The Gipsy Trail
The white moth to the closing bine,
The bee to the opened clover,
And the gipsy blood to the gipsy blood
Ever the wide world over.
Ever the wide world over, lass,
Ever the trail held true,
Over the world and under the world,
And back at the last to you.
Out of the dark of the gorgio camp,
Out of the grime and the gray
(Morning waits at the end of the world),
Gipsy, come away!
The wild boar to the sun-dried swamp
The red crane to her reed,
And the Romany lass to the Romany lad,
By the tie of a roving breed.
The pied snake to the rifted rock,
The buck to the stony plain,
And the Romany lass to the Romany lad,
And both to the road again.
Both to the road again, again!
Out on a clean sea-track -
Follow the cross of the gipsy trail
Over the world and back!
Follow the Romany patteran
North where the blue bergs sail,
And the bows are grey with the frozen spray,
And the masts are shod with mail.
Follow the Romany patteran
Sheer to the Austral Light,
Where the besom of God is the wild South wind,
Sweeping the sea-floors white.
Follow the Romany patteran
West to the sinking sun,
Till the junk-sails lift through the houseless drift.
And the east and west are one.
Follow the Romany patteran
East where the silence broods
By a purple wave on an opal beach
In the hush of the Mahim woods.
'The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky,
The deer to the wholesome wold,
And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid,
As it was in the days of old.'
The heart of a man to the heart of a maid -
Light of my tents, be fleet.
Morning waits at the end of the world,
And the world is all at our feet!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Gypsy-Trail
The white moth to the closing bine,
The bee to the opened clover,
And the gipsy blood to the gipsy blood
Ever the wide world over.
Ever the wide world over, lass,
Ever the trail held true,
Over the world and under the world,
And back at the last to you.
Out of the dark of the gorgio camp,
Out of the grime and the gray
(Morning waits at the end of the world),
Gipsy, come away!
The wild boar to the sun-dried swamp
The red crane to her reed,
And the Romany lass to the Romany lad,
By the tie of a roving breed.
The pied snake to the rifted rock,
The buck to the stony plain,
And the Romany lass to the Romany lad,
And both to the road again.
Both to the road again, again!
Out on a clean sea-track --
Follow the cross of the gipsy trail
Over the world and back!
Follow the Romany patteran
North where the blue bergs sail,
And the bows are grey with the frozen spray,
And the masts are shod with mail.
Follow the Romany patteran
Sheer to the Austral Light,
Where the besom of God is the wild South wind,
Sweeping the sea-floors white.
Follow the Romany patteran
West to the sinking sun,
Till the junk-sails lift through the houseless drift.
And the east and west are one.
Follow the Romany patteran
East where the silence broods
By a purple wave on an opal beach
In the hush of the Mahim woods.
"The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky,
The deer to the wholesome wold,
And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid,
As it was in the days of old."
The heart of a man to the heart of a maid --
Light of my tents, be fleet.
Morning waits at the end of the world,
And the world is all at our feet!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gypsy Vans
Unless you come of the gipsy stock
That steals by night and day,
Lock your heart with a double lock
And throw the key away.
Bury it under the blackest stone
Beneath your father's hearth,
And keep your eyes on your lawful own
And your feet to the proper path.
Then you can stand at your door and mock
When the gipsy vans come through...
For it isn't right that the Gorgio stock
Should live as the Romany do.
Unless you come of the gipsy blood
That takes and never spares,
Bide content with your given good
And follow your own affairs.
Plough and harrow and roll your land,
And sow what ought to be sowed;
But never let loose your heart from your hand,
Nor flitter it down the road!
Then you can thrive on your boughten food
As the gipsy vans come through...
For it isn't nature the Gorgio blood
Should love as the Romany do.
Unless you carry the gipsy eyes
That see but seldom weep,
Keep your head from the naked skies
Or the stars'll trouble your sleep.
Watch your moon through your window-pane
And take what weather she brews;
But don't run out in the midnight rain
Nor home in the morning dews.
Then you can buddle and shut your eyes
As the gipsy vans come through...
For it isn't fitting the Gorgio ryes
Should walk as the Romany do.
Unless you come of the gipsy race
That counts all time the same,
Be you careful of Time and Place
And Judgment and Good Name:
Lose your life for to live your life
The way that you ought to do;
And when you are finished, your God and your wife
And the Gipsies'll laugh at you!
Then you can rot in your burying place
As the gipsy vans come through...
