En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Blessed

CUMHAL called out, bending his head,
Till Dathi came and stood,
With a blink in his eyes, at the cave-mouth,
Between the wind and the wood.
And Cumhal said, bending his knees,
'I have come by the windy way
And learn to pray when you pray.
'I can bring you salmon out of the streams
And heron out of the skies.'
But Dathi folded his hands and smiled
With the secrets of God in his eyes.
And Cumhal saw like a drifting smoke
All manner of blessed souls,
Women and children, young men with books,
And old men with croziers and stoles.
'praise God and God's Mother,' Dathi said,
'For God and God's Mother have sent
The blessedest souls that walk in the world
To fill your heart with content.'
'And which is the blessedest,' Cumhal said,
'Where all are comely and good?
Is it these that with golden thuribles
Are singing about the wood?'
'My eyes are blinking,' Dathi said,
'With the secrets of God half blind,
But I can see where the wind goes
And follow the way of the wind;
'And blessedness goes where the wind goes,
And when it is gone we are dead;
I see the blessedest soul in the world
And he nods a drunken head.
'O blessedness comes in the night and the day
And whither the wise heart knows;
And one has seen in the redness of wine
The Incorruptible Rose,
'That drowsily drops faint leaves on him
And the sweetness of desire,
While time and the world are ebbing away
In twilights of dew and of fire.'

poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Voice On The Wind

I

She walks with the wind on the windy height
When the rocks are loud and the waves are white,
And all night long she calls through the night,
'O my children, come home!'
Her bleak gown, torn as a tattered cloud,
Tosses around her like a shroud,
While over the deep her voice rings loud,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'

II

Who is she who wanders alone,
When the wind drives sheer and the rain is blown?
Who walks all night and makes her moan,
'O my children, come home!'
Whose face is raised to the blinding gale;
Whose hair blows black and whose eyes are pale,
While over the world goes by her wail,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'

III

She walks with the wind in the windy wood;
The dark rain drips from her hair and hood,
And her cry sobs by, like a ghost pursued,
'O my children, come home!'
Where the trees loom gaunt and the rocks stretch drear,
The owl and the fox crouch back with fear,
As wild through the wood her voice they hear,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'

IV

Who is she who shudders by
When the boughs blow bare and the dead leaves fly?
Who walks all night with her wailing cry,
'O my children, come home!'
Who, strange of look, and wild of tongue,
With wan feet wounded and hands wild-wrung,
Sweeps on and on with her cry, far-flung,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'

V

'Tis the Spirit of Autumn, no man sees,
The mother of Death and of Mysteries,
Who cries on the wind all night to these,
'O my children, come home!'
The Spirit of Autumn, pierced with pain,
Calling her children home again,
Death and Dreams, through ruin and rain,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'

poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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Under An Oak Tree

The leaves of my soul crunch beneath my feet
With the many pieces of me
They all collapse without the other half

Wind telling them secrets
The flowers singing them songs
But all of them horror
Saddened lies and deceit

The sent of a green tree so sweet and desirable
Just stands behind me to protect his prize
A rose gently swaying in the breeze
If carefully picked she might know how to please

Then yet again like a man of waves and fire
A man of stone and beard
Once said all women are like snakes
Not all snakes are venomous
But all snakes are deadly
I am different
And this he sees
Very easy to please
All I want is to laugh
To smile and to give
This he does

The wind in my hair is so great
But I know the evilness it holds
The secrets it tells
Dares not to share them with me
Blowing the pages in my journal around
Like a teen to its mother

The fresh due tickling my finger tips
As if feathers trying to make me sneeze
Warming my cooled face
The reds and yellows spying into my eyes
To see what I’m dreaming about
I see as I open my eyes
I was just sleeping under the oak tree

poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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Fly with the wind

I want to be a bird
so beautiful and free
I want to fly like the wind

I want to be a swan
so graceful and pure
I want to fly like the wind

I want to be a hawk
with eyes that see the soul
I want to fly like the wind

I want to be an owl
wise queen of the night
I want to fly like the wind

I want to be a dove
bringing good luck to many
I want to fly like the wind

I want to be a parrot
with colors and wit
I want to fly like the wind

I want to be a nightingale
with the sweetest of voices
i want to fly like the wind

