Just another one of those songs that keep playing over and over in my head. Figured if I wrote it down, it would subside for a while.Funny, I first heard this from a good friend (Reggie) back in the 80's. Still pops up occasionally in my mind. Without further ado:
From the Cars:
Five in the morning all alone in your room
door locked tight private moon
no faces to face no one to blame
nonexistent inside this frame
take it on the run
there's a cheetah walking high
liquid whispers dragonfly
charleston booties painted toes
drop the knot ivory soul
take it on the run
the good life is just a dream away
choke emotion lose control
chicken counters fill your bowls
the lonely crowd is decomposed
lost obsession future froze
Friday, August 12, 2011
W.H.Auden with a twist
I have always loved this quote from the movie Four weddings and a funeral. Not that I want it to happen of course.
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message She Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
She was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
What is and will always be in my heart. Fortunately we will both go at the same time, as soon as I hit 100.
No, is this not a macabre post, just something that popped into my mind, so I wrote it down. Peggy and I have a pact to both leave this earth together when I turn 100 or more.
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message She Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
She was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
What is and will always be in my heart. Fortunately we will both go at the same time, as soon as I hit 100.
No, is this not a macabre post, just something that popped into my mind, so I wrote it down. Peggy and I have a pact to both leave this earth together when I turn 100 or more.
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