Sathington Willoughby
We are gathered here
Today in these majestic
Halls of old to honor
A man they call
Sathington willoughby.
Theres a joke or two,
A pun or three
I feel that must be
Told then I go on to
Speak of sathington willoughby.
Sathington willoughby
The legislator that
Penned us up a bill
That banned the use
Of certain things like this and that.
song performed by by Primus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Sathington Willoby
-------------------------
We are gathered here
Today in these majestic
Halls of old to honor
A man they call
Sathington Willoby
There's a joke or two, A pun or three
I feel that must be
Told then I go on to
Soeak of Sathington Willoby
Sathington Willoby
The legislator that
Penned us up a bill
That banned the use
Of certain things like this and that
song performed by by Primus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Cinderella Story: If the Shoe Fits
Sofia Carson, Jennifer Tilly, David Ury, Thomas Law, Samantha Willoughby, Christie Peruso
by Elena Song from A Cinderella Story: If the Shoe Fits (2016)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Letter Home
C/0 st. ignatus house, willoughby drive, parrametta,
New south wales
This fifth day of july, in the year of our lord nineteen
Hundred and thirty five
Why must I apologize every time that I sit down to write
Through my own fault I may find
Youre no longer living at this address
Please excuse the lack of news
The feeling of strange privilege
For the hour of trial, in these times of distress
Mean more than years imprisoned by etiquette.
I can remember when we were children
Though I could never imagine this day
Your brother told me wed live forever
Ill go one better, I heard myself say
And it seems so strange, now that hes gone to recall all these
Games
While the years have divided us
Friendships have strained and broken
Oh, by the way, hows that girl that you wed
I hated you then, but Im over the worst of it
I cant come home, I might as well say, life is short
I shall not write again
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Three Ships...
Sebastian Cabot returned from Spain,
To delight in England's shores,
He needed a route to old Cathay
To trade his wool for furs,
The Straits were held by the Spanish Dons
The Cape by the Portuguese,
Between them, strangling English trade,
He championed English needs.
So he formed the Merchant Adventurers,
To seek out a north-east route,
Each man hand-picked for his diligence
And conformity, to suit;
They had to be 'knit in unitie,
Obedience in everie degree',
So that no dissent would afflict them when
At mercy of tides and sea.
He chose three sturdy sailing ships
To seek the fabled course,
That would take them over the top of the world
Where man hadn't been before,
The Bona Confidentia
Was a ship of ninety tons,
Carrying victuals to serve the crews
For a voyage of fifteen months.
The Edward Bonaventura carried
The pilot of the fleet,
The seadog, Richard Chancellor,
A seaman, most complete.
But then, the Bona Speranza carried
The leader of the three,
A soldier with no ocean skills,
Sir Hugh - Hugh Willoughby.
They sailed at last by Greenwich there,
By Good King Hen-ery,
He bid them well, and weather fair
As they headed toward the sea,
But the winds blew up, and the seas were rough
And they sheltered for forty days,
Along the English coastline that
Was hidden in mist and haze.
They sailed past Scandinavia
Toward the Lapland coast,
So close that they could hail each other
To save one being lost,
But by the Lofotan Islands there
The wind it howled, forlorn,
And Willoughby failed to trim his sails,
So ran before the storm.
The other two fell far behind
Lost to each other's sight,
The seas hurled furious waves to
Batter the ships all through the night,
But when the storm had spent its force
And the sun rose, grey at the dawn,
Willoughby found the victuals ship
But Chancellor had gone.
The two remaining ships stayed close,
They crossed the Barents Sea,
They reached Novaya Zemlya then
Turned back, in misery,
The ice was just beginning to form
On yard and deck, and sail,
They headed back to find Murmansk
But ice lay on the rail.
By the cold Arzina River mouth
The ships were locked in the ice,
With never a human soul to see
In a million miles of white,
The seamen hung on the frosted rail
And searched while their eyes could see,
Then went below as the cold and snow
Closed in on their purgatory.
Willoughby sat at his cabin desk
And wrote in his diary,
'The land lay not as the globe was made,
I should never have put to sea.
The world up here is like frozen glass
And it streams from the yards and sails,
'Til the ship turns white, and disappears,
Into the landscape pales.
