Wish You Were Here

This song appears on three albums, and was first released on the flower that shattered the stone album, and has also been released on the stonehaven sunrise and the john denver collection - caly
Lbums.
Dear friend of mine, the weather's fine
Today i saw some ruins of the roman world' decline
And i climbed all those spanish steps, you've heard of them no doubt
But rome has lost its glory, i don't know what it's about
I wish you were here
(when the shadows fall and all the rushing traffic stills)
I wish you were here
(and the bells are ringing on the seven hills)
I make my way to a small cafe
I wonder what you did today
Wish you were here
Dear one at home, i just flew in from rome
And paris is a postcard all decked in color chrome
And so i climbed the eiffel tower and prayed at notre dame
But i just can't find the romance and i wonder why i came
I wish you were here
(on the champs elysees, lovers walking hand in hand)
I wish you were here

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song performed by John Denver
Added by Lucian Velea
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I Can See For Miles

I know youve deceived me, now heres a surprise
I know that you have cause theres magic in my eyes
I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles
Oh yeah
If you think that I dont know about the little tricks youve played
And never see you when deliberately you put things in my way
Well, heres a poke at you
Youre gonna choke on it too
Youre gonna lose that smile
Beacuse all the while
I can see for miles and miles
I can see for miles and miles
I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles
Oh yeah
You took advantage of my trust in you when I was so far away
I saw you holding lots of other guys and now youve got the nerve to say
That you still want me
Well, thats as may be
But you gotta stand trial
Because all the while

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song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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What Am I Gonna Do

(stewart, davis, brock)
Can i tell you what you mean to mean
You're as central as the air i breathe
Almost impossible to believe that you're mine
You're like weekends all year long
Under a hot jamaican sun
You are a winner at a hundred to one
Yes you are
Something you've got is something i need right now
You don't have to prove it no more
I'm down on my bended knees honey
What am i gonna do i'm so in love with you
What am i gonna say if ever you go away
One in a million oh so rare
A nightengale in berkeley square
And baby i ain't goin' nowhere without you
You are the goal that wins the game
The very last bus home in the rain
You're like rock and roll and champagne
All in one

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song performed by Rod Stewart
Added by Lucian Velea
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What Country Shall We Go To?

What country shall we go to? For our holiday,
Shall it be in Europe, Asia, USA, or the islands, which way?
What if we do a world trip, go get some brochures and see,
Which will be the most interesting holiday for me?

Let's now think of U.k. Like Scotland, or Wales,
Then what about Ireland or isle of wight, see the yachts sails;
We could stay in London, go see on board a decker bus, visit the Queen,
There's plenty of great shops to try, and buy souveniers, is where I'll be seen.

Now catch a ferry across the Thames, into France, for a cake or two,
Try some frogs legs, to eat, see the Eiffel tower too;
Next will be Italy, see the olive vineyards Everywhere,
Try. To eat some great pasta, like spaghetti, n pizza if I dare.

Now what about to Vienna, hear the choirs sing,
Then travel to Venice, thru the streets in a condola they'll bring;
Back to Sweden, and to Austria, see each home so well built,
Go skiing in the mountains of Switzerland, if cold, I'll take the guilt.

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poem by Margaret Haig
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April, March! Soldiers Search for HUNGER MARCH - A2 Story

Lot of hunger and empty bowl without food is poverty,
Not having one more dress to take bath is poverty,
Sheltered, willing but failing to accommodate a guest is also poverty,
Mother's sick but cannot afford treatment is also poverty,
If treated, prescribed but cannot buy medicine is poverty;
A mother's thought,2 mouthful of rice with 3 children is poverty.
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.

The fort of confidence is dismantled by poverty and frustration;
They can build castles in air though lack inspiration,
They simply look for food threw in dustbin in month of May!
They die while living, live in dying daily with their life of dismay;
Poverty is not crime but it is a curse and worse...
I'm brand ambassador of poverty and I endorse!
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.

