Waltz For Eva And Che

Che: Tell me before I waltz out of your life
Before turning my back on the past
Forgive my impertinent behavior
But how long do you think this pantomime can last

Tell me before I ride off in the sunset
There's one thing I never got clear
How can you claim your our savior
When those who oppose you are stepped on or cut up
Or simply disappear

Eva: Tell me before you get onto your bus
Before joining the forgotten brigade
How can one person like me say
Alter the time honored way the game is played

Tell me before you get onto your high horse
Just what you expect me to do
I don't care what the borguoisie say
I'm not in buisness for them but to give all my descamisados

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song performed by Madonna from Evita Soundtrack (Part 2)
Added by Lucian Velea
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Pendulum Rubaiyat

The pendulum of history shall swing
now to, now fro, pride break or profits bring:
thus one ‘should take the current when it serves’
for Change is in the air and on the wing.

The century snails onwards in its slime,
or so it seems to those who actions mime
as if they were the puppet masters, still
strings stay attached to the design of Time.

Soon we will witness Nature’s thunder hurled.
Pandora’s box has menaces unfurled
which angry retribution will afford
Mankind for the abuses of our world.

Convenience converts much truth to fiction
outside pure science for what's held conviction
acts as a shield protecting ignorance
from fears life's one-way ticket, then eviction.

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Ooohhh Baby

Youre the kind of girl that
Everybodys warned me about
Youre the kind of person that
Everybodys here staring at
But now you are a topless dancer
Working out of a bar on times spuare
And everybody wishes you were back down in some corner
Only baby know, you make me go
Ooohhh baby, ooohhh baby, ooohhh baby
Ooohhh-ooohhh-ooohhh
Ooohhh baby, ooohhh baby, ooohhh baby
Ooohhh-ooohhh-ooohhh
Your old man was the best p and e man
Down on the streets
And all the guy in the precinct
Always was watching for him on the beat
But when he ripped off seymour
He was really not a doing so fine
And everything is knots, well except -
- his hands and legs and maybe even mime

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song performed by Lou Reed
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Clowns Of Death

Im the one who preys upon the weakest
And the weakest always preys upon the one whos underneath
Im the one who doesnt see the waves of human kindness or the tides that
Turn the day
Im the one who always turns and looks away
Turns and looks away
[chorus 1]
Because after all, we are only boys
Because after all, we are only boys
Will be boys will be boys will be boys
Will be boys will be boys will be boys will be boys
Will be boys will be boys will be boys
Will be boys will be boys will be boys
Will be boys will be boys will be boys
Im the one treads upon the weaker ones
Those that I can find
And therell always be some others who could march along in line, yeah
March along in line
And, well move upon the world in a massive tidal wave
And well shout and make some noise, yeah

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song performed by Oingo Boingo
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Binge drinking grub in pub rues dreams run rare

When you are young and blithe, brink full of fun,
binge drinking grub in pub rues dreams run rare.
Case quick disjointed joint. Soon rising sun
transforms both in and outright sight with glare.

Teetering down by overflowing bar,
murmur, sadly slurring, how Love fled.
Glass clinking clown mask crowd clouds twinkling stars
as unseen, from the gutter, as mountains overhead

Take a quick gander in mind's mirror too.
Shake out fair hair, where lusting hands would grope.
Make hay while sun shines, remember very few
shall beacon beckon, most unravelled rope
too soon unreel. Time's kriegspiel lightning flash
strikes home as Charon charges one-way fee
for memories few hold. Bough breaks. Vows trash
consigned by brash newcomers seeking key.

In some sum total of recorded time

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Actress

The actress stands upon the stage
And the bustling world that surrounds her
Silences.
Only on the stage is there
Solitude.
Only on the stage,
When pressed under the repellent gravity
Of open eyelids, is there
The peace of mind
To react instinctively
To the mechanics of social magnetism.
The spotlight burns down, bright upon her,
Softening her make-up—
Letting it melts slowly down her skin
As if it were a glass
Through which we could see her.

She prefers the classics
And the avant-garde
When she needs to perform.

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poem by Tim Stensloff
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Manali - the Land of Gods

I always wondered why this place,
was called the land of Gods.
With harsh cold and mountain folds,
With loneliness and uneven moulds,
Without comforts and anything mod,
I didnýt know why it was called the Gods.

When I got the opportunity,
I decided to see,
Whether what I had heard was truth or hearsay.
Although I find it difficult to climb,
I agreed to join this treacherous mime.

