Respect For The Sleepers (demo)
Well I don't really know my self
Cause I ain't I really tried
Rutting leaning on that crazy stuff
Too many friends have died
Got respect for the sleepers
But the sleepers...
I'll be buried in the same old way
But probably not for years
Yeah, I'll be buried in the same old way
From TV whiskey and beer
Got respect for the sleepers
But the sleepers are dead
Well I don't really know my self
Cause I ain't I really tried
But falling that crazy stuff
Too many friends have died
Got respect for the sleepers
All the sleepers are dead
Yeah, they're dead
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Killers
I am singing to you
Soft as a man with a dead child speaks;
Hard as a man in handcuffs,
Held where he cannot move:
Under the sun
Are sixteen million men,
Chosen for shining teeth,
Sharp eyes, hard legs,
And a running of young warm blood in their wrists.
And a red juice runs on the green grass;
And a red juice soaks the dark soil.
And the sixteen million are killing. . . and killing
and killing.
I never forget them day or night:
They beat on my head for memory of them;
They pound on my heart and I cry back to them,
To their homes and women, dreams and games.
I wake in the night and smell the trenches,
And hear the low stir of sleepers in lines--
Sixteen million sleepers and pickets in the dark:
Some of them long sleepers for always,
Some of them tumbling to sleep to-morrow for always,
Fixed in the drag of the world's heartbreak,
Eating and drinking, toiling. . . on a long job of
killing.
Sixteen million men.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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Old Heads
Old heads, leaning bodies supporting clusters of gargoyle grins.
An illusion? Simply a confusion of a thousand crooked noses?
I perceive eyes spinning in their orbits attempt to settle into poses.
There they stand tattooed with wrinkles, crowned with antlers
Whose numbers and girth reflect their power immortal.
These sleepers old, these sleepers new, born aloft to be
Soaked in dew. Hanging on for dear life, some prefer to wrap
Their roots around another’s, clinging with the might of Titans,
Hanging on as if the Earth herself was the fairest of lovers.
Twisted torsos of headed sleepers weep over long forgotten lore.
If only they could keep their memory safe, if only they were given
The opportunity to recite their wisdoms before they are slain,
Laid down the woodsman. The crown of the forest is fallen,
Will man in his folly never cease is the rape of his Mother?
What charm he shows in his care for the fairest of lovers.
poem by David Lacey
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Dream
Nothing comes during a sleep above a dream,
You better wake up and face reality,
You never get ahead just laying around in bed,
What you can see you really can achieve.
Dream means a sleepless fulfillment though I wonder why,
You wake up out of the darkness and let life begin,
Oh dream means a sleepless fulfillment oh I wonder when,
Wake up out of the darkness and let life begin.
Some people are living only on hopes and dreams,
But youve got to wake up to the plans and scenes,
The journey of life is only one step ahead,
But you never get there tossing and turning in bed,
Youre facing the world with no plans for tomorrow,
And now youre wondering whats waiting around the bend.
Dream means a sleepless fulfillment unless you try,
Sleepers, they hold on t dreams while the world passes by,
Dream means a sleepless fulfillment (though) unless you try,
Sleepers, they hold on to dreams while the world passes by.
Dream means a sleepless fulfillment though I wonder why,
Sleepers hold on to dreams while the world passes by, one more time,
Dreams a sleepless fulfillment though unless you try,
Sleepers hold on to dreams.....
song performed by by Grace Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Keeper Of Dreams
The keeper of dreams
dishes them out.
He searches and finds
the sleepers in doubt
and delivers strange
and frightful ones
to all the daughters, all the sons
that live their lives
unfaithfully
making them atone
unmercifully.
Strange and nightmarish scenes
he does send,
making their days and nightimes blend.
He searches and finds
the sleepers who know
all about love
and to make it go
into the lives
of all they meet,
lessening their troubles
and helping defeat
their loneliness.
To these he delivers
dreams of calm
and soothes their brows
with annointed balm,
making their days
and nights never end.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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There's Work To Be Done
'Tis the song of the morning,
The words of the sun,
As he swings o'er the mountains:
'There's work to be done:
I must wake up the sleepers,
And banish the night;
I must paint up the heavens,
Tuck the stars out of sight;
'Dry the dew on the meadows,
Put warmth in the air,
Chase the fog from the lowlands,
Stay gloom everywhere.
No pausing, no resting,
There's work to be done.
