the amandzing way

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT
Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

VOX
Sarah McLachlan

In the desert of my dreams I saw you there
And I’m walking towards the water steaming body cold and bare
But your words cut loose the fire and you left my soul to bleed
And the pain that’s in your truth’s deceiving me, has got me scared
Oh why?
Through your eyes the strains of battle like a brooding storm
Your up and down these pristine velvet walls like focus never forms
My walls are getting wider and my eyes are drawn astray
I see you now a vague deception of a dying day
Oh why?
I fall into the water and once more I turn to you
and the crowds were standing staring faceless cutting off my view to you
They start to limply flail their bodies in a twisted mime
And I’m lost inside this tangled web in which I’m lain entwined
You’re gone and I’m lost inside this tangled web in which I’m lain entwined
Oh why?

To A Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough
Robert Burns

Wee, sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie,
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi’ bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee,
Wi’ murd’ring pattle!

I’m truly sorry man’s dominion,
Has broken nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An’ fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave
‘S a sma’ request;
I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,
An’ never miss’t!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!
An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,
O’ foggage green!
An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin,
Baith snell an’ keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,
An’ weary winter comin fast,
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell-
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro’ thy cell.

That wee bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble,
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter’s sleety dribble,
An’ cranreuch cauld!

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o’ mice an ‘men
Gang aft agley,
An’lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promis’d joy!

Still thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me
The present only toucheth thee:
But, Och! I backward cast my e’e.
On prospects drear!
An’ forward, tho’ I canna see,
I guess an’ fear!

Your Possible Pasts
Roger Waters

They flutter behind you your possible pasts,
Some bright-eyed and crazy, some frightened and lost.
A warning to anyone still in command
Of their possible future, to take care.
In derelict sidings the poppies entwine
With cattle trucks lying in wait for the next time.

Do you remember me? How we used to be?
Do you think we should be closer?

She stood in the doorway, the ghost of a smile
Haunting her face like a cheap hotel sign.
Her cold eyes imploring the men in their macs
For the gold in their bags or the knives in their backs.
Stepping up boldly one put out his hand.
He said, “I was just a child then, now I’m only a man.”

Do you remember me? How we used to be?
Do you think we should be closer?

By the cold and religious we were taken in hand
Shown how to feel good and told to feel bad.
Tongue tied and terrified we learned how to pray
Now our feelings run deep and cold as the clay.
And strung out behind us the banners and flags
Of our possible pasts lie in tatters and rags.

Do you remember me? How we used to be?
Do you think we should be closer?

I don’t believe in if anymore
Roger Whittaker

Now if you load your rifle right
And if you fix your bayonet so
And if you kill that man my friend
The one we call the foe
And if you do it often lad
And if you do it right
You’ll be a hero overnight
You’ll save your country from her plight
Remember God is always right
If you survive to see the sight
A friend now greeting foe

No you won’t believe in If anymore
It’s an illusion
It’s an illusion
No you won’t believe in If anymore
If is for children
If is for children
Building daydreams

If I knew then what I know now
(I thought I did you know somehow)
If I could have the time again
I’d take the sunshine leave the rain
If only time would trickle slow
Like rain that melts the fallen snow
If only Lord if only
If only Lord if only

Oh I don’t believe in If anymore
It’s an illusion
It’s an illusion
No I don’t believe in If anymore
If is for children
If is for children
Building daydreams

No I don’t believe in If anymore
It’s an illusion
It’s an illusion
No I don’t believe in If anymore
If is for children
If is for children
Building daydreams

Bleed It Out
Michael Kenji Shinoda (Linkin Park)

Yeah here we go for the hundredth time
Hand grenade pins in every line
Throw ‘em up and let something shine
Going out of my fucking mind

Filthy mouth, no excuse
Find a new place to hang this noose
String me up from atop these roofs
Knot it tight so i won’t get loose

Truth is you can stop and stare
Bled myself out and no one cares
Dug the trench out laid down there
With a shovel up out of reach somewhere

Yeah, someone pour it in
Make it a dirt dance floor again
Say your prayers and stomp it out
When they bring that chorus in

I bleed it out digging deeper
Just to throw it away
I bleed it out digging deeper
Just to throw it away
Just to throw it away

