You say you wander your own land But when I think about it I don't see how you can
You're aching, you're breaking And I can see the pain in your eyes Says everybody's changing And I don't know why.
So little time Try to understand that I'm Trying to make a move just to stay in the game I try to stay awake and remember my name But everybody's changing And I don't feel the same.
You're gone from here Soon you will disappear Fading into beautiful light 'cause everybody's changing And I don't feel right.
So little time Try to understand that I'm Trying to make a move just to stay in the game I try to stay awake and remember my name But everybody's changing And I don't feel the same.
So little time Try to understand that I'm Trying to make a move just to stay in the game I try to stay awake and remember my name But everybody's changing And I don't feel the same.
Ooo... Everybody's changing And I don't feel the same.
I feel so bad I got a worried mind I'm so lonesome all the time Since I left my baby behind On Blue Bayou
Saving nickles saving dimes Working til the sun don't shine Looking forward to happier times On Blue Bayou
I'm going back someday Come what may To Blue Bayou Where the folks are fine And the world is mine On Blue Bayou Where those fishing boats With their sails afloat If I could only see That familiar sunrise Through sleepy eyes How happy I'd be
Gonna see my baby again Gonna be with some of my friends Maybe I'll feel better again On Blue Bayou
Saving nickles saving dimes Working til the sun don't shine Looking forward to happier times On Blue Bayou
I'm going back someday Come what may To Blue Bayou Where the folks are fine And the world is mine On Blue Bayou Where those fishing boats With their sails afloat If I could only see That familiar sunrise Through sleepy eyes How happy I'd be
Oh that boy of mine By my side The silver moon And the evening tide Oh some sweet day Gonna take away This hurting inside Well I'll never be blue My dreams come true On Blue Bayou
"Dear God, you made many, many poor people. I realize, of course, that it's no shame to be poor. But it's no great honor either! So, what would have been so terrible if I had a small fortune?"
If I were a rich man, Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum. All day long I'd biddy biddy bum. If I were a wealthy man. I wouldn't have to work hard. Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum. If I were a biddy biddy rich, Yidle-diddle-didle-didle man.
I'd build a big tall house with rooms by the dozen, Right in the middle of the town. A fine tin roof with real wooden floors below. There would be one long staircase just going up, And one even longer coming down, And one more leading nowhere, just for show.
I'd fill my yard with chicks and turkeys and geese and ducks For the town to see and hear. And each loud "cheep" and "swaqwk" and "honk" and "quack" Would land like a trumpet on the ear, As if to say "Here lives a wealthy man."
If I were a rich man, Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum. All day long I'd biddy biddy bum. If I were a wealthy man. I wouldn't have to work hard. Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum. If I were a biddy biddy rich, Yidle-diddle-didle-didle man.
I see my wife, my Golde, looking like a rich man's wife With a proper double-chin. Supervising meals to her heart's delight. I see her putting on airs and strutting like a peacock. Oy, what a happy mood she's in. Screaming at the servants, day and night.
The most important men in town would come to fawn on me! They would ask me to advise them, Like a Solomon the Wise. "If you please, Reb Tevye..." "Pardon me, Reb Tevye..." Posing problems that would cross a rabbi's eyes! And it won't make one bit of difference if i answer right or wrong. When you're rich, they think you really know!
If I were rich, I'd have the time that I lack To sit in the synagogue and pray. And maybe have a seat by the Eastern wall. And I'd discuss the holy books with the learned men, several hours every day. That would be the sweetest thing of all.
If I were a rich man, Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum. All day long I'd biddy biddy bum. If I were a wealthy man. I wouldn't have to work hard. Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum. If I were a biddy biddy rich, Yidle-diddle-didle-didle man.
Boom boom boom boom I'm gonna shoot you right down, right offa your feet Take you home with me, put you in my house Boom boom boom boom A-haw haw haw haw Hmmm hmmm hmmm hmmm Hmmm hmmm hmmm hmmm
I love to see you strut, up and down the floor When you talking to me, that baby talk I like it like that Whoa, yeah! Talk that talk, walk that walk
When she walk that walk, and talk that talk, and whisper in my ear, tell me that you love me I love that talk When you talk like that, you knocks me out, right off of my feet Hoo hoo hoo Talk that talk, and walk that walk
"Program Three, 'The Elegant Universe: Welcome to the 11th Dimension,' shows how in 1995 Edward Witten of Princeton's Institute for Advanced Study, aided by others, revolutionized string theory by successfully uniting the five different versions into a single theory that is cryptically named 'M-theory,' a development which required a total of eleven dimensions.