For it isn't reason the Gorgio race
Should die as the Romany do.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gipsy Vans
Unless you come of the gipsy stock
That steals by night and day,
Lock your heart with a double lock
And throw the key away.
Bury it under the blackest stone
Beneath your father's hearth,
And keep your eyes on your lawful own
And your feet to the proper path.
Then you can stand at your door and mock
When the gipsy vans come through...
For it isn't right that the Gorgio stock
Should live as the Romany do.
Unless you come of the gipsy blood
That takes and never spares,
Bide content with your given good
And follow your own affairs.
Plough and harrow and roll your land,
And sow what ought to be sowed;
But never let loose your heart from your hand,
Nor flitter it down the road!
Then you can thrive on your boughten food
As the gipsy vans come through...
For it isn't nature the Gorgio blood
Should love as the Romany do.
Unless you carry the gipsy eyes
That see but seldom weep,
Keep your head from the naked skies
Or the stars'll trouble your sleep.
Watch your moon through your window-pane
And take what weather she brews;
But don't run out in the midnight rain
Nor home in the morning dews.
Then you can buddle and shut your eyes
As the gipsy vans come through...
For it isn't fitting the Gorgio ryes
Should walk as the Romany do.
Unless you come of the gipsy race
That counts all time the same,
Be you careful of Time and Place
And Judgment and Good Name:
Lose your life for to live your life
The way that you ought to do;
And when you are finished, your God and your wife
And the Gipsies'll laugh at you!
Then you can rot in your burying place
As the gipsy vans come through...
For it isn't reason the Gorgio race
Should die as the Romany do.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gipsy Too
If they missed my face in Farmers’ Arms
When the landlord lit the lamp,
They would grin and say in their country way,
‘Oh! he’s down at the Gipsy camp!’
But they’d read of things in the Daily Mail
That the wild Australians do,
And I cared no day what the world might say,
For I came of the Gipsies too.
‘Oh! the Gipsy crowd are a mongrel lot,
‘And a thieving lot and sly!’
But I’d dined on fowls in the far-off south,
And a mongrel lot was I.
‘Oh! the Gipsy crowd are a roving gang,
‘And a sulky, silent crew!’
But they managed a smile and a word for me,
For I came of the Gipsies too.
And the old queen looked in my palm one day—
And a shrewd old dame was she:
‘My pretty young gent, you may say your say,
‘You may laugh your laugh at me;
‘But I’ll tell you the tale of your dead, dead past!’
And she told me all too true;
And she said that I’d die in a camp at last,
For I came of the Gipsies too.
And the young queen looked in my eyes that night,
In a nook where the hedge grew tall,
And the sky was swept and the stars were bright,
But her eyes had the sheen of all.
The spring was there, and the fields were fair,
And the world to my heart seemed new.
’Twas ‘A Romany lass to a Romany lad!’
But I came of the Gipsies too.
Now a Summer and Winter have gone between
And wide, wild oceans flow;
And they camp again by the sad old Thames,
Where the blackberry hedges grow.
’Twas a roving star on a land afar
That proved to a maid untrue,
But we’ll meet when they gather the Gipsy souls,
For I came of the Gipsies too.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Hillman’s Lass
OVER the field where the grass is cool,
(Follow the road who must !)
With a song for the beech and the brown pool,
And the noiseless tread in the dust,
With a laugh for the lazy hours that go,
And the folk who pass us by.
(The trees they grow so broad, so low,
They shut me from the sky.)
Here be strawberries wild and sweet,
(Follow the road who may !)
And here's a rest for a bairn's feet
And a kiss at the close o' day.
And here's a cloud from the shining sea
Like a white moth in the night.
(On the edge o' the barley field, may be
The stars would show more bright.)
Cut me a flute where the reeds are brown.
(Follow the road who will !)
O, I'll dress you fair in a green gown
And a cloak that is finer still.
Your sleeves shall be o' the fairies' lawn,
Your shoon as red as the rose.
(Do you think that the wind which wakes at dawn
Will bring us a breath o' the snows ?)
O, the world's wide, and the world is long.
(Follow the road who may !)
And here's a lilt of the wild song
The Romany pipers play.
And 'Mine,' it sings, 'is the moon's shield,
And the cloak o' the cloud is mine.'
(Do you think that the lowland clover field
Is sweet as the upland pine ?)
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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Romany Girl
Romany girl on the silver sand
What would you have me yearning,
To take you into my loving arms
While the world lay waste, and burning
To touch the sheen of your auburn hair
While the stars look on in wonder,
And watch the hem of your gypsy dress
That tears my heart asunder.