When I arrived at the camp site,
I was dumbstruck and beholden with the sight,
Which stood before my very eyes.
Snow covered mountains, gushing streams, and the beautiful sunrise. And as I saw the various moods,
Of nature and it's various goods,
I slowly started to understand,
Why it is called the Land of God,

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poem by Dipti Date Gokhale
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The Foolish Fir-Tree

A tale that the poet Rückert told
To German children, in days of old;
Disguised in a random, rollicking rhyme
Like a merry mummer of ancient time,
And sent, in its English dress, to please
The little folk of the Christmas trees.

A little fir grew in the midst of the wood
Contented and happy, as young trees should.
His body was straight and his boughs were clean;
And summer and winter the bountiful sheen
Of his needles bedecked him, from top to root,
In a beautiful, all-the-year, evergreen suit.

But a trouble came into his heart one day,
When he saw that the other trees were gay
In the wonderful raiment that summer weaves
Of manifold shapes and kinds of leaves:
He looked at his needles so stiff and small,
And thought that his dress was the poorest of all.

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poem by Henry Van Dyke
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The Phantom Curate

A bishop once - I will not name him see -
Annoyed his clergy in the mode conventional;
From pulpit shackles never set them free,
And found a sin where sin was unintentional.
All pleasures ended in abuse auricular -
The Bishop was so terribly particular.

Though, on the whole, a wise and upright man,
He sought to make of human pleasures clearances;
And form his priests on that much-lauded plan
Which pays undue attention to appearances.
He couldn't do good deeds without a psalm in 'em,
Although, in truth, he bore away the palm in 'em.

Enraged to find a deacon at a dance,
Or catch a curate at some mild frivolity,
He sought by open censure to enhance
Their dread of joining harmless social jollity.
Yet he enjoyed (a fact of notoriety)
The ordinary pleasures of society.

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poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Mother Of Pearl

(ferry)
Turn the lights down
Way down low
Turn up the music
Hi as fi can go
All the gangs here
Everyone you know
Its a crazy scene
Hey there just look over your shoulder
Get the picture?
No no no no .......(yes)
Walk a tightrope
Your life-sign-line
Such a bright hope
Right place, right time
Whats your number?
Never you mind
Take a powder
But hang on a minute whats coming round the corner?
Have you a future?

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song performed by Roxy Music
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Drury-lane Prologue Spoken by Mr. Garrick

1 When Learning's triumph o'er her barb'rous foes
2 First rear'd the stage, immortal Shakespear rose;
3 Each change of many-colour'd life he drew,
4 Exhausted worlds, and then imagin'd new:
5 Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign,
6 And panting Time toil'd after him in vain:
7 His pow'rful strokes presiding Truth impress'd,
8 And unresisted Passion storm'd the breast.

9 Then Jonson came, instructed from the school,
10 To please in method, and invent by rule;
11 His studious patience, and laborious art,
12 By regular approach essay'd the heart;
13 Cold Approbation gave the ling'ring bays,
14 For those who durst not censure, scarce could praise.
15 A mortal born he met the general doom,
16 But left, like Egypt's kings, a lasting tomb.

17 The Wits of Charles found easier ways to fame,
18 Nor wish'd for Jonson's art, or Shakespear's flame,

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poem by Samuel Johnson
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Macaulay's New Zealander

It little profits that, an idle man,
On this worn arch, in sight of wasted halls,
I mope, a solitary pelican,
And glower and glower for ever on Saint Paul's:—
Will no soft-hearted mortal be so very
Obliging as to row me o'er the ferry?

Here three-and-thirty years* I've stood estranged,
A dream of ruin all around me stretching;
And centuries shall see me yet unchanged,
Ever in act to sketch, but nothing sketching;
Mutely immutable, constrain'dly still,
With nought to stand against, except my will.

A wondrous lot is mine; ye bide your doom
Till men say Vixit: mine begins ere birth;
A lonely ghost projected from the womb
Of Time-to-come, I linger now on earth.
Ye vertebrates date back, while I commence
My weary present in the future tense.

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poem by James Brunton Stephens
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Lykoeia

Lykoeia.
The howling of wolves.
Venting the agony in the wasteland
of nightclubs, bars, jails, parking lots
in the grubby all night greasy spoons
with the pizza oven in the window
and a heavy snow falling outside
at three in the morning
when the ghouls like us were out
like afterhours carnies from the Ex
the hooker in the corner
the pervert in another
the dealer in a booth in the middle
and hot camera for sale
by a drunk in another
who isn’t ever sure of where or who he is.
And the Mexican restaurants where we were banned
permanently for life twice
because no body drank as much as us
and our outrageous bullshit was good for business.

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poem by Patrick White
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At San Giovanni Del Lago

I leaned upon the rustic bridge,
And watched the streamlet make
Its chattering way past zigzag ridge
Down to the silent lake.