For months they fed on the victuals there,
Burnt sea-coal to warm their bones,
The sailors fell in a stupor, lay
In their bunks, or thought of home,
But the ice, it cracked, and the ship, it creaked
As the pressure built up outside,
And many a man was crazed, and ran
In search of the countryside.
And so they died there, one by one,
From fear, from cold, alas;
While Willoughby sat at his desk so still,
His diary frozen like glass,
It lay on the table, its final remark
Was to puzzle men, three years on,
With the ships of frozen statues found
Where they'd dropped and died, to a man.
The entry stood out stark and bare
With his frozen pen at his side,
As if he'd been trying to tell the world
How the last of his seamen died,
'There were strange beastes, to us unknowen,
And wonderful to be seen,
Prowled round the ship in the midnite gloome,
Dear God - I have locked me in! '
2 November 2008
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Barn at Willoughby's Farm - II
Jacinth's Tale
He was always there on the fringes
Of my world, when just a child,
There wasn't a time he wasn't there
To guide, protect, to chide,
He'd follow me safely home from school,
He'd take me for a ride,
A cousin, so many times removed
From those on my mother's side.
I wasn't the only sibling, but
It was me he called his pet,
The others would get quite jealous
And they'd not let me forget,
‘He carries a torch for you, Jacinth,
And never will let you be! '
But when I was just a teenager
He made me feel like a queen.
He was into his later twenties, then
But he didn't seem to care,
He'd let me dress for a party, then
He'd sit and he'd brush my hair,
There wasn't a friend as good as him
I told my party crowd,
The cuz that lived in the basement
Of our flat, my Tom O'Dowd.
But once I grew as a woman, then
His manner became intense,
He started to irritate me, and
Took issue with all my friends,
‘That fellow isn't the one for you,
He'll only drag you down! '
Or - ‘What in the world are you coming to?
That guy, he's simply a clown! '
He tried to snuggle up closer on
The couch, when I was home,
Started to stroke my hand and knee
When we were quite alone,
I told him I wasn't interested,
That he was merely a friend,
His eyes would follow me round the room,
‘You'll love me, in the end! '
I got upset, and told him straight:
‘I hate it when you cling!
Just leave me be, or Tom, you'll see
You'll just spoil everything! '
He pinned me against the bedroom wall
And stared with his wild, black eyes,
‘I didn't stick all these years, for you
To end up another man's prize! '
I'd started seeing a bikie, with
A Harley - God, it could move,
But never let on to cousin Tom,
I knew he wouldn't approve,
But Joe was really a softie, or
I thought so at the time,
I must have been quite naïve back then,
He'd dabbled in petty crime.
Then Joe suggested we go away,
Get shot of my cousin, Tom,
So I came up with a scheme, to make
It seem there was nothing wrong,
I said I'd a job as a Jillaroo,
And I boarded the bus one night,
Mentioned the name of Willoughby's Farm
So the driver would get it right.
I got off the bus at Lyndhurst, went
To wait by the old hotel,
When Joe rolled up on his Harley, and
We hit the road for a spell,
I kept in touch with my sister so
I'd know what was going down,
And then in the month of June I heard
That Tom was leaving town.
We headed out to the old bush track
I scrawled on that ancient tyre,
I wrote, ‘Five miles to Willoughby's Farm'
And hoped that he'd see it there,
We travelled out to the farm and hid,
For Joe had been there before,
Then buried an old sheep's carcass there
And left my bag by the door.
When Tom came into the barn that morn
We lay, deep hid in the hay,
And watched him dropp to his knees and sob,
Cry out in his pure dismay,
He seized the shovel, began to dig
Then Joe jumped out in a rage,
And suddenly there was blood and a scream
I will hear ‘til my dying day!
Joe lay there in a pool of blood
Where the shovel had sliced his throat,
And Tom reeled back when he heard me scream,
In a long and a high pitched note,
I rode away on the Harley, leaving
Tom back out on the track,
Sunk in that nightmare dream of his,
He'll never be coming back!