Romany girl, is your lovely name
The Jean of a witch returning,
Or just the touch of a love-lost fool
Who’s seeking your brown eyes burning,
The spell of lace at your pretty face
Or caught at your throat a-bunching,
Or sweetness smile of your guiltless guile
Bewitching the Squire, a-lunching.
Romany girl, who struts and sways
To dance at the morning graces,
Setting the sand in either hand
To laugh at the wondering faces,
Images burn the fevered brain
Of a man who’s never been tipsy,
Dance on the silver sand again
And look for your love-lost gypsy.
18 September 1973
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Romany
(jennings)
Take me home
Sailing on with romany
To and fro on a icy morning
Feeling calm to have an old friend round
Feeling warm to see the wind blow down
Take me home
Where saints and children laughing
Tell the dutchman ships are passing
Feeling safe to reach the harbor sound
Feeling warm to see the wind blow down
Take me home
Leave the galley sailors talking
Leave the bridge and captains walking
Feeling naked on the covered ground
Feeling warm to see the wind blow down
The wind blowed
Down in the moonless light
The sea was dark
The breeze was light
Everyones thoughts were their own
Caught by the ocean thief
The bow hit on a coral reef
Romany sank like a stone
Chorus
Verse 1
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Up North (Down South, Back East, Out West)
(Danny Wells/Jill Wood)
In spite of the name, Independence, Kansas
Didn't grow many wild roses
But she was young and restless
And I loved her though holding her down was hopeless
I wanted her to say she couldn't live without
The life I had to offer but all she could talk about
Was faraway dreams, cities she'd never seen
How do I find that girl when she could be
Out there anywhere she just up and left
She didn't leave a forwarding address
Or a trail for my lonely heart to follow
Which one of those four winds should I go chasing
She could be in a million places I guess
Up north, down south, back east, out west
She could be up in the Windy City
Where the world spins a little bit faster
Or gettin' a tan down in Miami that might be where I'd catch her
Maybe back in Virginia, her cousin lives there
Out in Arizona, she'd fit in anywhere
It's anyone's guess where she came to rest
My one chance for happiness is
Out there anywhere she just up and left
She didn't leave a forwarding address
Or a trail for my lonely heart to follow
Which one of those four winds should I go chasing
She could be in a million places I guess
Up north, down south, back east, out west
I'm sitting here at a four-way intersection
Praying Lord won't you point me in the right direction
She could be
Out there anywhere she just up and left
She didn't leave a forwarding address
Or a trail for my lonely heart to follow
Which one of those four winds should I go chasing
She could be in a million places I guess
Up north, down south, back east, out west
Up north, down south, back east, out west
song performed by by Wade Hayes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Up North
(danny wells/jill wood)
In spite of the name, independence, kansas
Didnt grow many wild roses
But she was young and restless
And I loved her though holding her down was hopeless
I wanted her to say she couldnt live without
The life I had to offer but all she could talk about
Was faraway dreams, cities shed never seen
How do I find that girl when she could be
Out there anywhere she just up and left
She didnt leave a forwarding address
Or a trail for my lonely heart to follow
Which one of those four winds should I go chasing
She could be in a million places I guess
Up north, down south, back east, out west
She could be up in the windy city
Where the world spins a little bit faster
Or gettin a tan down in miami that might be where Id catch her
Maybe back in virginia, her cousin lives there
Out in arizona, shed fit in anywhere
Its anyones guess where she came to rest
My one chance for happiness is
Out there anywhere she just up and left
She didnt leave a forwarding address
Or a trail for my lonely heart to follow
Which one of those four winds should I go chasing
She could be in a million places I guess
Up north, down south, back east, out west
Im sitting here at a four-way intersection
Praying lord wont you point me in the right direction
She could be
Out there anywhere she just up and left
She didnt leave a forwarding address
Or a trail for my lonely heart to follow
Which one of those four winds should I go chasing
She could be in a million places I guess
Up north, down south, back east, out west
Up north, down south, back east, out west
song performed by by Wade Hayes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gipsy Love
The gipsy tents are on the down,
The gipsy girls are here;
And it's O to be off and away from the town
With a gipsy for my dear!
We'd make our bed in the bracken
With the lark for a chambermaid;
The lark would sing us awake in the morning,
Singing above our head.
We'd drink the sunlight all day long
With never a house to bind us;
And we'd only flout in a merry song
The world we left behind us.
