LET IT OUT WITH A SONG OR POEM!!!!!!!

This is the song of my people;

Lyrics
Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll me
I ain't the sharpest tool in the shed
She was looking kind of dumb with her finger and her thumb
In the shape of an "L" on her forehead
Well the years start coming and they don't stop coming
Fed to the rules and I hit the ground running
Didn't make sense not to live for fun
Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb
So much to do, so much to see
So what's wrong with taking the back streets?
You'll never know if you don't go
You'll never shine if you don't glow
Hey now, you're an all-star, get your game on, go play
Hey now, you're a rock star, get the show on, get paid
And all that glitters is gold
Only shooting stars break the mold
It's a cool place and they say it gets colder
You're bundled up now, wait till you get older
But the meteor men beg to differ
Judging by the hole in the satellite picture
The ice we skate is getting pretty thin
The water's getting warm so you might as well swim
My world's on fire, how about yours?
That's the way I like it and I never get bored
Hey now, you're an all-star, get your game on, go play
Hey now, you're a rock star, get the show on, get paid
All that glitters is gold
Only shooting stars break the mold
Hey now, you're an all-star, get your game on, go play
Hey now, you're a rock star, get the show, on get paid
And all that glitters is gold
Only shooting stars
Somebody once asked could I spare some change for gas?
I need to get myself away from this place
I said yep what a concept
I could use a little fuel myself
And we could all use a little change
Well, the years start coming and they don't stop coming
Fed to the rules and I hit the ground running
Didn't make sense not to live for fun
Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb
So much to do, so much to see
So what's wrong with taking the back streets?
You'll never know if you don't go (go!)
You'll never shine if you don't glow
Hey now, you're an all-star, get your game on, go play
Hey now, you're a rock star, get the show on, get paid
And all that glitters is gold
Only shooting stars break the mold
And all that glitters is gold
Only shooting stars break the mold

{Song: All star by smash mouth}

LeelaTuranga wrote:Mad Girl's Love Song
By Sylvia Plath
"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

I was absolutely obsessed with Sylvia Plath last winter. Mainly this poem, "Lady Lazarus" and "Ariel". Some of my favourite lines by her:

"Dying
is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.
I do it so it feels like Hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call."
-Lady Lazarus

"And I
am the arrow,
The dew that flies
Suicidal, at one with the drive
Into the red
Eye, the cauldron of morning."
-Ariel

"So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.
I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby
That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern."
-Lady Lazarus

Outside of Plath, I quite like this:

"I must have died
A thousand times
When I get out
I'll rule the world"
-"Futuristic Casket" by Phantogram

Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
pressed me against his heart, I would perish
in the embrace of his stronger existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror
which we are barely able to endure and are awed
because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Each single angel is terrifying.
And so I force myself, swallow and hold back
the surging call of my dark sobbing.
Oh, to whom can we turn for help?
Not angels, not humans;
and even the knowing animals are aware that we feel
little secure and at home in our interpreted world.
There remains perhaps some tree on a hillside
daily for us to see; yesterday's street remains for us
stayed, moved in with us and showed no signs of leaving.
Oh, and the night, the night, when the wind
full of cosmic space invades our frightened faces.
Whom would it not remain for -that longed-after,
gently disenchanting night, painfully there for the
solitary heart to achieve? Is it easier for lovers?
Don't you know yet ? Fling out of your arms the
emptiness into the spaces we breath -perhaps the birds
will feel the expanded air in their more ferven flight.

Yes, the springtime were in need of you. Often a star
waited for you to espy it and sense its light.
A wave rolled toward you out of the distant past,
or as you walked below an open window,
a violin gave itself to your hearing.
All this was trust. But could you manage it?
Were you not always distraught by expectation,
as if all this were announcing the arrival
of a beloved? (Where would you find a place
to hide her, with all your great strange thoughts
coming and going and often staying for the night.)
When longing overcomes you, sing of women in love;
for their famous passion is far from immortal enough.
Those whom you almost envy, the abandoned and
desolate ones, whom you found so much more loving
than those gratified. Begin ever new again
the praise you cannot attain; remember:
the hero lives on and survives; even his downfall
was for him only a pretext for achieving
his final birth. But nature, exhausted, takes lovers
back into itself, as if such creative forces could never be
achieved a second time.
Have you thought of Gaspara Stampa sufficiently:

that any girl abandoned by her lover may feel
from that far intenser example of loving:
"Ah, might I become like her!" Should not their oldest
sufferings finally become more fruitful for us?
Is it not time that lovingly we freed ourselves
from the beloved and, quivering, endured:
as the arrow endures the bow-string's tension,
and in this tense release becomes more than itself.
For staying is nowhere.

