m sick of running sideways, sideways every day
I’m leaving now, I’m going home, don’t stop me on my way.
I left last night, I’m going home, please help me on my way
Still playing guitar in many a bar trying to earn a pay
Living life nocturnal and dying every day.
poem by David Lacey
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Here Lie's The truth
“Here Lies the truth”,
On Her tombstone this will be wrote.
It was never spoke when She was living,
So also in death, it will be unspoke.
By Her it was never said
it was as though pulling out Her soul,
So here lies the truth and herself dead
Both has died in sadness and woe.
Here lies the truth,
Not once by her was it cried,
Not in the days that she was living,
Not even in the day that She had died.
She must of believed that it was a sin
To open Her heart and listen to the word
So She closed her heart and locked it shut,
And She never believed in no one but Her.
Here lies the truth,
It lived but a very short life,
Though the Woman died of years of age
The truth though, never had a chance to try.
Everyone She knew had learned Her lie
They never believed a word that she said
So when She finally tried to speak the truth,
Her heart stopped; and She laid dead.
Here lies the truth
It lived but a very short life,
It was loved by neither Child or Man,
For they believe its living was but a lie.
So here in the grave it will lay dead
As it had lived in this woman's soul,
Never again will it be uttered or thought of,
Never till the end of time will it be thought of or known.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Love Poem
Yours is the face that the earth turns to me,
Continuous beyond its human features lie
The mountain forms that rest against the sky.
With your eyes, the reflecting rainbow, the sun's light
Sees me; forest and flower, bird and beast
Know and hold me forever in the world's thought,
Creation's deep untroubled retrospect.
When your hand touches mine it is the earth
That takes me--the green grass,
And rocks and rivers; the green graves,
And children still unborn, and ancestors,
In love passed down from hand to hand from God.
Your love comes from the creation of the world,
From those paternal fingers, streaming through the clouds
That break with light the surface of the sea.
Here, where I trace your body with my hand,
Love's presence has no end;
For these, your arms that hold me, are the world's.
In us, the continents, clouds and oceans meet
Our arbitrary selves, extensive with the night,
Lost, in the heart's worship, and the body's sleep.
poem by Kathleen Jessie Raine
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Content In The Lord
I want to be content down here, while we live upon this earth,
Living each day in Godly fear, with a focus on eternal worth,
A sojourner on a temporal sphere, in the power of New Birth,
Making it to others very clear; Heaven’s home, not this earth.
Within my heart I take a stance, as God’s Truth I do embrace,
Since He knows all in advance, content I can be in any place,
Content through any circumstance, whatever it is I must face,
For in God, there is no chance, as He supplies all with Grace.
Life on this present terrestrial ball, isn’t the final place for me,
Nor will it be for every other soul, as all shall move to eternity,
And I’m content through it all, having my faith through Calvary,
As God saved me from the fall, and gave me new eyes to see.
I can be content now every day, while I live out this earthly life,
Walking down life’s narrow way, lead by my Lord Jesus Christ,
Hindered not by what men say, as they fill the world with strife,
I will listen to The Lord and obey, while living a life of sacrifice.
I can live my life assured, that I am always in my Savior’s sight,
As all the rivers of life I can ford, guided by The Savior’s Light,
Contented to live for my Lord, even when it gets dark as night,
As His Peace on me is poured, with my future Eternally Bright.
(Copyright ©08/2008)
I Hope You're Happy
I hope you're happy.
I hope you don't give it a second thought.
I hope you're happy but that's not enough.
I hope your miserble in that grave you dug.
I hope it's me you're thinking of when you choke on your tears.
I hope you waste the years with someone untrue.
I hope the words you said come back to haunt you.
The mistake you made, I hope it drives you insane.
I hope it hurts you to say my name.
If you're lonely you've got no one to blame but yourself.
So I hope your happy with somebody else.
I hope you're doing alright.
I hope it's guilt that keeps you up at night
I hope it eats you away.
I hope you regret every single day spent without me.
I hope it kills you to hear the truth spoken loudly.
I hope you have fun pretending to care about her.
I hope you believe that you can't live without her.
I hope you're happy.
I hope you don't fall apart.
I hope you're happy.
I hope she breaks your worthless heart.
poem by Samantha Ashley
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Truly Deeply I Love
She never stared into my eyes
Distances were so far that could not even kiss my lips
Still, every time I found her to be near me
Her heart, confessed her love to me
I did the same
By confessing my love to her, I shared my deep feelings
Slowly both came closer by forgetting the distances
Had to hold her tight, I did
Though, this time she left me
So now I do not hold myself guilty for any sin
I had learnt from my mistakes
However, she never could hold me tightly
This is the only complain I have
She is an amazing woman
Not many like her are alive in this world
I guess she could not see the deep love in my eyes
That is why I am here alone and weeping for her
Hope, I hope that she understood deep love of mine
It pains, truly deeply.
poem by Rohit Sapra
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Can You Hear Them?
So sick and tired of living
And so afraid to die
I've lived so many lives
And still I wonder why
The way the world perceives me
Is not the way I am
The one half thinks I'm crazy
The other thinks I'm mad
I spent a long long time alone in my room
I need your help to get me out of this gloom
Can you hear them
All the voices in my head
They freak me out
Can you hear them
They won't be happy 'till I'm dead
They freak me out
Ten thousand million nightmares
Temptation by the score
I used to get so high
And still I wanted more
You think my time is wasted
In search of who I am
I tried to so hard to kill
The boy inside the man
I spent a thousand years one night in my room
I've lived so many lives and that is my doom
Can you hear them
All the voices in my head
They freak me out
Can you hear them
They won't be happy 'till I'm dead
They freak me out
Can you hear them
All the voices in my head
They freak me out
Can you hear them
They won't be happy 'till I'm dead
They freak me out
I never thought I'd smile again
Always thought I'd be here on my own
Sometimes when I'm down
You come and save me again
And again
And again
And again
I'll never understand it
It makes no sense at all
Just look at what I've done
It's time to count the score
I've spent a long long time alone in my room
I need your help to get me out of this gloom
Can you hear them
All the voices in my head
They freak me out
Can you hear them
They won't be happy 'till I'm dead
They freak me out
Can you hear them
All the voices in my head
They freak me out
Can you hear them
They won't be happy 'till I'm dead
They freak me out
song performed by by Ozzy Osbourne from Down To Earth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ten Pound Note
I was five when mam left us
But before she passed away
She gave me a ten pound note
For a coat on a rainy day
But there was no coat which could last
The rainy days I had to bear
So I lent my money to my brother
Who looked after me with care
My brother spent the money
Everywhere we went
On things I didn’t care about
Like camping in a tent
On bandages and soap
And fishing in the river
And chips when we were hungry
To warm a bellies shiver
He seemed to spend lots of money
I wanted my money back
I decided ten years later
For I never bought that mac
Brother where’s my money now
I loaned you long ago
For years you’ve spent it carelessly
But I still love you though
He was sad as he looked at me
Then he began to say
I promised mam not to leave you
Until your rainy day
Its time to buy that coat now
I’m leaving you today
You’ve grown to be a fine young man
But I must sail away
Your note has never left me
Its folded in my pocket
It sits so very tightly
In our mams silver locket
Its your turn to keep it now
Your note has kept us near
Goodbye my little brother
Let me wipe away your tear.