We would be free as birds are free
The livelong day, the livelong day;
And we would lie in the sunny bracken
With none to say us nay.
The gipsy tents are on the down,
The gipsy girls are here;
And it's O to be off and away from the town
With a gipsy for my dear!
poem by Arthur Symons
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Look To The Rainbow (feat. Barbara Cook)
On the day I was born
Set me father said he
I've got an elegent legacy waiting for me
It's a rhyme for your lips
It's a song for your heart
To sing it whenever the world falls apart
Look, look , look to the rainbow
Follow it over the hills and stream
Look, look, look to the rainbow
Follow the fellow who follows our dream
It was a sumtuous gift
To beguife to a child
Or the lore of that song kept her feet running wild
For you never grow old
And you never stand still
With whipper will singing beyond the next hill
Look, look , look to the rainbow
Follow it over the hills and stream
Look, look, look to the rainbow
Follow the fellow who follows a dream
Strike one me heart and I roam the world free
To the east with a lark
To the west with the sea
And I searched all the Earth
And I scanned all the sky
But I found it at last
In my own true love's eyes
Look, look , look to the rainbow
Follow it over the hills and stream
Look, look, look to the rainbow
Follow the fellow who follows the dream
Follow the fellow
Follow the fellow
Follow the fellow
Who follows the dream
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Way To Your Heart
What's the way to your heart
Let me follow you, all around the world
What's the way to your heart
Let me follow you, all around the world
Yes, you are the one
Our love has just begun
Now, I know for sure
You're the one I need
I can hold it back no longer
My love belongs to you
This is more than just a feeling
I will always guide you through
What's the way to your heart
Let me follow you, all around the world
What's the way to your heart
Let me follow you, all around the world
Don't you know I'll be the one
Our love has just begun
You're the angel of my dreams don't run away
What's the way to your heart
No, don't turn around
True love is what I found
You're, the one for me
Need you night and day
What's the way to your heart
The way to your heart
What's the way to your heart
The way to your heart
What's the way to your heart
The way to your heart
song performed by by DJ Bobo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Now A Memory Of The Past
The travellers parked their romany horse drawn vans at the Shannaknock Cross when when frosted fields were bare
But despite the cold and damp weather they did not seem to have a care
Their pinto horses with ropes tied to trees munched on bunches of hay
And old Clara Hill wore his hat of snow on a cold February day
The coldness of the Winter chill was in the frosty air
A week before the first of March and Millstreet Town Horse Fair
The by roads of Duhallow they had travelled up and down
On their way to the big horse fair that was held in Millstreet Town
Time does not wait for anyone and leaves us looking older and gray
But the good memories of our childhood years till death with us will stay
I loved them for their love of poetry, song and music and life they did enjoy
But the sixties brought great change to Duhallow where I lived as a boy
The late twentieth century to Ireland brought great changes and few things seem to last
And their romany vans and pinto horses now a memory of the past.
poem by Francis Duggan
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My whole life was foretold to me. An old Romany gypsy read my fortune.
quote by Maureen O'Hara
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Little World
1 2 3 4.
1 2 3 4.
Little boy up in (? )...
Thats left behind to sin.
Moving like a camera I can watch you on my screen.
Fall into a shadow world inside of me.
Hidden like a treasure.
Secrets in my scene.
You can follow me.
Oh, you can follow me.
You can follow me.
Ah, you can follow me.
Scream inside.
Whisper.
Picture in a dream.
You can talk to me and we can talk forever.
I could take you to the doorway and I can give you the way, the key.
No one here can see you, no one here but me.
Fall into our shadow, theres another world in me.
And youre invited.
And youre invited.
In the little world I make with all the little things I take...
A million ways to pass the time, in this little world of mine.
You can follow me.
Oh, you can follow me.
You can follow me.
Oh, you can follow you can follow you can follow follow follow follow follow.
You can follow me.
Oh, you can follow me.
Secrets in this world.
Picture in a dream.
No one here can see you, no one here but me.
And you can follow me.
Oh, you can follow me.
You can follow me.
Oh, you can follow me.
You can follow me.
Oh, you can follow me.
You can follow me.
Oh, you can follow.
In the little world I make with all the little things I take...
A million ways to pass the time, in this little world of mine.
You can follow me, follow me.
You can follow me.
Oh, you can follow.
You can follow me. follow me.
You can follow me. follow me.
You can follow me.
You can follow me.
You can follow me.
You can follow me.
You can follow me.