16 August,2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Barn at Willoughby's Farm
I have this recurring nightmare where
I'm wandering round a farm,
It's out in the middle of nowhere, just
A milking shed and a barn,
An ancient tractor sits by the house
But the blinds are pulled and drawn,
And it seems that the farmer left this place
Before Jacinth was born.
But ever I see her stand and wave
As she climbed aboard the bus,
Off for a life of adventure, not
Stuck here, like one of us,
She'd always wanted the country life
Away from the city's swell,
The day that she waved goodbye to us
Was my first real glimpse of hell!
‘Once I've settled, I'll write, ' she said,
‘Or else, there's always the phone;
I'll try to ring on a Friday night
When I'll catch you all at home! '
But she didn't ring, and she didn't write
And a month went by so soon,
She'd left in the middle of March, at night,
And then it was almost June!
I called on out to the agency
The office was next to the zoo,
She said they'd found her a pretty farm
That wanted a Jillaroo,
She'd cook and clean for the family,
And then work out on the farm,
Herding the lowing milkers in
To the milking shed by the barn.
The woman flicked through the client file
In a search for Jacinth's name,
She said, ‘That's strange, I've re-arranged
This file, but just the same,
I have no recollection of this
Girl, whatever she's called,
It could be another agency…'
But I thought the woman stalled!
I went to call at the depot where
The buses were parked at night,
I looked up the owner driver that
I'd seen when Jacinth took flight,
‘I don't remember the girl, ' he said,
‘But March was a fair way back,
She probably went to Willoughby's Farm
On the Strzelecki track.'
My heart sank into my boots at that,
I'd heard of that barren track,
There wasn't a working farm out there
Just bush and the bleak outback,
I packed up the old Toyota Ute
With a jerry can or two,
And headed on up to the Flinders
As I thought she'd want me to.
They hadn't seen her in Lyndhurst
What was left of the old ghost town,
I drove on up to Farina where
The buildings were falling down,
Then by the track on a tyre that sat
At the edge, on a pile of sand,
‘Five miles to Willoughby's Farm', the scrawl
Was writ in a shaky hand.
The farm was ruined and derelict,
The milking shed and the barn,
The tractor sat in a pile of rust
By the house of the ancient farm,
The roof had gone, had fallen in
But the barn was still intact,
And covered in dust by the old barn door
Was Jacinth's haversack.
I pushed the door and it opened up
With a creak of ages past,
I thought of the sweat on the farmer's brow
As he turned away, at the last,
But there in dry, brown dust of the floor
Was a slight but recent mound,
And a shovel leant by the cattle pen
As I fell on my knees, to the ground!
I have this recurring nightmare where
I'm wandering round a farm,
It's out in the middle of nowhere, just
A milking shed and a barn,
And the tears stream in this dreadful dream
To remember the pain and hurt;
With one last look at the haversack,
The shovel bit into the dirt!
15 August,2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am Bill!
I like to drink and I love to smoke
Which sadly though is not a joke
I even like to take an occasionally pill,
So I now have a really bad heart
Which is to blame on my part
So now, you can call me Bill.
I am not at all very tall
Others say that I am very small
Men are mountains I am just a hill,
I have no hair upon my head
So my head is covered or it would be red
So of course, you can call me Bill.
I have myself this one daughter
Whom says she has no father
That statement makes me feel so very ill,
It makes me feel also really sad
I cheated on her mom so she is mad
So of course, you can call me Bill.
I ride myself a motor bike
As it reminds me of my other trike
I ride it to impress women and others with a thrill,
I want people to think I am rough
But I am coward and I am not at all tough
So of course, you can call me Bill.
I have myself a girlfriend
She is just like me till the very end
She’ll do anything for me even against her will,
She has cheated and she has also lied
Threw away her dignity and also her pride
So of course, you can call me Bill.
I don’t have a job so I never go to work
Other persons call me lazy but that’s a perk
As now our government pays for all of my bill,
They also paid me to go to school
I used the money but I am still a fool
So of course, you can call me Bill.
I am jealous what other men own
As I have nothing living inside a broken home
So from others I like to rob and also steal,
It is hard to see me while I prowl at night
Where I cower in the shadows away from light
So of course, you can call me Bill.