I want to be a raven
Darker than a starless night
I want to fly like the wind

I want to be me
and if I'm accepted
I will fly with the wind

poem by Alexianna Brandhagen
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White Dove

Music :presser, adamis, rudolf schenker
Lyrics:klaus meine
A place without a name
Under a burning sky
Theres no milk and honey here
In the land of god
Someone holds a sign
It says we are human, too
And while the sun goes down
The world goes by
White dove
Fly with the wind
Take our hope under your wings
For the world to know
That hope will not die
Where the children cry
Waves, big like a house
Theyre stranded on a piece of wood
To leave it all behind
To start again
But instead of a new life
All they find is a door thats closed
And they keep looking for
A place called hope
White dove
Fly with the wind
Take our hope under your wings
For the world to know
That hope will not die
Where the children cry
Na na
Na na na na
Na na na na na na na na
Na na
Na na na na
Na na na na na
Can anyone tell me why (can anyone tell me why)
The children of the world (the children of the world)
Have to pay the price (pay another price)
And now your telling me
Youve seen it all before
I know thats right but still
It breaks my heart
Well, the golden lamb we sent
Makes us feel better now
But you know its just a drop
In a sea of tears
White dove
Fly with the wind
Take our hope under your wings
For the world to know
That hope will not die
Where the children cry
White dove
Fly with the wind
Take our hope under your wings
For the world to know
That hope will not die
Where the children cry
Na na
Na na na na
Na na na na na na na na
Na na
Na na na na
Na na na na na
...

song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blowing Of The wind

I felt the blowing of the wind
As it enters my soul from deep within
It entered my soul, and wouldn’t let go
It is the wind from where life begins.

The wind, she is known by all man,
And from whomever sits or walks or stands
For the wind is known, when she has blown
And when she is silent, the world is alone.

The wind, it is mans friend
As I journey through the world of men,
She strengthens my soul, and she wont let go
So upon her breath, I will forever hold.

The name of the wind, I will call her friend
As she enters my breath, from deep within
She surrounds my soul, and takes a deep hold
And I pray that never will she not let go.
She is the breeze, I do believe
From the steps I walk. and from the air I breathe,
When she touches my face my sorrows are erased,
For she is the wind, the mother of the breeze.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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The Four Places Of Sorrow

There is sorrow for me in the North, where the black wind blows,
(Hush, O Wind of the dirges, O Voice of the restless dead!)
The ache of its cruel keening thro' my heart like an arrow goes,
I see in the tossing waters the sheen of a dear bright head.

There is sorrow for me in the South, where the white wind sings,
(Hush, O Wind of all lovers, crooning a laugh and a cry!)
On the pain of a dream love-haunted breaks the music of wings,
Seagulls, sweeping and swaying, saw ye my dead drift by?

There is sorrow for me in the East, where the red wind burns,
(Hush, O Wind of remorse, O Wind of the scourging flame!)
Under its slow cold dawning the soul of the drowned returns
And wan, in the startled daybreak, a ghost from the sea he came.

There is sorrow for me in the West, where the brown wind raves,
(Hush, O Wind from the bogs, O memory-freighted Wind!)
He is spindrift hither and thither, sport of unweary waves:
Would that my heart were close on his heart, my eyes on his eyes were blind!

poem by Anna Johnston MacManus
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The Wind That Ever Blows

The wind that ever blows,
opens my heart's Rose.
The clouds on the face of Sun,
playing with wind and all over Run.
The chirp of sparrow makes me to feel,
gazing in the sky standing on my heel.
The wind that ever blows,
Opens my heart's Rose.
The Blue color of the Sky gives pleasure to my eyes,
like, wants to take me out from the world of lies.
The rustling of leaves makes me gay,
to stand up and with them play.
The wind that ever blows,
opens my heart's Rose.
This time I just want one,
The ALLAH EXALTED (GOD) and NONE,
and this time except HIM no one my feeling knows,
The Wind that ever Blows,
Opens my heart's Rose....
(SEEMA REHMAN)

poem by Seema Rehman
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Wind Child Love Embracing

wind child still
I see your joy laughing eyes
wind child still
I see your warm eyes laughing