You can follow me.
Where are we going?
You can follow me.
But where are we going?
You can follow me.
Where do you wanna go?
You can follow me.
Ok.
song performed by by Blondie
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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L'envoi
There's a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield,
And the ricks stand gray to the sun,
Singing: -- "Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the clover,
And your English summer's done."
You have heard the beat of the off-shore wind,
And the thresh of the deep-sea rain;
You have heard the song -- how long! how long?
Pull out on the trail again!
Ha' done with the Tents of Shem, dear lass,
We've seen the seasons through,
And it's time to turn on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
Pull out, pull out, on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.
It's North you may run to the rime-ringed sun,
Or South to the blind Horn's hate;
Or East all the way into Mississippi Bay,
Or West to the Golden Gate;
Where the blindest bluffs hold good, dear lass,
And the wildest tales are true,
And the men bulk big on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
And life runs large on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.
The days are sick and cold, and the skies are gray and old,
And the twice-breathed airs blow damp;
And I'd sell my tired soul for the bucking beam-sea roll
Of a black Bilbao tramp;
With her load-line over her hatch, dear lass,
And a drunken Dago crew,
And her nose held down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail
From Cadiz Bar on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.
There be triple ways to take, of the eagle or the snake,
Or the way of a man with a maid;
But the fairest way to me is a ship's upon the sea
In the heel of the North-East Trade.
Can you hear the crash on her bows, dear lass,
And the drum of the racing screw,
As she ships it green on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
As she lifts and 'scends on the Long Trail --
the trail that is always new?
See the shaking funnels roar, with the Peter at the fore,
And the fenders grind and heave,
And the derricks clack and grate, as the tackle hooks the crate,
And the fall-rope whines through the sheave;
It's "Gang-plank up and in," dear lass,
It's "Hawsers warp her through!"
And it's "All clear aft" on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
We're backing down on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.
O the mutter overside, when the port-fog holds us tied,
And the sirens hoot their dread!
When foot by foot we creep o'er the hueless viewless deep
To the sob of the questing lead!
It's down by the Lower Hope, dear lass,
With the Gunfleet Sands in view,
Till the Mouse swings green on the old trail,
our own trail, the out trail,
And the Gull Light lifts on the Long Trail --
the trail that is always new.
O the blazing tropic night, when the wake's a welt of light
That holds the hot sky tame,
And the steady fore-foot snores through the planet-powdered floors
Where the scared whale flukes in flame!
Her plates are scarred by the sun, dear lass,
And her ropes are taut with the dew,
For we're booming down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
We're sagging south on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.
Then home, get her home, where the drunken rollers comb,
And the shouting seas drive by,
And the engines stamp and ring, and the wet bows reel and swing,
And the Southern Cross rides high!
Yes, the old lost stars wheel back, dear lass,
That blaze in the velvet blue.
They're all old friends on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
They're God's own guides on the Long Trail --
the trail that is always new.
Fly forward, O my heart, from the Foreland to the Start --
We're steaming all-too slow,
And it's twenty thousand mile to our little lazy isle
Where the trumpet-orchids blow!
You have heard the call of the off-shore wind,
And the voice of the deep-sea rain;
You have heard the song -- how long! how long?
Pull out on the trail again!
The Lord knows what we may find, dear lass,
And The Deuce knows what we may do --
But we're back once more on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
We're down, hull down on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mercy
(Kurt Stevenson, Patrick Winningham, & Chris Boesel)
Originally recorded for the Georgia soundtrack
I got a feeling
of unrighteousness
bitter cold
hollow bitterness
down the road
I walk with loneliness
mercy will follow me I'm told
Beneath this skin
there lies a heart of stone
It's growing old
so very far, from home
but a heart of gold
I may someday own?
and mercy will follow me, I'm told
mercy will you follow me
mercy will you follow me
to the final breath at last I take
mercy will you follow me
mercy will you follow me
Till the chain of this old world I finally break.