When my life comes to an end
And I go to meet GOD with all my sin
Then finally I will know what in life was real,
I shamefully will walk to GOD in my platform shoes
While covering my head so he wont be amused
And I will say I am sorry; but of course, I am Bill.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ive Been Away
Ive been away so long
Wonder where I went wrong
Spent my last years in a cell
Never ever go away again
Ive been so sad and lonely
Never ever ever gonna go away again
Its a waste of time doing time
When you dindt commit a crime
It wasnt me it was my brother bill
And Id have to tell never gonna speak to bill again
Hes made me sad and lonely
Never ever gonna speak to brother bill again
It was no use, they put my brother on the jury
He bribed the others cause he owns the local brewery
They let me out today
Brother bills gonna pay
No ones ever gonna speak to bill again
Never ever gonna speak to bill again
Hell be too cold and bony
Never ever gonna go away again
Never ever gonna go away again
Never ever gonna go away again
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Today! !
Today the sun was shine less
Today the moon was mood less
Today the birds were wing less
Today as the sun rose, they told me
Today as I woke
They told me
Last night I’ve lost my voice they echoed me
Today the mountains are height less
Today the clock was time less
Today the sky was wind less
Today my hands were workless
Today as the sun boiled, they told me
Today as I spoiled
They told me
Last morning I’ve lost my hands they assured me
Today the world was sightless
Today the room was lightless
Today the voices were figureless
Today my eyes were imageless
Today as the night dived, they told me
Today as I defined
They told me
Last afternoon I’ve lost my eyes they cursed me
Today the era was soundless
Today the room was noise less
Today the things were strike less
Today my ears were voice less
Today as the dawn fell, they told me
Today as I felt
They told me
Last evening I’ve lost my ears they pitted me
Last night I was voiceless
Last night I was hand less
Last night I was eyes less
Last night I was ears less
And now today I feel
That they’ll tell me
That I’ve lost, they’ll yell me
Lost a heartbeat
And now is grave less
Left in open far godless
Unmentioned they say expressionless.
poem by Nishtha Dutta
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How to get on in life
Always try and smile
be as friendly as you can
be polite and well mannered
to every woman and man.
Be gentle and forgiving
keep calm all day long
try and have a sense of humour
even when things go wrong.
Don't swear and get drunk
and pay your taxes on time
be a law abiding citizen
and don't get involved in crime.
But all of the above is hard to do
as people and life can get you down
when you've had a really lousy day
instead of a smile it's usually a frown.
And when someone has been nasty
or your struggling to pay the gas bill
you don't feel like cracking a joke
you'd rather have a drink or a pill.
So just do what's best for yourself
and get by in your own sweet way
the best advice I ever got in life?
don't let the tax man ruin your day!
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blue Monday
How does it feel to treat me like you do?
When youve laid your hands upon me
And told me who you are
I thought I was mistaken
I thought I heard your words
Tell me, how do I feel
Tell me now, how do I feel
Those who came before me
Lived through their vocations
From the past until completion
Theyll turn away no more
And I still find it so hard
To say what I need to say
But Im quite sure that youll tell me
Just how I should feel today
I see a ship in the harbor
I can and shall obey
But if it wasnt for your misfortune
Id be a heavenly person today
And I thought I was mistaken
And I thought I heard you speak
Tell me how do I feel
Tell me now, how should I feel
Now I stand here waiting...
I thought I told you to leave me
While I walked down to the beach
Tell me how does it feel
When your heart grows cold
song performed by by Orgy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If These Walls Could Speak
If these old walls,
If these old walls could speak
Of the things that they remember well,
Stories and faces dearly held,
A couple in love
Livin week to week,
Rooms full of laughter,
If these walls could speak.
If these old halls,
If hallowed halls could talk,
These would have a tale to tell
Of sun goin down and dinner bell,
And children playing at hide and seek
>from floor to rafter,
If these halls could speak.
They would tell you that Im sorry
For bein cold and blind and weak.
They would tell you that its only
That I have a stubborn strreak,
If these walls could speak.
If these old fashioned window panes were eyes,
I guess they would have seen it all--
Each little tear and sigh and footfall,
And every dream that we came to seek
Or followed after,
If these walls could speak.
They would tell you that I owe you
More than I could ever pay.
Heres someone who really loves you;
Dont ever go away.