Voices, voices. Listen my heart, as only saints
have listened: until the gigantic call lifted them
clear off the ground. Yet they went on, impossibly,
kneeling, completely unawares: so intense was
their listening. Not that you could endure
the voice of God -far from it! But listen
to the voice of the wind and the ceaseless message
that forms itself out of silence. They sweep
toward you now from those who died young.
Whenever they entered a church in Rome or Naples,
did not their fate quietly speak to you as recently
as the tablet did in Santa Maria Formosa?
What do they want of me? to quietly remove
the appearance of suffered injustice that,
at times, hinders a little their spirits from
freely proceeding onward.

Of course, it is strange to inhabit the earth no longer,
to no longer use skills on had barely time to acquire;
not to observe roses and other things that promised
so much in terms of a human future, no longer
to be what one was in infinitely anxious hands;
to even discard one's own name as easily as a child
abandons a broken toy.
Strange, not to desire to continue wishing one's wishes.
Strange to notice all that was related, fluttering
so loosely in space. And being dead is hard work
and full of retrieving before one can gradually feel a
trace of eternity. -Yes, but the liviing make
the mistake of drawing too sharp a distinction.
Angels (they say) are often unable to distinguish
between moving among the living or the dead.
The eternal torrent whirls all ages along with it,
through both realms forever, and their voices are lost in
its thunderous roar.

In the end the early departed have no longer
need of us. One is gently weaned from things
of this world as a child outgrows the need
of its mother's breast. But we who have need
of those great mysteries, we for whom grief is
so often the source of spiritual growth,
could we exist without them?
Is the legend vain that tells of music's beginning
in the midst of the mourning for Linos?
the daring first sounds of song piercing
the barren numbness, and how in that stunned space
an almost godlike youth suddenly left forever,
and the emptiness felt for the first time
those harmonious vibrations which now enrapture
and comfort and help us.
Rainer Maria Rilke

I still believe in your eyes
I just don't care what you've done in your life
Baby, I'll always be here by your side
Don't leave me waiting too long, please come by
I, I, I, I still believe in your eyes
There is no choice, I belong to your life
Because I will live to love you someday
You'll be my baby and we'll fly away
And I'll fly with you
I'll fly with you
I'll fly with you
Every day and every night
I always dream that you are by my side
Oh baby, every day and every night
Well, I said everything's gonna be alright
And I'll fly with you
I'll fly with you
I'll fly with you

The Spider

Sometimes, a chance and entirely meaningless word
lends an unexpected meaning to the poem,
as for example in the abandoned basement, where
no one has gone down for a long time, on the dark clay rim
of the large empty jar, a spider walks aimlessly
(aimless to you, but perhaps not to her).

Moonlight sonata

When there’s a moon the shadows in the house grow larger,
invisible hands draw the curtains,
a ghostly finger writes forgotten words in the dust
on the piano – I don’t want to hear them. Hush.
...
I know that each one of us travels to love alone,
alone to faith and to death.
I know it. I’ve tried it. It doesn’t help.
Let me come with you.
...
This house stifles me. The kitchen especially
is like the depths of the sea. The hanging coffeepots gleam
like round, huge eyes of improbable fish,
the plates undulate slowly like medusas,
seaweed and shells catch in my hair – later I can’t pull them loose –
I can’t get back to the surface –
the tray falls silently from my hands – I sink down
and I see the bubbles from my breath rising, rising
and I try to divert myself watching them
and I wonder what someone would say who happened to be above and saw these bubbles,
perhaps that someone was drowning or a diver exploring the depths?

And in fact more than a few times I’ve discovered there, in the depths of drowning,
coral and pearls and treasures of shipwrecked vessels,
unexpected encounters, past, present, and yet to come,
a confirmation almost of eternity,
a certain respite, a certain smile of immortality, as they say,
a happiness, an intoxication, inspiration even,
coral and pearls and sapphires;
only I don’t know how to give them – no, I do give them;
only I don’t know if they can take them – but still, I give them.
Let me come with you.