wind child still
I see your eyes green healing
wind child still
I see an emerald sea your eyes

wind child still
I see your soft dove brown eyes
wind child still
I see your fawn eyes new life running

wind child still
I see your dark black eyes blessing
wind child still
I see your soul dark passion eyes

wind child still
I see your love welcoming eyes
wind child still
I see your smile universe embracing

wind child still
I see your love of God’s creativity spreading
wind child still
I see stars in heaven smile in your soul eyes

poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Lamp of Poor Souls

[In many English churches before the Reformation there was kept a little lamp continually burning, called the Lamp of Poor Souls. People were reminded thereby to pray for the souls of those dead whose kinsfolk were too poor to pay for prayers and masses.]

Above my head the shields are stained with rust,
The wind has taken his spoil, the moth his part;
Dust of dead men beneath my knees, and dust,
Lord, in my heart.

Lay Thou the hand of faith upon my fears;
The priest has prayed, the silver bell has rung,
But not for him. O unforgotten tears,
He was so young!

Shine, little lamp, nor let thy light grow dim.
Into what vast, dread dreams, what lonely lands,
Into what griefs hath death delivered him,
Far from my hands?

Cradled is he, with half his prayers forgot.
I cannot learn the level way he goes.
He whom the harvest hath remembered not
Sleeps with the rose.

Shine, little lamp, fed with sweet oil of prayers.
Shine, little lamp, as God's own eyes may shine,
When He treads softly down His starry stairs
And whispers, "Thou art Mine."

Shine, little lamp, for love hath fed thy gleam.
Sleep, little soul, by God's own hands set free.
Cling to His arms and sleep, and sleeping, dream,
And dreaming, look for me.

poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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Weight of the Wind

The wind carries much more than we see
It carries a lot of what makes you and me
The wind blows and carries lies
Around the world it carries cries

We don't hear nor see any of these things
We don't know or feel what the wind brings
The wind carries the wishes and dreams
The wind carries promises down streams

On it lays our secrets we hold inside
Also the love for others we try to hide
It carries so much oh how I wish to know
With all that weight how can the wind blow?

poem by Mathew Welch
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Great Spirits

When the earth was young
And the air was sweet
And the mountains kissed the sky
In the far beyond, with its many paths
Man and nature lived side by side
The pretty wisdom does not come without learning
And revision not wholly with our eyes
We can think that we see
Truly see you're around us
But when we look
Do we see with open minds?
Great Spirits of all who lived before
Take our hands and lead us
Fill our hearts and souls with all you know
The key to understanding
Is to see through others' eyes
Find a way to help us
See from all sides
Truly see from all sides
Teach our children to look deeper than the surface
See the world through another's eyes
For to be blind me on yourself
Is to look but not see it
Knowing much is not enough to be wise
To see the wonder
In all we've been given
In a world that's not always as it seems
On the part that we choose
Turn every corner
Follow on, for another begins
Great Spirits of all who lived before
Take our hands and lead us
Fill our hearts and souls with all you know
Key to understanding
Is to see through others' eyes
Find a way to help us
See from all sides
Truly see from all sides
Great Spirits of all who lived before
Take our hands and lead us
Fill our hearts and souls with all you know
Key to understanding
Is to see through others' eyes
Find a way to help us
See from all sides
Truly see from all sides
See from all sides

song performed by by Phil Collins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Last Envoy

THIS wind, that through the silent woodland blows,
O'er rippling corn and dreaming pastures goes
Straight to the garden where the heart of spring
Faints in the heart of summer's earliest rose.

Dimpling the meadow's grassy green and grey,
By furze that yellows all the common way,
Gathering the gladness of the flowering broom,
And too persistent fragrance of the may--

Gathering whatever is of sweet and dear,
The wandering wind has passed away from here,
Has passed to where within your garden waits
The concentrated sweetness of the year.

And in your leafed enclosure as you stood,
Training your flowers to new beatitude--
Ah! did you guess the wind that kissed your hair
Had kissed my forehead in this solitude--

Had kissed my lips, and gathered there the heat
It breathed upon your mouth, my only sweet--
Had gathered from my eyes the tender thought
That drooped your eyes, and stirred your pulses' beat?