Thats what these walls would say.
They would tell you that I owe you
More than I could ever pay.
Heres someone who really loves you;
Dont ever go away.
Thats what these walls would say.
Thats what these walls would say.
Thats what these walls would say.
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Seele Im Raum
It sat between my husband and my children.
A place was set for it—a plate of greens.
It had been there: I had seen it
But not somehow—but this was like a dream—
Not seen it so that I knew I saw it.
It was as if I could not know I saw it
Because I had never once in all my life
Not seen it. It was an eland.
An eland! That is why the children
Would ask my husband, for a joke, at Christmas:
“Father, is it Donner?” He would say, “No, Blitzen.”
It had been there always. Now we put silver
At its place at meals, fed it the same food
We ourselves ate, and said nothing. Many times
When it breathed heavily (when it had tried
A long useless time to speak) and reached to me
So that I touched it—of a different size
And order of being, like the live hard side
Of a horse’s neck when you pat the horse—
And looked with its great melting tearless eyes
Fringed with a few coarse wire-like lashes
Into my eyes, and whispered to me
So that my eyes turned backward in their sockets
And they said nothing—
many times
I have known, when they said nothing,
That it did not exist. If they had heard
They could not have been silent. And yet they heard;
Heard many times what I have spoken
When it could no longer speak, but only breathe—
When I could no longer speak, but only breathe.
And, after some years, the others came
And took it from me—it was ill, they told me—
And cured it, they wrote me: my whole city
Sent me cards lilac-branches, mourning
As I had mourned—
and I was standing
By a grave in flowers, by dyed rolls of turf,
And a canvas marquee the last brown of earth.
It is over.
It is over so long that I begin to think
That it did not exist, that I have never—
And my son says, one morning, from the paper:
“An eland. Look, an eland!”
—It was so.
Today, in a German dictionary, I saw elend
And the heart in my breast turned over, it was—
It was a word one translates wretched.
It is as if someone remembered saying:
“This is an antimacassar that I grew from seed,”
And this were true.
And, truly,
One could not wish for anything more strange—
For anything more. And yet it wasn’t interesting ...
—It was worse than impossible, it was a joke.
And yet when it was, I was—
Even to think that I once thought
That I could see it to feel the sweat
Like needles at my hair-roots, I am blind
—It was not even a joke, not even a joke.
Yet how can I believe it? Or believe that I
Owned it, a husband, children? Is my voice the voice
Of that skin of being—of what owns, is owned
In honor or dishonor, that is borne and bears—
Or of that raw thing, the being inside it
That has neither a wife, a husband, nor a child
But goes at last as naked from this world
As it was born into it—
And the eland comes and grazes on its grave.
This is senseless?
Shall I make sense or shall I tell the truth?
Choose either—I cannot do both.
I tell myself that. And yet it is not so,
And what I say afterwards will not be so:
To be at all is to be wrong.
Being is being old
And saying, almost comfortably, across a table
From—
from what I don’t know—
in a voice
Rich with a kind of longing satisfaction:
“To own an eland! That’s what I call life!”
poem by Randall Jarrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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911 Is A Joke
Now I dialed nine one one a long time ago
Dont you see how late theyre reactin
They only come, and they come when they wanna
So get the morgue truck em back the goner
They dont care cause they stay paid anyway
They treat you like an ace that cant be betrayed
I know you stumble with no use people
If your life is on the line, then youre dead today
Late comings with the late comin stretcher -
Thats a body bag in disguise - yall Ill betcha
I call em body snatchers
Quick they come to fetch you -
With an autopsy ambulance just to dissect ya
They are the kings cos they swing amputation
Lose your arms your legs the famous compilation
I can prove it to you watch the rotation
It all adds up to a funky situation
Get up, get get down
911 is a joke in yo town
Get up, get get down
Late 911 wears the late crown
(chorus)
(ow)
911 is a joke , 911 is a joke
Everyday they dont never come correct
You can ask my man right here with the broken neck
Hes a witness to the job never bein done
He wouldve been in full effect , 911
Is a joke because their always jokin
They the token to your life when its croakin
They need to be in a pawn shop on a 911 -
Is a joke we dont want em
I call a cab cause a cab will come quicker
The doctors huddle up and call a flea flicker
The reason that I say that cause they
Flick you off like fleas
They be laughin at ya while youre crawlin on our knees
And to the strength, so go the length
Thinkin you are first when you really are tenth
You better wake up and smell the real flavor
Cause 911 is a fake life saver
(chorus) (chorus)
Ow, ow 911 is a joke
911 is a joke,
911 is a joke,
911 is a joke, 911 is a joke.