"Ten . . . eleven . . . who's counting? But the new eleventh dimension is different from all the others, since it implies that strings can come in higher dimensional shapes called membranes, or 'branes' for short. These have truly science-fiction-like qualities, since in principle they can be as large as the universe. A brane can even be a universe--a parallel universe--and we may be living on one right now.
"Branes might also explain why gravity is the weakest force, requiring all the matter in the Earth to produce a measly one g. According to this idea, gravity may be far more potent, but most of its strength is leaking into a parallel universe.
"Witten has described string theory as 'a part of 21st-century physics that fell by chance into the 20th century.' In fact, the theory is so far ahead of experimental technique that there is as yet no way to verify whether strings are real or a figment of some very creative imaginations.
"But scientists at the CERN atom-smasher on the French-Swiss border are working to test of one of the predictions of string theory. Scheduled to run later in this decade, this experiment may take an important step in showing that string theory is not just a crazy idea, but crazy reality. "
The continent of Atlantis was an island which lay before the great flood in the area we now call the Atlantic Ocean. So great an area of land, that from her western shores, those beautiful sailors journeyed to the South and the North Americas with ease, in their ships with painted sails. To the east, Africa was a neighbour, across a short strait of sea miles.
The great Egyptian age is but a remnant of The Atlantean culture. The antediluvian kings colonised the world. All the gods who play in the mythological dramas, in all legends from all lands were from fair Atlantis.
Knowing her fate, Atlantis sent out ships to all corners of the earth. On board were the Twelve: the poet, the physician, the farmer, the scientist, the magician and the other so-called gods of our legends. Though gods they were--and as the elders of our time choose to remain blind--let us rejoice and let us sing and dance and ring in the new.
Hail Atlantis!
Way down below the ocean where I wanna be she may be, Way down below the ocean where I wanna be she may be, Way down below the ocean where I wanna be she may be.
Way down below the ocean where I wanna be she may be, Way down below the ocean where I wanna be she may be . . . .
My antediluvian baby, oh yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah, I wanna see you some day My antediluvian baby, oh yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah, My antediluvian baby.
My antediluvian baby, I love you, girl, Girl, I wanna see you some day. My antediluvian baby, oh yeah I wanna see you some day, oh My antediluvian baby.
My antediluvian baby, I wanna see you My antediluvian baby, gotta tell me where she gone. I wanna see you some day. Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, oh yeah. Oh glub glub, down down, yeah. My antediluvian baby, oh yeah yeah yeah yeah.
Jasmine Trias: "Kung Paano" with translation video
Duration 4:12
______
Jasmine Trias singing
Kung Paano
Oooohhhh…
Bakit ba ganyan ang damdamin Alaala’y sadyang ikaw Sa pag-iisa’y nakikita Bakit lagi ay naroon ka
Dati-rati’y di pansin Ang mga sulyap mo at mga tingin Pilit na lumalayo Ngunit ang damdamin Ang syang nagsasabi…
Ibigin ka ng tunay at lubusan Ngunit ang isip ko’y takot Baka masaktan lamang Gagawin sadyang di ko malaman Kagulo ng isip ko Puso ay litong-lito Kung paano
Oooohhhh…
Aaminin kong sa pangarap Ay kasama ka kahit saan Yakap mo’t halik ay ‘di kaya Na pigilan kahit kalian
Dati-rati’y di pansin Ang mga sulyap mo at mga tingin Pilit na lumalayo Ngunit ang damdamin Ang syang nagsasabi…
Iibigin ka ng tunay at lubusan Ngunit ang isip ko’y takot Baka masaktan lamang Gagawin sadyang di ko malaman Kagulo ng isip ko Puso ay litong-lito Kung paano
Iibigin ka ng tunay at lubusan Ngunit ang isip ko’y takot Baka masaktan lamang Gagawin sadyang di ko malaman Kagulo ng isip ko Puso ay litong-lito kung paano
O Lord my God, When I in awesome wonder, Consider all the worlds Thy Hands have made; I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder, Thy power throughout the universe displayed.
Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee, How great Thou art, How great Thou art. Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee, How great Thou art, How great Thou art!
When through the woods, and forest glades I wander, And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees. When I look down, from lofty mountain grandeur And see the brook, and feel the gentle breeze.
Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee, How great Thou art, How great Thou art. Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee, How great Thou art, How great Thou art!
And when I think, that God, His Son not sparing; Sent Him to die, I scarce can take it in; That on the Cross, my burden gladly bearing, He bled and died to take away my sin.
Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee, How great Thou art, How great Thou art. Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee, How great Thou art, How great Thou art!
When Christ shall come, with shout of acclamation, And take me home, what joy shall fill my heart. Then I shall bow, in humble adoration, And then proclaim: "My God, how great Thou art!"
Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee, How great Thou art, How great Thou art. Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee, How great Thou art, How great Thou art!
Yonder sky that has wept tears of compassion upon my people for centuries untold, and which to us appears changeless and eternal, may change. Today is fair. Tomorrow it may be overcast with clouds. My words are like the stars that never change. Whatever Seattle says, the great chief at Washington can rely upon with as much certainty as he can upon the return of the sun or the seasons. The white chief says that Big Chief at Washington sends us greetings of friendship and goodwill. This is kind of him for we know he has little need of our friendship in return. His people are many. They are like the grass that covers vast prairies. My people are few. They resemble the scattering trees of a storm-swept plain. The great, and I presume--good, White Chief sends us word that he wishes to buy our land but is willing to allow us enough to live comfortably. This indeed appears just, even generous, for the Red Man no longer has rights that he need respect, and the offer may be wise, also, as we are no longer in need of an extensive country.
There was a time when our people covered the land as the waves of a wind-ruffled sea cover its shell-paved floor, but that time long since passed away with the greatness of tribes that are now but a mournful memory. I will not dwell on, nor mourn over, our untimely decay, nor reproach my paleface brothers with hastening it, as we too may have been somewhat to blame.
Youth is impulsive. When our young men grow angry at some real or imaginary wrong, and disfigure their faces with black paint, it denotes that their hearts are black, and that they are often cruel and relentless, and our old men and old women are unable to restrain them. Thus it has ever been. Thus it was when the white man began to push our forefathers ever westward. But let us hope that the hostilities between us may never return. We would have everything to lose and nothing to gain. Revenge by young men is considered gain, even at the cost of their own lives, but old men who stay at home in times of war, and mothers who have sons to lose, know better.
Our good father in Washington--for I presume he is now our father as well as yours, since King George has moved his boundaries further north--our great and good father, I say, sends us word that if we do as he desires he will protect us. His brave warriors will be to us a bristling wall of strength, and his wonderful ships of war will fill our harbors, so that our ancient enemies far to the northward--the Haidas and Tsimshians--will cease to frighten our women, children, and old men. Then in reality he will be our father and we his children. But can that ever be? Your God is not our God! Your God loves your people and hates mine! He folds his strong protecting arms lovingly about the paleface and leads him by the hand as a father leads an infant son. But, He has forsaken His Red children, if they really are His. Our God, the Great Spirit, seems also to have forsaken us. Your God makes your people wax stronger every day. Soon they will fill all the land. Our people are ebbing away like a rapidly receding tide that will never return. The white man's God cannot love our people or He would protect them. They seem to be orphans who can look nowhere for help. How then can we be brothers? How can your God become our God and renew our prosperity and awaken in us dreams of returning greatness? If we have a common Heavenly Father He must be partial, for He came to His paleface children. We never saw Him. He gave you laws but had no word for His red children whose teeming multitudes once filled this vast continent as stars fill the firmament. No; we are two distinct races with separate origins and separate destinies. There is little in common between us.
To us the ashes of our ancestors are sacred and their resting place is hallowed ground. You wander far from the graves of your ancestors and seemingly without regret. Your religion was written upon tablets of stone by the iron finger of your God so that you could not forget. The Red Man could never comprehend or remember it. Our religion is the traditions of our ancestors--the dreams of our old men, given them in solemn hours of the night by the Great Spirit; and the visions of our sachems, and is written in the hearts of our people.
Your dead cease to love you and the land of their nativity as soon as they pass the portals of the tomb and wander away beyond the stars. They are soon forgotten and never return. Our dead never forget this beautiful world that gave them being. They still love its verdant valleys, its murmuring rivers, its magnificent mountains, sequestered vales and verdant lined lakes and bays, and ever yearn in tender fond affection over the lonely hearted living, and often return from the happy hunting ground to visit, guide, console, and comfort them.