....
The room grows dark. It looks as though a cloud may have covered the moon. All at once, as if someone had turned up the radio in the nearby bar, a very familiar musical phrase can be heard. Then I realize that “The Moonlight Sonata”, just the first movement, has been playing very softly through this entire scene. The Young Man will go down the hill now with an ironic and perhaps sympathetic smile on his finely chiselled lips and with a feeling of release. Just as he reaches St. Nicolas, before he goes down the marble steps, he will laugh – a loud, uncontrollable laugh. His laughter will not sound at all unseemly beneath the moon. Perhaps the only unseemly thing will be that nothing is unseemly. Soon the Young Man will fall silent, become serious, and say: “The decline of an era.” So, thoroughly calm once more, he will unbutton his shirt again and go on his way. As for the woman in black, I don’t know whether she finally did get out of the house. The moon is shining again. And in the corners of the room the shadows intensify with an intolerable regret, almost fury, not so much for the life, as for the useless confession. Can you hear? The radio plays on.

Steve walks warily down the street
With the brim pulled way down low
Ain't no sound but the sound of his feet,
Machine guns ready to go

Are you ready, hey, are you ready for this?
Are you hanging on the edge of your seat?
Out of the doorway the bullets rip
To the sound of the beat
Another one bites the dust
Another one bites the dust
And another one gone, and another one gone
Another one bites the dust

Hey, I'm gonna get you, too
Another one bites the dust
How do you think I'm going to get along
Without you when you're gone?

The little mermaid drew back the crimson curtain of the tent, and beheld the fair bride with her head resting on the prince’s breast. She bent down and kissed his fair brow, then looked at the sky on which the rosy dawn grew brighter and brighter; then she glanced at the sharp knife, and again fixed her eyes on the prince, who whispered the name of his bride in his dreams. She was in his thoughts, and the knife trembled in the hand of the little mermaid: then she flung it far away from her into the waves; the water turned red where it fell, and the drops that spurted up looked like blood. She cast one more lingering, half-fainting glance at the prince, and then threw herself from the ship into the sea, and thought her body was dissolving into foam

Oh, maybe I think maybe I don't
Maybe I will maybe I won't
Find my way this time
I hear you're calling me soon
One of these days
Some of these days, and somebody pays
It happens all the time
I'll believing, believing you wanted me to
And maybe I'm a fool for walking in line
And maybe I should have tried to leave this time
I'm an honest mistake that you made
Did you mean to?
Did you mean?
Oh, did you mean?
Love is just a game
Broken all the same
And I will get over you
Love is just a lie
Happens all the time
Swear I know this much is true
Oh, and they colored you up
They colored you down, they colored you in
And I've been waiting so long
To take you home
And maybe I think, maybe I don't
Maybe I will, maybe I won't
Find my way tonight
But I hear you're calling me soon
And maybe I'm a fool for walking in line
And maybe I should have tried to leave this time
I'm an honest mistake that you made
Did you mean to?
Did you mean?
Oh, did you mean?
Love is just a game
Broken all the same
And I will get over you
Love is just a lie
Happens all the time
Swear I know this much is true
And maybe I'm a fool for walking in line
And maybe I should have tried to leave this time
I'm an honest mistake that you made
Did you mean to?
Did you mean?
Oh, did you mean?
Love is just a game
Broken all the same
And I will get over you
Love is just a lie
Happens all the time
Swear I know this much is true

We go way back in time, time
Through diamond eyes
We go running
Way back in time
Through diamond eyes

We gotta go back to the start
Back 'til we are back home
We gotta go back to the start
Back 'til we are back home

Tick-tock, tick-tock
Tick-tock tick
Where is the light
Are we meant to go down again?
We go down

Lightening strikes
Wisdom cries
It's an emergency, emergency
Conscious all night
No one's surprised
As long as we...emergency
Emergency, emergency

E is a vowel
E is a vowel
If you need a vowel then
E is your vowel

Cleaning Spree!!
The house is ######6 disgusting
Cleaning spree!!!
Ahhhhh!!!
Smashes harmonica and sets it on fire.

-- Fri Dec 14, 2018 11:27 pm --

E is a vowel
E is a vowel
If you need a vowel then
E is your vowel

Cleaning Spree!!
The house is ######6 disgusting
Cleaning spree!!!
Ahhhhh!!!
Smashes harmonica and sets it on fire.