It is upward and onward,
Still on,' says the sun.
'Tis the song of our soldiers
Who bravely march on:
'There are souls to be gathered,
There's work to be done:
We must wake up the sleepers,
And teach them to think;
We must paint in full horrors
The breakers of drink;
'Dry the tears of the mourners,
Put the cups out of sight,
And, Eastward and Westward,
Proclaim, 'There is light.'
'Tis the Marseillaise of Progress-
There's work to be done,'
The song of our soldiers,
The song of the sun.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Final Act
Wide eyed sleepers death in motion daylight creepers wearing all night
pain bleeding moments spilling over non-existing as they crawl out
into a world that calls them real sign the contract it's the final act matter
of fact better take a step back relax the show must go on no one
so on and so on as if under mass hypnosis the wide eyed sleepers
fall into mass graves they'll feel safer in the dirt their own opinions
won't be heard if asked could you decide what any man is worth
could you decide?
The steal it with a handshake seal it with a smile it feels
like an earthquake treats you like a child defeats you
with your mistakes leaves you in denial deceives you
in the first place lied to all the while they can't see anymore
how their wide eyes have made them blind in spite of themselves
song performed by by Mushroomhead from M3
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Even sleepers are workers and collaborators in what goes on in the Universe.
quote by Heraclitus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One should either be sad or joyful. Contentment is a warm sty for eaters and sleepers.
quote by Eugene O'Neill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I made three movies in 1995 and I was unhappy with all of them: Sleepers, Incognito, and Speed 2.
quote by Jason Patric
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pooring Rain
“Pooring” Rain
As I travel down the lane I saw shadows in the “pooring” rain
The meekers, the weakers, the creepers, the weepers, the seeker and so many sleepers
As I travel down the lane I saw shadows in this “pooring” rain
I hear voices saying I was insane… I ponder why… Maybe I am… some cry
What is this game the twisted fame the glory and the blame
As I travel down the lane I met shadows in “pooring” rain
The meekers, the weakers, the creepers, the weepers, the seeker… so many sleepers
From point A to point B from life to death and death to life I see so many strives
The poor wealthy ones… and the poor, poor homeless ones do wonder why I am mad
Then we have the so called enlighten ones hmm I think those are the one saying I am mad
The sheepeople key post is a noose a tight without a loose like a drill drilling for loots
So I question the objective of their strong the fundamentals and the evil of the God
In the whispers of men again they said I was mad a darkness of mood some say I’m rude
Some think I am cute a crazy youth now with greys now just an old coot wanting a salute
In the “pooring” rain as I travel down the lane I saw shadows riding a train
Their thoughts were the same in their haze they thought I was from outer space
Because I did not play their grace so many times I see the changing of their face
On the religious disguise some smile, some continue telling their side of the lie
Sometimes I wonder should I hide or pretend like I am blind just to save my time
In the “pooring” rain as I travel down the lane I met shadows on the train
The meekers, the weakers, the creepers, the weepers, the seeker… and so many sleepers
I hear voices saying I was insane, seek no glory and give no blame for life is all the same
Truly I laugh maybe I am insane… some cry, I ponder why the corruptions & the crimes
The bombings then sheepeoples die in the name of the most holy guy no matter the lies
The word Negro is not a crime… Great Negro was the name of the Ancient Divine Kinds
Kings & Queens those first Sovereign Beings all had black skin like we take a look to see
In this the patterns to be free lay not in governmental slavery or the churches briberies
The hidden fact blackness is the key the sun rays shows the marks of our genetic ancestry
As I travel down the lane I met shadows in this “pooring” rain
The meekers, the weakers, the creepers, the weepers, the seeker… so many sleepers
Ashia: - Hotep
By [: Divine-Sovereign Great-Negro Ank Justice SteadySpear EI: ]©®™
http: //www.dankunlimited.com [email protected]
poem by Artist at Large AnkSteady
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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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Beside Me
an old american
wearing sleepers.
white sands clinging
still on his feet.
beside him
her filipina. the brown girl
black hair. orange sarong
wrapping her body
she needs yahoo.
he says, what are you looking for?
i do not really think
that she is literate. but i can sense
she is trying to be
just like anybody else.
he thinks she is beautiful and
cheap.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Death, To The Dead For Evermore
DEATH, to the dead for evermore
A King, a God, the last, the best of friends -
Whene'er this mortal journey ends
Death, like a host, comes smiling to the door;
Smiling, he greets us, on that tranquil shore
Where neither piping bird nor peeping dawn
Disturbs the eternal sleep,
But in the stillness far withdrawn
Our dreamless rest for evermore we keep.