My sister sang
songs so sweet and sad
bout a man
whos love I never had
there's a train
bound for gillian?
mercy will follow me I'm told
mercy will you follow me
mercy will you follow me
till my final breath at last I take
mercy will you follow me
mercy will you follow me
Till the chains of this old world I finally break
Till the chains of this old world I finally break
Till the chains of this old world I finally break
song performed by by Counting Crows
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Scar
A grey day in February
Some flecks of white, but mostly brown
Purple surprises riding in on a nerve
Begins to excite you before it settles down
It's after the knives and the sutures and needles
I'm left with an arrow that points at my heart
I call it the seat of my sentimental sorrow
Gone seems to be one of the sum of my parts
And the night is cold
As the coldest nights are
There's a wise woman
She comes from an evening star
She says: Look for the signs
You won't have to look far
Lead with your spirit and follow
Follow your scar
A man I knew once said he wanted to see me
I said I'd been sick but was on the mend
I told him a few of the overall details
He said: That's too bad
And he's never called me again
What a gift in disguise that poor little puppy
So scared of misfortune and always on guard
A big man will love you
Even more when you're hurtin'
And a really big man
Loves a really good scar
Cause the dawn breaks
And it's breaking your heart
There's a wise woman
She sits at the end of the bar
She says: Look for the signs
You won't have to look far
Lead with your spirit and follow
Follow your scar
A grey day in February
Some flecks of white, but mostly brown
The world has tilted but
The world has expanded
And the world has turned
My world upside down
Cause the night is warm and all full of stars
There's a wise woman
She's moved right into my heart
She says: Look for the signs
You won't have to look far
Lead with your spirit and follow
Follow
Follow your scar
English translation of Gaelic:
Run with the red deer
And sing with the wind
The magic lasts
And meaning will follow
The scar is God given
As a sign for your life
Strength from your ancestors
And through your own mouth
Strength from memory
Like a tree on the wind
Show me your scar
And I will make it better
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Long Trail
There's a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield,
And the ricks stand grey to the sun,
Singing: "Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the dover,
"And your English summer's done."
You have heard the beat of the off-shore wind,
And the thresh of the deep-sea rain;
You have heard the song -- how long? how long?
Pull out on the trail again!
Ha' done with the Tents of Shem, dear lass,
We've seen the seasons through,
And it's time to turn the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
Pull out, pull out, on the Long Trail-the trail that is always new!
It's North you may run to the rime-ringed sun
Or South to the blind Hom's hate;
Or East all the way into Mississippi Bay,
Or West to the Golden Gate --
Where the blindest bluffs hold good, dear lass,
And the wildest tales are true,
And the men bulk big on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
And life runs large on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.
The days are sick and cold, and the skies are grey and old
And the twice-breathed airs blow damp;
And I'd sell my tired soul for the bucking beam-sea roll
Of a black Bilbao tramp,
With her load-line over her hatch, dear lass,
And a drunken Dago crew,
And her nose held down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail
From Cadiz south on the Long Trail-the trail that is always new.
There be triple ways to take, of the eagle or the snake,
Or the way of a man with a maid;
But the sweetest way to me is a ship's upon the sea
In the heel of the North-East Trade.
Can you hear the crash on her brows, dear lass.
And the drum of the racing screw,
As she ships it green on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
As she lifts and 'scends on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new?
See the shaking funnels roar, with the Peter at the fore,
And the fenders grind and heave,
And the derricks clack and grate, as the tackle hooks the crate,
And the fall-rope whines through the sheave;
It's "Gang-plank up and in," dear lass,
It's "Hawsers warp her through!"
And it's "All clear aft" on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
We're backing down on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.
O the mutter overside, when the port-fog holds us tied,
And the sirens hoot their dread,
When foot by foot we creep o'er the hueless, viewless deep
To the sob of the questing lead!
It's down by the Lower Hope, dear lass,
With the Grinfleet Sands in view,
Till the Mouse swings green on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
And the Gull Light lifts on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.
O the blazing tropic night, when the wake's a welt of light
That holds the hot sky tame,
And the steady fore-foot snores through the planet-powdered floors
Where the scared whale flukes in flame!
Her plates are flaked by the sun, dear lass
And her ropes are taut with the dew,
For we're booming down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
We're sagging south on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.
Then home, get her home, where the drunken rollers comb,
And the shouting seas drive by,
And the engines stamp and ring, and the wet bows reel and swing,
And the Southern Cross rides high!
Yes, the old lost stars wheel back, dear lass,
That blaze in the velvet blue.
They're all old friends on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
They're God's own guides on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.
Fly forward, O my heart, from the Foreland to the Start
We're steaming all too slow,
And it's twenty thousand mile to our little lazy isle
Where the trumpet-orchids blow!
You have heard the call of the off-shore wind
And the voice of the deep-sea rain;
You have heard the song-how long? how long?
Pull out on the trail again!
The Lord knows what we may find, dear lass,
And The Deuce knows we may do
But we're back once more on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
We're down, hull-down, on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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