(get up, get get down)
911 is a joke, 911 is a joke, 911 is a joke
(get up, get get down)
911 is a joke, 911 is a joke, 911 is a joke
(get up, get get down)
Ooooh, yeahh
song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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60 Miles Per Hour
How does it feel to treat me like you do?
When you've laid your hands upon me and told me who you are.
I thought I was mistaken, I thought I heard your words.
Tell me how do I feel. Tell me now, how do I feel.
Those who came before me lived through their vocations
from the past until completion, they'll turn away no more.
And still I find it so hard to say what I need to say.
But I'm quite sure that you'll tell me just how I should feel today.
I see a ship in the harbor. I can and shall obey.
But if it wasn't for your misfortune, I'd be a heavenly person today.
And I thought I was mistaken, and I thought I heard you speak
Tell me, how do I feel. Tell me now, how should I feel.
Now I stand here waiting...
I thought I told you to leave me when I walked down to the beach.
Tell me how does it feel, when your heart grows cold, grows cold, cold.
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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People keep coming up to me and asking, 'How does it feel to be banned for life?' Banned for life. I wasn't banned for life. There was never a word of suspension, probation or ban in that agreement. It was never meant to be part of it.
quote by George Steinbrenner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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These Little Things
Have I told you I need you
I suppose you already know
Do you not trust my heart
Surely love will only grow
These Little Things
Have I told you I want you
Do I not show you all the time
Your my only desire you are
Always you are on my mind
These Little Things
Have I told you I love you
If my heart could only speak
It would tell you how I feel
But it's so much more then speech
These Little Things
poem by Suelynn Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Paddington Ear
alone
i made
a call
home
far away
from platform
one
& found
upon
my phone
a family
(half
asleep)
in bed
one half
my wife
one half
my son
& spoke
to both
a wife
i once
(or twice)
had listened
to
(or more)
a son
i heard
now speak
who wouldn’t
speak before
today it was
the first time
that my son
would speak
today
the first time
i would hear
him speak
today
i heard
my son
speak
today
i heard
my son.
13.iii.08 London Paddington
poem by Andrew Fincham
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Voice Of America
America has Longfellow and Whittier and Poe
And Frost, Lowell, Bryant and Whitman their legend grow and grow
But the Voice of America to none of these belong
That title belong to one more lyrical one who was a prince of song.
Camptown Races, My Old Kentucky Home and the unforgettable Old Black Joe
His songs as popular today as they were decades ago
My Jeannie With The Light Brown Hair and Hard Times Come Again No More
Are sung in halls and pubs and clubs far from his Homeland shore.
The legacy of his genius lives in the beauty he did create
The name of Stephen Foster is a name to celebrate
His songs withstand the test of time the greatest test of all
The many memorable songs he penned are delightful to recall.
America can boast of many great poets their's is a Worldwide fame
But the one who penned the legendary songs Stephen Foster was his name
Is the Voice of America he did not live to be old
He died young and impoverished or so we have been told.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blue Monday
How does it feel
To treat me like you do
When youve laid your hands upon me
And told me who you are
I thought I was mistaken
I thought I heard your words
Tell me how do I feel
Tell me now how do I feel
Those who came before me
Lived through their vocations
From the past until completion
They will turn away no more
And I still find it so hard
To say what I need to say
But Im quite sure that youll tell me
Just how I should feel today
I see a ship in the harbor
I can and shall obey
But if it wasnt for your misfortunes
Id be a heavenly person today
And I thought I was mistaken
And I thought I heard you speak
Tell me how do I feel
Tell me now how should I feel
Now I stand here waiting
I thought I told you to leave me
While I walked down to the beach
Tell me how does it feel
When your heart grows cold
(grows cold, grows cold, grows cold)
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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