The sunlight flickered on the wave,
Lay quiet on the hill;
Italian sunshine, bright and brave,
Though 'twas but April still.

I heard the distant shepherd's shout,
I heard the fisher's call;
The lizards glistened in and out,
Along the crannied wall.

Hard-by, in rudely frescoed niche,
Hung Christ upon the tree;
Round Him the Maries knelt, and each
Was weeping bitterly.

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poem by Alfred Austin
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Spidey, Spider

Spidey, Spider

Spidey, spider spinning fast,
I will trap my fly at last,
eight eyes witness final swings
and roundabouts of online wings.
What brow[n] beaten beatle stagged
in cocoon so neatly tagged,
what wet silk that sets dew scene
for caught-on-hop grasshopper green?
Silk’s redigested once prey’s bagged
for protein’s precious, times are lean.

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Prothalamion

"little soul, little flirting,
little perverse one
where are you off to now?
little wan one, firm one
little exposed one...
and never make fun of me again."

Now I must betray myself.
The feast of bondage and unity is near,
And none engaged in that great piety
When each bows to the other, kneels, and takes
Hand in hand, glance and glance, care and care,
None may wear masks or enigmatic clothes,
For weakness blinds the wounded face enough.
In sense, see my shocking nakedness.

I gave a girl an apple when five years old,
Saying, Will you be sorry when I am gone?
Ravenous for such courtesies, my name

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poem by Delmore Schwartz
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Noonday Grace

MY good old father tucked his head,
(His face the color of gingerbread)
Over the table my mother had spread,
And folded his leathery hands and said:

'We thank thee, Lord, for this thy grace,
And all thy bounties to the race;
Turn not away from us thy face
Till we come to our final resting-place.'

These were the words of the old elect,
Or others to the same effect.

I love my father's piety,
I know he's grateful as can be,
A man that's nearly seventy
And past his taste for cookery.

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poem by John Crowe Ransom
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O'Hara, J.P.

James Patrick O'Hara the Justice of Peace,
He bossed the P.M. and he bossed the police;
A parent, a deacon, a landlord was he—
A townsman of weight was O’Hara, J.P.

He gave out the prizes, foundation-stones laid,
He shone when the Governor’s visit was paid;
And twice re-elected as Mayor was he—
The flies couldn’t roost on O’Hara, J.P.

Now Sandy M‘Fly, of the Axe-and-the-Saw,
Was charged with a breach of the licensing law—
He sold after hours whilst talking too free
On matters concerning O’Hara, J.P.

And each contradicted the next witness flat,
Concerning back parlours, side-doors, and all that;
‘Twas very conflicting, as all must agree—
‘Ye’d better take care!’ said O’Hara, J.P.

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poem by Henry Lawson
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And Love Caught By The Gills

And love caught by the gills
in the mesh of human need,
and the storm outside
a leaden drummer sick of war,
and flesh and rock the same,
and the eye no more than water,
and mud no less than the spirit,
and the heart
in the hollow of its own hands,
a lifeboat that failed,
an attempt that floundered,
a rescue that failed,
and everything beyond right and wrong,
no river mapping itself,
every direction,
the thorn of a rose,
the fang of a coiled compass,
the black toxicity of depleted stars,
and no one to surrender to,
no victor, no victim, no vanguished,

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poem by Patrick White
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The Grand Parade Of Lifeless Packaging

When all this revolution is over, he sits down on a highly polished floor while his dizziness fades away. it is an empty modern hallway and the dreamdoll saleslady sits at the reception desk. wi
Prompting she goes into her rap: this is the grand parade of lifeless packaging, those you are about to see are all in for servicing, except for a small quantity of our new product, in th
Ond gallery. it is all the stock required to cover the existing arrangements of the enterprise. different batches are distributed to area operators, and there are plenty of opportunities for the
E investor. they stretch from the costly care-conditioned to the most reasonable mal-nutritioned. we find here that everyones looks become them. except for the low market mal-nutritioned, each
Ovided with a guarantee for a successful birth and trouble free infancy. there is however only a small amount of variable choice potential - not too far from the mean differential. you see, the
Has predetermined the limits of ac
Tion of any group of packages, but individuals may move off the path if their diversions are counter-balanced by others.
Its the last great adventure left to mankind
- screams a drooping lady
Offering her dreamdolls at less than extortionate prices,
And as the notes and coins are taken out
Im taken in, to the factory floor.
For the grand parade of lifeless packaging
- all ready to use
The grand parade of lifeless packaging
- I just need a fuse.
Got people stocked in every shade,
Must be doing well with trade.
Stamped, addressed, in odd fatality.
That evens out their personality.

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song performed by Genesis
Added by Lucian Velea
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