Day and night cannot dwell together. The Red Man has ever fled the approach of the White Man, as the morning mist flees before the morning sun. However, your proposition seems fair and I think that my people will accept it and will retire to the reservation you offer them. Then we will dwell apart in peace, for the words of the Great White Chief seem to be the words of nature speaking to my people out of dense darkness.
It matters little where we pass the remnant of our days. They will not be many. The Indian's night promises to be dark. Not a single star of hope hovers above his horizon. Sad-voiced winds moan in the distance. Grim fate seems to be on the Red Man's trail, and wherever he will hear the approaching footsteps of his fell destroyer and prepare stolidly to meet his doom, as does the wounded doe that hears the approaching footsteps of the hunter.
A few more moons, a few more winters, and not one of the descendants of the mighty hosts that once moved over this broad land or lived in happy homes, protected by the Great Spirit, will remain to mourn over the graves of a people once more powerful and hopeful than yours. But why should I mourn at the untimely fate of my people? Tribe follows tribe, and nation follows nation, like the waves of the sea. It is the order of nature, and regret is useless. Your time of decay may be distant, but it will surely come, for even the White Man whose God walked and talked with him as friend to friend, cannot be exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all. We will see.
We will ponder your proposition and when we decide we will let you know. But should we accept it, I here and now make this condition that we will not be denied the privilege without molestation of visiting at any time the tombs of our ancestors, friends, and children. Every part of this soil is sacred in the estimation of my people. Every hillside, every valley, every plain and grove, has been hallowed by some sad or happy event in days long vanished. Even the rocks, which seem to be dumb and dead as the swelter in the sun along the silent shore, thrill with memories of stirring events connected with the lives of my people, and the very dust upon which you now stand responds more lovingly to their footsteps than yours, because it is rich with the blood of our ancestors, and our bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch. Our departed braves, fond mothers, glad, happy hearted maidens, and even the little children who lived here and rejoiced here for a brief season, will love these somber solitudes and at eventide they greet shadowy returning spirits. And when the last Red Man shall have perished, and the memory of my tribe shall have become a myth among the White Men, these shores will swarm with the invisible dead of my tribe, and when your children's children think themselves alone in the field, the store, the shop, upon the highway, or in the silence of the pathless woods, they will not be alone. In all the earth there is no place dedicated to solitude. At night when the streets of your cities and villages are silent and you think them deserted, they will throng with the returning hosts that once filled them and still love this beautiful land. The White Man will never be alone.
Let him be just and deal kindly with my people, for the dead are not powerless. Dead, did I say? There is no death, only a change of worlds.
[Eminem:] Bitches and Gentleman! It's showtime! Hurry, hurry step right up! Introducing the star of our show, his name is...
[Lady:] Marshall!
[Eminem:] You wouldn't wanna be anywhere else in the world right now So without futher endo, I bring to you...
[Lady:] Marshall!
[Verse #1:] Your bout to witness hip hop in its Most pourest, most rawest form flow, almost flawless Most hardest, most honest, known artist Chip off the old block but old doc is back! Looks like Batman, brought his own Robin Oh god, Sadam's got his own Laden With his own private plane, his on pilot Set to blow college dorm room doors off the hinges Oranges, peach, pears, plums, syringes [VRRM VRRM] Yeah, here I come My inches away from you, here fear none Hip hop is in a state of 911, so
[Chorus 2x:] Let's get down to business I don't got no time to play around with this this? Must be a circus in town, let's shut the shit down On these clowns, can i get a witness?
[Dr Dre:] Hell Yeah
[Verse #2:] Dre gotta move fast, gotta perform mirracles Gee willycores Dre, holly bat syllables Look at all the bullshit that goes on in Gotham When I'm gone time to get rid of these rap criminals So, skip to your lou, while I do what I do best You ain't even impressed no more, you used to it Flows too wet, nobody close to it Nobody says it was till everyone knows the shit The most hated on outta all those who say it hate it On an eighties songs and exagerate it all So much they make it all up There's no such thing Like a female with good looks who cooks and cleans It just means so much more to so much more People when you rapping and you know what for The show must go on, so I'd like to welcome ya'll To Marshall and Andre's carnival C'mon, now!