You only thought the sun's caress too warm
That lay upon your bosom and your arm;
You did not guess the wind had brought from me
The unacknowledged fancy's fire and charm--

You only said, 'Too strong these sunlit skies,
More dear the moments when the daylight dies!'
And then you dreamed of meetings by your gate
In sanctity of sunset and moonrise.

To-night, when he shall come and meet you there,
To kiss your lips and hands and eyes and hair,
To light with love and hope youth's waiting shrine--
Think of my love, and my assured despair!

To-night the wind will rob the languid flowers
Of secret scents kept close through daylit hours;
It will blow coolly over dewy lawns,
Where the laburnums fall in silent showers.

I, too, shall learn a secret then--shall wrest
Life's hidden things from out her languorous breast,
Shall learn the way that leads away from life
Into the land where nothing lives but rest.

You will not know that the cold air you prize,
After the stormy sweetness of his sighs,
Is cold from blowing through a moonlit wood
Over the hollow where a dead man lies!

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Psalm 115

The true God our refuge; or, Idolatry reproved.

Not to ourselves, who are but dust,
Not to ourselves is glory due,
Eternal God, thou only just,
Thou only gracious, wise, and true.

Shine forth in all thy dreadful name;
Why should a heathen's haughty tongue
Insult us, and, to raise our shame,
Say, "Where's the God you've served so long?"

The God we serve maintains his throne
Above the clouds, beyond the skies;
Through all the earth his will is done;
He knows our groans, he hears our cries.

But the vain idols they adore
Are senseless shapes of stone and wood;
At best a mass of glitt'ring ore,
A silver saint or golden god.

[With eyes and ears they carve their head;
Deaf are their ears, their eyes are blind;
In vain are costly off'rings made,
And vows are scattered in the wind.

Their feet were never made to move,
Nor hands to save when mortals pray;
Mortals that pay them fear or love
Seem to be blind and deaf as they.]

O Isr'el! make the Lord thy hope,
Thy help, thy refuge, and thy rest;
The Lord shall build thy ruins up,
And bless the people and the priest.

The dead no more can speak thy praise,
They dwell in silence and the grave;
But we shall live to sing thy grace,
And tell the world thy power to save.

poem by Isaac Watts
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The Night Dream

To R. L.

NEITHER her voice, her name,
Eyes, quietness neither,
That moved through the light, that came
Cold stalk in her teeth
Bitten of some blue flower
Knew I before nor saw.
This was a dream. Ah,
This was a dream. There was sun
Laid on the cloths of a table
We drank together. Her mouth
Was a lion's mouth out of jade
Cold with a fable of water.
Faces I could not see
Watched me with gentleness. Grace
Folded my body with wings.
I cannot love you she said.
My head she laid on her breast.
As stillness with ringing of bees
I was filled with a singing of praise.
Knowledge filled me and peace.
We were silent and not ashamed.
Ah we were glad that day.
They asked me but it was one
Dead they meant and not I.
She was beside me she said.
We rode in a desert place.
We were always happy. Her sleeves
Jangled with earrings of gold.
They told me the wind from the south
Was the cold wind to be feared.
We were galloping under the leaves
This was a dream, Ah
This was a dream.
And her mouth
Was not your mouth nor her eyes,
But the rivers were four and I knew
As a secret between us, the way
Hands touch, it was you.

poem by Archibald MacLeish
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Wind Me Up, Let Me Go

Im just a little tin soldier in your hands
Im good for nothing but to obey your commands
Youve never really loved me I know
So wind me up let me go
Im just a play thing till you see someone else
And then you leave me alone on the shelf
But even tin soldiers have hearts dont you know
So wind me up let me go
You dont really need me youve a hundred other toys
And tear drops dont look good in the eyes of soldier boys
So pick me up and hold me one more time
Thats just consolation for this heart of mine
Whisper a sweet word to the one who loves you
So then wind me up let me go
Then wind me up let me go