Don't show poverty as excuse...
God gave you brain and make use and bemuse,
No matter if you are born in poverty's slum-dom
While some are handicap blind, dumb, deaf and a cough;

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poem by Harindhar Reddy
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You Make Me

You make me wanna slam my head against the wall
You make me do the limbo
You make me wanna buy a slurpee at the mall
You make me watch the gong show
Theres really something kinda strange about you, baby, but I cant exactly seem to put my finger on it
You make me
You make me
You make me
Thats what you do to me
You make me wanna hide a weasel in my shorts
You make me wanna phone home
You make me wanna write a dozen book reports
Then pack myself in styrofoam
Sometimes you make me want to build a model of the eiffel tower out of belgian waffles
You make me
You make me
You make me
Thats what you do to me
(you make me) thats what you do
(you make me) thats what you do

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song performed by Weird Al Yankovic
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sun-Testament

I, The Sun, Lord of the Sky, sojourning in the Land of Sky, being of sound mind and memory, do hereby make, publish and declare the following to be my Last Will and Testament, hereby revoking all other wills, codicils and testamentary dispositions by me at any time heretofore made.

First, I hereby direct and elect that my estate shall be administered and my will construed and regulated and the validity and effect of the testamentary dispositions herein contained determined by the laws of the Sky.

Second, I give and bequeath absolutely to my wife, the Moon, four octrillion centuries of sun-rays, this legacy to have priority over all other legacies and bequests and to be free from any and all legacy, inheritance, transfer, successions, taxes or duties whatsoever, said taxes or duties to be borne by my estate.

Third, I give and bequeathe the sum of one million centuries of sun-rays net free from any and all legacy, inheritance, transfer, succession, taxes or duties whatsoever, said taxes or duties to be borne by my estate, to my Executors, to be used for the erecting of an Obelisk to the Sun.

Fourth, I give and bequeathe to my beloved wife the Moon my assortment of sunstones, my sun-yacht that for many aeons has navigated the sea of clouds, together with my collection of butterflies which are the souls of women caught in my golden web and my collection of red arrows which are the souls of men caught in my golden web.

Fifth, I give and bequeathe to my sons and daughters the stars, my mirror the ocean and my caravan of mountains.

Sixth, I give and bequeathe to Aurora Goddess of the Dawn a sunrise trumpet and a girdle of clouds.

Seventh, I give and bequeathe to the planet Venus all my eruptive prominences whether in spikes or jets or sheafs and volutes in honor of her all-too-few transits.

Eighth, I give and bequeathe to Lady Vesuvius a sunbonnet, a palace of clouds and the heart she once hurled up to me.

Ninth, I give and bequeathe to the Sun-Goddess Rat the Lady of Heliopolis and a garden of sunflowers.

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poem by Harry Crosby
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Gioconda And Si-Ya-U

to the memory of my friend SI-YA-U,
whose head was cut off in Shanghai

A CLAIM

Renowned Leonardo's
world-famous
"La Gioconda"
has disappeared.
And in the space
vacated by the fugitive
a copy has been placed.

The poet inscribing
the present treatise
knows more than a little
about the fate
of the real Gioconda.
She fell in love
with a seductive

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poem by Nazim Hikmet
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GENIUS IN FRANCE

I'm not the brightest crayon in the box
Everyone says I'm dumber than a bag of rocks
I barely even know how to put on my own pants
But I'm a genius in France (yeah), genius in France, genius in France
Hoom chaka laka hoom chaka laka hoom chaka
I may not be the sharpest hunk of cheese
I got a negative number on my SATS
I'm not good looking, and I don't know how to dance
But nevertheless and in spite of the evidence I am still widely considered to be a
Genius in France, genius in France, genius in France
People say I'm a geek, a moronic little freak
An annoying pipsqueak with an unfortunate physique
If I was any dumber, they'd have to water me twice a week
But when the Mademoiselles see me, they all swoon and shriek
They dig my mystique, they think I'm c'est magnifique
When I'm in Par-ee, I'm the chic-est of the chic
They love my body odor and my bad toupee
They love my stripey shirt and my stupid beret
And when I'm sipping on a Perrier
In some caf down in St. Tropez

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song performed by Weird Al Yankovic
Added by Lucian Velea
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Zone

At last you're tired of this elderly world

Shepherdess O Eiffel Tower this morning the bridges are bleating

You're fed up living with antiquity

Even the automobiles are antiques
Religion alone remains entirely new religion
Remains as simple as an airport hangar

In all Europe only you O Christianism are not old
The most modem European Pope Pius X it's you
The windows watch and shame has sealed
The confessionals against you this morning
Flyers catalogs hoardings sing aloud
Here's poetry this morning and for prose you're reading the tabloids
Disposable paperbacks filled with crimes and police
Biographies of great men a thousand various titles

I saw a pretty street this morning I forgot the name

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poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
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