[Chorus 2x:]
[Verse #3:] It's just like old times, the dynamic duo Two old friends, why panic? You allready know whos capable, the two caped heroes Dial straight down the center 8 0 0 You can even call collect, the most feared duet Since me and Elton, play career russian roulett And never even seen me blinging get me busting a sweat People stepping over people just to rush to the set Just to get to see a MC who breathes so freely Ease over these beats, and be so breezy Jesus, how can shit be so easy How can one Sandra be so leavy Turn on these beats MC's dont see me Believe me, BET and MTV Your gonna agree when we leave, dawg fo sheezy Can't leave rap alone the game needs me 'Til we broke kids, get weird and disappear into the mountains Nothing but clowns down here But we, ain't fucking around round here Yo Dre!
[Dr Dre:] Whuddup?
[Eminem:] Can I get a hell yeah?
[Dr Dre:] Hell Yeah
[Chorus 2x:]
[Outro:]
[Eminem:] So there you have it folks
[Lady:] Marshall!
[Eminem:] Has come to save the day Back with his friend Andre And to remind you that bullshit does not pay Because
[Lady:] Marshall!
[Eminem:] And Andre are here to stay and never go away Until our dying day, until we're old and grey
[Lady:] Marshall!
[Eminem:] So until next times friends Same blonde hair, same rap channel Goodnight everyone, thank you for coming Your host for the evening
delivered on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, Washington DC
August 28, 1963
by Martin Luther King, Jr.
I Have a Dream
Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of captivity.
But one hundred years later, we must face the tragic fact that the Negro is still not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize an appalling condition.
In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check -- a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to open the doors of opportunity to all of God's children. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood.
It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment and to underestimate the determination of the Negro. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.
But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.
We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny and their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.
And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.
I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slaveowners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day the state of Alabama, whose governor's lips are presently dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, will be transformed into a situation where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."
And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!
Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous peaks of California!
But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!
Let freedom ring from every hill and every molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"
Joey, baby, don't get crazy. Detours. Fences. I get defensive. I know you've heard it all before, so I don't say it anymore. I just stand by and let you fight your secret war. And though I used to wonder why-- I used to cry till I was dry. Still sometimes I get a strange pain inside. Oh, Joey, if you're hurting so am I.
Joey, honey, I've got the money. All is forgiven. Listen, listen. And if I seem to be confused I didn't mean to be with you. And when you said I scared you, well I guess you scared me too. But we got lucky once before, and I don't wanna close the door. And if you're somewhere out there passed out on the floor, oh Joey, I'm not angry anymore.
And if I seem to be confused, I didn't mean to be with you. But when you said I scared you, well I guess you scared me too. Well if it's love you're looking for then I can give a little more. And if you're somewhere drunk and passed out on the floor, oh Joey, I'm not angry anymore, angry anymore, angry anymore.
I have had my fun If I don't get well, no mo' I have had my fun If I don't get well, no mo' My health is failin' me And I'm goin' down slow
Please write my mother Tell her the shape I'm in Ple-ease write my mother Tell her the shape I'm in Tell her to pray for me Forgiveness of my sin
Tell her don't send no doctor Doctor can't do no good Tell her don't send no doctor Doctor can't do me no good It's all my fault Didn't do the things I should
On the next train south Look for my clothes home On the next train south Look for my clothes home If you don't see my body All you can do is moan
Mother, please don't worry This is all in my prayer Mother, please don't worry This is all in my prayer Just say 'Your son is gone Out of his world, somewhere'.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs And towards our distant rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.
GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling, Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time; But someone still was yelling out and stumbling And floundering like a man in fire or lime.-- Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight, He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in, And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin; If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,-- My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.
I had to escape , The city was sticky and cruel Maybe I should have called you first But I was dying to get to you
I was dreaming while I drove The long straight road ahead Uh-huh, yeah
Could taste your sweet kisses, your arms open wide This fever for you was just burning me up inside
I drove all night to get to you Is that all right? I drove all night, crept in your room Woke you from your sleep to make love to you Is that all right? I drove all night
What in this world keeps us from falling apart? No matter where I go I hear the beating of our one heart I think about you when the night is cold and dark Uh-huh, yeah
No one can move me the way that you do Nothing erases this feeling between me and you I drove all night to get to you Is that all right?
I drove all night, crept in your room Woke you from your sleep to make love to you Is that all right? I drove all night
Could taste your sweet kisses, your arms open wide This fever for you was just burning me up inside
I drove all night to get to you Is that all right? I drove all night, crept in your room Is that all right? I drove all night