song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thought That It Was You

(morten harket / ole sverre olsen)
I thought that it was you
The things you saw me do
They were true
Little did I know
You found me in your joy
And there was i, a little boy
My shadows theyre not new
My souls split in two
Lord, I thought that it was you
This christmas snow that falls
Gives silence to us all, amen, amen
You know my deepest sin
Youve seen me deep within
So fill me now like wind
And let the miracle begin
Theres a river and you know
Theres a place we used to go
Thats where I throw our ashes now
I must have walked into a cave
Among these things that you must save
And there I touched the grave
You know my deepest sin
Youve seen me deep within
But fill me now like wind
And let the miracle begin
You know my deepest sin
Youve seen me deep within
But fill me now like wind
And let the miracle begin
Sometimes I felt so sure
When I opened up your doors
That thered been no one there before
You know my deepest sin
Youve seen me deep within
But fly, fly higher from it
Just look into my eyes
You know my deepest sin
Youve seen me deep within
But fill me now like wind
And let the miracle begin
And the secrets that you say

song performed by by A-Ha
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mater Dolorosa

Who is this that sits by the way, by the wild wayside,
In a rent stained raiment, the robe of a cast-off bride,
In the dust, in the rainfall sitting, with soiled feet bare,
With the night for a garment upon her, with torn wet hair?
She is fairer of face than the daughters of men, and her eyes,
Worn through with her tears, are deep as the depth of skies.

This is she for whose sake being fallen, for whose abject sake,
Earth groans in the blackness of darkness, and men's hearts break.
This is she for whose love, having seen her, the men that were
Poured life out as water, and shed their souls upon air.
This is she for whose glory their years were counted as foam;
Whose face was a light upon Greece, was a fire upon Rome.

Is it now not surely a vain thing, a foolish and vain,
To sit down by her, mourn to her, serve her, partake in the pain?
She is grey with the dust of time on his manifold ways,
Where her faint feet stumble and falter through year-long days.
Shall she help us at all, O fools, give fruit or give fame,
Who herself is a name despised, a rejected name?

We have not served her for guerdon. If any do so,
That his mouth may be sweet with such honey, we care not to know.
We have drunk from a wine-unsweetened, a perilous cup,
A draught very bitter. The kings of the earth stood up,
And the rulers took counsel together, to smite her and slay;
And the blood of her wounds is given us to drink today.

Can these bones live? or the leaves that are dead leaves bud?
Or the dead blood drawn from her veins be in your veins blood?
Will ye gather up water again that was drawn and shed?
In the blood is the life of the veins, and her veins are dead.
For the lives that are over are over, and past things past;
She had her day, and it is not; was first, and is last.

Is it nothing unto you then, all ye that pass by,
If her breath be left in her lips, if she live now or die?
Behold now, O people, and say if she be not fair,
Whom your fathers followed to find her, with praise and prayer,
And rejoiced, having found her, though roof they had none nor bread;
But ye care not; what is it to you if her day be dead?

It was well with our fathers; their sound was in all men's lands;
There was fire in their hearts, and the hunger of fight in their
hands.
Naked and strong they went forth in her strength like flame,
For her love's and her name's sake of old, her republican name.
But their children, by kings made quiet, by priests made wise,
Love better the heat of their hearths than the light of her eyes.

Are they children of these thy children indeed, who have sold,
O golden goddess, the light of thy face for gold?
Are they sons indeed of the sons of thy dayspring of hope,
Whose lives are in fief of an emperor, whose souls of a Pope?
Hide then thine head, O beloved; thy time is done;
Thy kingdom is broken in heaven, and blind thy sun.

What sleep is upon you, to dream she indeed shall rise,
When the hopes are dead in her heart as the tears in her eyes?
If ye sing of her dead, will she stir? if ye weep for her, weep?
Come away now, leave her; what hath she to do but sleep?
But ye that mourn are alive, and have years to be;
And life is good, and the world is wiser than we.

Yea, wise is the world and mighty, with years to give,
And years to promise; but how long now shall it live?
And foolish and poor is faith, and her ways are bare,
Till she find the way of the sun, and the morning air.
In that hour shall this dead face shine as the face of the sun,
And the soul of man and her soul and the world's be one.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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One of the Shepherds

We were out on the hills that night
To watch our sheep;
Drowsily by the fire we lay
Where the waning flame did flicker and leap,
And some were weary and half asleep,
And some talked low of their flocks and the fright
Of a lion that day.