Go stop the show
Choppy words and a sloppy flow
Shotgun opera lock and load
Cock it back and then watch it go

Mama help me I’ve been cursed
Death is rolling in every verse
Candy paint on his brand new hearse
Can’t contain him he knows he works

Fuck this hurts, I won’t lie
Doesn’t matter how hard I try
Half the words don’t mean a thing
And I know that I wont be satisfied

So why try ignoring him
Make it a dirt dance floor again
Say your prayers and stomp it out
When they bring that chorus in

I bleed it out digging deeper
Just to throw it away
I bleed it out digging deeper
Just to throw it away
Just to throw it away

I’ve opened up these scars
I’ll make you face this
I’ve pulled myself so far
I’ll make you, face, this, now!!!!

I bleed it out digging deeper
Just to throw it away
I bleed it out digging deeper
Just to throw it away
Just to throw it away

Getting away with murder
Papa Roach

Somewhere beyond happiness and sadness
I need to calculate
What creates my own madness
And I’m addicted to your punishment
And you’re the master
And I am waiting for disaster

I feel irrational
So confrontational
To tell the truth I am
Getting away with murder
It isn’t possible
To never tell the truth
But the reality is I’m getting away with murder

I drink my drink and I don’t even want to
I think my thoughts when I don’t even need to
I never look back cause I don’t even want to
And I don’t need to
Because I’m getting away with murder

I feel irrational
So confrontational
To tell the truth I am
Getting away with murder
It isn’t possible
To never tell the truth
But the reality is I’m getting away with murder

Somewhere beyond happiness and sadness
I need to calculate
What creates my own madness
And I’m addicted to your punishment
And I’m the master
And I am craving this disaster

I feel irrational
So confrontational
To tell the truth I am
Getting away with murder
It isn’t possible
To never tell the truth
But the reality is I’m getting away with murder

I feel irrational
So confrontational
To tell the truth I am
Getting away with murder
It isn’t possible
To never tell the truth
But the reality is I’m getting away with murder

Behind blue eyes
Pete Townshend (The Who)

No one knows what it’s like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes.
No one knows what it’s like
To be hated
To be fated
To telling only lies.

But my dreams they aren’t as empty
As my conscience seems to be.
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That’s never free.

No one knows what it’s like
To feel these feelings
Like I do
And I blame you.
No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through.

But my dreams, they aren’t as empty
As my conscience seems to be.
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That’s never free.

When my fist clenches, crack it open
Before I use it and lose my cool.
When I smile, tell me some bad news
Before I laugh, and act like a fool.
And if I swallow anything evil
Put your finger down my throat
And if I shiver please give me a blanket
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat.

No one knows what it’s like
To be the sad man
To be the bad man
Behind blue eyes.

Reality of you
Sanityfound
Morning dew
Following a stormy night
Fresh smell of new
That is what you are

Sunshine peaking through a cloudy sky
Rays of light breaking a shadow
Shapes forming on a blank surface
That is what you are

A flower in bloom
Petals slowly opening
Absorbing in the warmth of sunlight
That is what you are

Turning dark to light
Putting a smile on the face
Touching hearts as you go
That is what you are

Brave new world
Iron Maiden

Dying swans twisted wings, beauty not needed here
Lost my love, lost my life, in this garden of fear
I have seen many things, in a lifetime alone
Mother love is no more, bring this savage back home

Wilderness house of pain, makes no sense of it all
Close this mind dull this brain, messiah before his fall
What you see is not real, those who know will not tell
All is lost sold your souls to this brave new world

A brave new world, in a brave new world
A brave new world, in a brave new world
In a brave new world, a brave new world
In a brave new world, a brave new world

Dragon kings dying queens, where is salvation now
Lost my life lost my dreams, rip the bones from my flesh
Silent screams laughing here, dying to tell you the truth
You are planned and you are damned in this brave new world

A brave new world, in a brave new world
A brave new world, in a brave new world
In a brave new world, a brave new world
In a brave new world, a brave new world

Dying swans twisted wings, bring this savage back home

Daddy
Sylvia Plath

You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time–
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend

Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene

An engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You–

Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I’m finally through.
The black telephone’s off at the root,
The voices just can’t worm through.

If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed two–
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There’s a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.