For as from open windows forth we peep
Upon the night-time star beset
And with dews for ever wet;
So from this garish life the spirit peers;
And lo! as a sleeping city death outspread,
Where breathe the sleepers evenly; and lo!
After the loud wars, triumphs, trumpets, tears
And clamour of man's passion, Death appears,
And we must rise and go.
Soon are eyes tired with sunshine; soon the ears
Weary of utterance, seeing all is said;
Soon, racked by hopes and fears,
The all-pondering, all-contriving head,
Weary with all things, wearies of the years;
And our sad spirits turn toward the dead;
And the tired child, the body, longs for bed.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Inside That Big Space
inside that big space
you undress yourself
and remove
what you have
what you wear
what you
hold
you dropp them
all
for they are not yours
not even
your parts
you let them
all fall from
you
you leave them
in the space
reserved for them
clothes, underwear
skin, secrets
regrets,
even hope
you leave them
like sleepers
by the door
and then through
the cold wind
you must go
and not look back
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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No Respect
Respect,
Always everybody looking for some
Respect,
Who do you think youre gonna get it from
Respect,
Anybody here deserving of none
Respect,
Tell me what makes you think
Youre not the one
No respect, no respect none
No respect, no respect none
No respect, no respect none
No respect, no respect none
Respect,
Why be concerned with
Public adulation
Respect,
Pat on the back crying
For attention
Respect,
Finding out what it really
Means to me
Respect,
Honor comes only after
Humility
song performed by by Extreme
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nocturne
[from early poems,1970's, youthful attempts at voice]
Fogs of summer
Through the green
Stalks Will shake
Take sweetness
From the corn and
With their tassels
Make an infant's
Rattle soft like milk.
Fields under moonlight
Will silent be like silk
And my comfort brown.
Sounds sleepers make
Shall not be heard by me
Or anyone.
poem by Warren Falcon
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Thinkers
Welive. We breathe, We drink. We think,
and there's where the trouble lies.
Oh to turn off this brain of mine
and close these tired eyers.
I could not count the thousands of thoughts
that pop up in my head.
And between these thoughts are musical sounds
that surface while in bed.
I need to meditate and think of my breath
but I find it hard to do.
I envy the ones that can do this.
I wish I could do it too.
I think that thinkers are born this way.
There I go thinking again.
I'm starting to wonder 'Is this a female thing? '
for the sleepers are mostly men.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Preferred Sleep Tonight
Did I not prefer the sleepers, the fit for love?
After crying out, their charms exceeded a plague.
For uttering the worst sin called in Love,
In a dream once they saw Heaven, then he enquired.
He is the one who enquired into what was seen,
Of the uttering, of the companionship.
What was this action? While they acted?
O Lovers! Live among others like charms!
poem by Naveed Akram
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Another Hit n Run
Union jack is back with a hole in his head
Hes gettin badly burned every time
Hes laughin at me and dancin on my sneakers
And his sixties songs are blowin up my speakers
I say you got no respect
Respect for authority
Youre just playing your dirty tricks
And then come cryin to me
Hit and run, hit and run
Its just a hit and run
Another hit and run
The bulldog lost his bite and his breath has gone bad
And the whole damn world is really laughin mad
Hit it!!
Oh bring it down
Oh you bring it down
I say you aint got no respect
I say you aint got no respect
No you aint got no respect
And you hit me when Im down
Hit and run, hit and run
Its just another hit and run
I said its just another hit and run
Oh yeah, hit and run
Oh yeah, hit and run
Oh yeah, hit and run
Oh yeah, hit and run
Oh yeah, hit and run
Its just another hit and run
Hit and run
song performed by by Def Leppard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rest Is Leisure
Rest and leisure accompanies the days
As well as the nights in some maze.
Why do sleepers find it always
To keep on repeating their rest in days?
Due is the unconsciousness on a sleeping bed,
Mighty dreams occur for the time ahead.
Then wake up to the musical morning,
Make this verse I have written your only warning.
Pity is the only way you speak of others,
When suddenly you are in sleep, the blanket smothers.
poem by Naveed Akram
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