But I had drawn from the others apart;
I was only a lad,
And the night's great silence so filled my heart
That I dared not talk and I dared not jest;
The moon had gone down behind the hill
And even the wind of the desert was still;
As the touch of death the air was cold,
And the world seemed all outworn and old;
Yet a poignant delight in my soul was guest,
And I could not be sad.

Still were my thoughts the thoughts of youth
Under the skies:
I dreamed of the holy and tender truth
That shone for me in my mother's eyes;
Of my little sister's innocent grace,
And the mirthful lure in the olive face
Of a maid I had seen at the well that day,
Singing low as I passed that way,
And so sweet and wild were the notes of her song,
That I listened long.

Was it the dawn that silvered and broke
Over the hill?
Each at the other looked in amaze,
And never a breathless word we spoke.
Fast into rose and daffodil
Deepened that splendor; athwart its blaze
That pierced like a sword the gulf of night
We saw a form that was shaped of the light,
And we veiled our faces in awe and dread
To hearken the tidings the Bright One told­
Oh! wonderful were the words he said­
Of a Child in Bethlehem's manger old.

The stars were drowned in that orient glow;
The sky was abloom like a meadow in spring;
But each blossom there was a radiant face
And each flash of glory a shining wing;
They harped of peace and great good will,
And such was their music that well I know
There can never again in my soul be space
For a sound of ill.

The light died out as the sunset dies
In the western skies;
Swift went we to the Bethlehem khan,
Many our questions laughed to scorn,
But one, a gray and wrinkled man,
With strange, deep eyes that searched the heart,
Led us down to the child new-born
In a dim-lighted cave apart.

There on the straw the mother lay
Wan and white,
But her look was so holy and rapt and mild
That it seemed to shed a marvellous light,
Faint as the first rare gleam of day,
Around the child.

It was as other children are
Saving for something in the eyes,
Starlike and clear and strangely wise­
Then came a sudden thought to me
Of a lamb I had found on the waste afar;
Lost and sick with hunger and cold,
I had brought it back in my arms to the fold
For tender ministry.

Dawn had flooded the east as a wave
When we left the cave;
All the world suddenly seemed to be
Young and pure and joyous again;
The others lingered to talk with the men,
Full of wonder and rapture still;
But I hastened back to the fold on the hill
To tend the lamb that had need of me.

poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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World's Worth

'TIS of the Father Hilary.
He strove, but could not pray; so took
The steep-coiled stair, where his feet shook
A sad blind echo. Ever up
He toiled. 'Twas a sick sway of air
That autumn noon within the stair,
As dizzy as a turning cup.
His brain benumbed him, void and thin;
He shut his eyes and felt it spin;
The obscure deafness hemmed him in.
He said: “O world, what world for me?”
He leaned unto the balcony
Where the chime keeps the night and day;
It hurt his brain, he could not pray.
He had his face upon the stone:
Deep 'twixt the narrow shafts, his eye
Passed all the roofs to the stark sky,
Swept with no wing, with wind alone.
Close to his feet the sky did shake
With wind in pools that the rains make;
The ripple set his eyes to ache.
He said: “O world, what world for me?”

He stood within the mystery
Girding God's blessed Eucharist:
The organ and the chaunt had ceas'd.
The last words paused against his ear
Said from the altar: drawn round him
The gathering rest was dumb and dim.
And now the sacring-bell rang clear
And ceased; and all was awe,—the breath
Of God in man that warranteth
The inmost utmost things of faith.
He said: “O God, my world in Thee!”

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wind Me Up

I've got something
That you ought to know
Don't even know
Whether to come or go
Up down
Head's spinning around
Wind up in
The lost and found
Wind me up, Wind me up
Wind me up, Wind me up
Wind me up, Wind me up
Tell me why
You make it so hard
All I ask is
Finish what you start
Wind me up, Wind me up
Wind me up, Wind me up
Wind me up, Wind me up
Wind me up that's
All you do
Wind me up and
Leave me blue
I'd like to see if
You could be
Kind enough to me
When you
Wind me up
Don't take me places
Then wanna go home
Sometimes, I think
I'm better off alone
Hey girl, you know
What you do
Color me red
Then leave me blue

song performed by by Extreme
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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