Saturday, June 22, 2013

"Don't Ask Me Why"


I choose to stay far away
From the ones that think
Money is money to share
Don't ask me why
And I'll tell you no lies

Sonny don't come here no more
He don't drink from this well
O he's done with the world
And done with the girl
And I don't ask him why
And he tells me no lies

Those of us who are lost and low
I know how you feel
I know it's not right but it's real
But it's real.

I don't ask for love
And I don't beg for money
I'm just asking for grace and forgiveness
Now honey don't ask me why
And I'll tell you no lies.

Been looking for answers
In unsavoury places
On the highest of mountains
And on the lowest of bases
And I still don't know why
I still don't know why.

Those of us who are lost and low
We know how you feel
We know it's not right but it's real
But it's real.

I took the wind from the sea
I took the blood from an arrow
I took the wisdom of spring
And I was thrown and blown and tossed and turned until
Time found its hand and called an end
Me and time we go way back when
I was a child
And I always knew why.

I knew my name
I knew my road
And I stayed away from heavy loads
I'm still, I'm low
O lord am I low

Those of us who are lost and low
We know how you feel
We know it's not right but it's real
But it's real.


LAURA MARLING

Thursday, June 20, 2013

"We aren't here to make things perfect. Snowflakes are perfect. Stars are perfect. Not us, not us. We are here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts. To love the wrong people, and die."

Friday, June 7, 2013

Ode by Arthur O'Shaughnessy

We are the music makers,
  And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
  And sitting by desolate streams;—
World-losers and world-forsakers,     5
  On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
  Of the world for ever, it seems.
With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,     10
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
  Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure     15
  Can trample a kingdom down.
We, in the ages lying
  In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
  And Babel itself in our mirth;     20
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
  To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
  Or one that is coming to birth.
A breath of our inspiration     25
Is the life of each generation;
A wondrous thing of our dreaming
Unearthly, impossible seeming—
The soldier, the king, and the peasant
  Are working together in one,     30
Till our dream shall become their present,
  And their work in the world be done.
They had no vision amazing
Of the goodly house they are raising;
They had no divine foreshowing     35
Of the land to which they are going:
But on one man's soul it hath broken,
  A light that doth not depart;
And his look, or a word he hath spoken,
  Wrought flame in another man's heart.     40
And therefore to-day is thrilling
With a past day's late fulfilling;
And the multitudes are enlisted
In the faith that their fathers resisted,
And, scorning the dream of to-morrow,     45
  Are bringing to pass, as they may,
In the world, for its joy or its sorrow,
  The dream that was scorned yesterday.
But we, with our dreaming and singing,
  Ceaseless and sorrowless we!     50
The glory about us clinging
  Of the glorious futures we see,
Our souls with high music ringing:
  O men! it must ever be
That we dwell, in our dreaming and singing,     55
  A little apart from ye.
For we are afar with the dawning
  And the suns that are not yet high,
And out of the infinite morning
  Intrepid you hear us cry—     60
How, spite of your human scorning,
  Once more God's future draws nigh,
And already goes forth the warning
  That ye of the past must die.
Great hail! we cry to the comers     65
  From the dazzling unknown shore;
Bring us hither your sun and your summers;
  And renew our world as of yore;
You shall teach us your song's new numbers,
  And things that we dreamed not before:     70
Yea, in spite of a dreamer who slumbers,
  And a singer who sings no more.