Keith Richards - Song Lyrics

You Don't Move Me Anymore

You made the wrong motion
Drank the wrong potion
You lost the feeling
Not so appealing

Why do you think you got no friends
You drove them all around the bend

Oh Yeah
You don't move me anymore

Now you wanna throw the dice
You already crapped out twice

Oh Yeah, Oh Yeah
You don't move me anymore

One face so seamy
The other don't see me
It's better that you kill the light
You're giving us all a fright

Oh Yeah
You don't move me anymore

How you gonna keep your wealth
Can't even defend yourself

Ah yeah, Ah no
You don't move me anymore

What makes you so greedy
Makes you so seedy
No matter how you flip that dime
On our side is time
Oh Yeah, Oh Yeah, Oh Yeah

It's no longer funny
It's bigger than money

You don't move me anymore

Yoshitaka Amano

Mick Jagger - song lyrics

"Sweet Thing"

In the beginning, when life was simple
We were at each other night and day
You were so sensual and so inventive
We said we'd stick together come what may

In the beginning, you were so brutal
You turned the heat on in the afternoon
Get so excited, get so addicted
You had me eating from your golden spoon

Now I don't wanna spoil the party
I know it goes against the grain
As the plane touched down I got movies of you
Running through my fevered brain

I really love my sweet thing, I can't give her up
I really love my sweet thing, I can't give her up
I really love my sweet thing, I can't give her up

In the beginning, when we were winning
I was your ever-present love-sick fool
You turned the heat off and left me standing
Freezing by your swimming pool

I can't give it up
I can't give it up
I can't give it up
I can't give it up

Now I don't wanna spoil the party
I know it goes against the grain
As the plane touched down, and the midnight moon
Can't just walk away

Really love my sweet thing, wanna' lick it up
Really love my sweet thing, wanna' lick it up
Really love my sweet thing, can't give it up
Really love my sweet thing, can't give it up

David Suzuki

“Every breath is a sacrament, an affirmation of our connection with all other living things, a renewal of our link with our ancestors and a contribution to generations yet to come. Our breath is a part of life's breath, the ocean of air that envelopes the earth.”
― David Suzuki, The Sacred Balance: Rediscovering Our Place in Nature    

Felix Heuberger

Margaret Atwood

Siren Song

This is the one song everyone
would like to learn: the song
that is irresistible:

the song that forces men
to leap overboard in squadrons
even though they see beached skulls

the song nobody knows
because anyone who had heard it
is dead, and the others can’t remember.
Shall I tell you the secret
and if I do, will you get me
out of this bird suit?
I don’t enjoy it here
squatting on this island
looking picturesque and mythical
with these two feathery maniacs,
I don’t enjoy singing
this trio, fatal and valuable.

I will tell the secret to you,
to you, only to you.
Come closer. This song

is a cry for help: Help me!
Only you, only you can,
you are unique

at last. Alas
it is a boring song
but it works every time.

 

Margaret Atwood :

Hermann Hesse (1877-1962)

On A Journey

Don't be downcast, soon the night will come,
When we can see the cool moon laughing in secret
Over the faint countryside,
And we rest, hand in hand.


Don't be downcast, the time will soon come
When we can have rest. Our small crosses will stand
On the bright edge of the road together,
And rain fall, and snow fall,
And the winds come and go.


Translated by James Wright
  

Hermann Hesse :

Pablo Picasso (1881-1973)

George Gurdjieff (1872-1949)

Laughter relieves us of superfluous energy, which, if it remained unused, might become negative, that is, poison. Laughter is the antidote.

George Gurdjieff

Tom Waits - Rain Dogs

Inside a broken clock
Splashing the wine
With all the Rain Dogs
Taxi, we'd rather walk.
Huddle a doorway with the Rain Dogs
For I am a Rain Dog, too.

Oh, how we danced and we swallowed the night
For it was all ripe for dreamin
Oh, how we danced away
All of the lights
We've always been out of our minds.

The Rum pours strong and thin
Beat out the dustman
With the Rain Dogs
Aboard a shipwreck train
Give my umbrella to the Rain Dogs
For I am a Rain Dog, too.

Oh, how we danced with the
Rose of Tralee
Her long hair black as a raven
Oh, how we danced and you
Whispered to me
You'll never be going back home,

Jakub Kujawa

David Shapiro

In the Other Pocket Dust

By David Shapiro b. 1947      

Sisyphus had a bad back.

Why? Well, I get up in the morning

And my wife wants me to carry

A big blue bag of garbage

To my son now

Sleeping in a studio in NY. Five flights he will not carry.

Oh I say I’m not supposed to carry

More than five pounds of garbage

And she crosses the border with it

There was a dead body like little Pedro rolled down the

Hill by Buñuel and not the long kiss

Of L’age d’or but the dog and dog-dream

In Los Olvidados. How do you abandon dirt?

The blue bag also rolls down by itself, full of Pedro

Something little Pedro always wanted to do

It’s a cold day. Man is garbage.

Sisyphus has a bad back.

Peter Townsend

Baba O' Riley Lyrics

Out here in the fields, I fight for my meals
I get my back into my living
I don't need to fight to prove I'm right
I don't need to be forgiven

Don't cry, don't raise your eye
It's only teenage wasteland

Sally, take my hand, travel south crossland
Put out the fire don't look past my shoulder
The exodus is here, the happy ones are near
Let's get together before we get much older

Teenage wasteland, it's only teenage wasteland
Teenage wasteland, oh, oh
Teenage wasteland, they're all wasted

  Who - Baba O' Riley Lyrics

Sandeep Karunakaran

Charles Bukowski (1920-1994)

“I’d listen to the radio and look at the
walls and get drunk enough to
almost forget her
but then she would return once
again.”

—  Charles Bukowski, from A Place To Hang Out

Anfisa Osinnik

Renoir

Renoir liked to enlarge women's eyes,
giving roundness to cheeks and lips.
Renoir liked to play with women's hair.
Excellent painter and magnificent hatter,
every hat in his pictures shouts:
I'm the spirit of nature!
When he mixed crimson, cobalt and cinnabar on his pallet,
the oil in the paint turned solar,
the sun took unceremonious walks on his canvases
without noticing the frame.
The day he died
was gray, gray, gray,
or maybe it wasn't,
or maybe he died at night.
But I think that his spirit,
looking at his own portrait
in the frame of the coffin, thought:
Here's my worst picture.
                                   Then the spirit fled,
                                   surely towards the sun,
                                   surely to step on women's hats,
                                   surely to portray angels
                                   with enlarged eyes,
                                   with round cheeks
                                   and fleshy lips.
                                   Of course the angels
                                   wear hats now;
                                   the angels like
                                   natural beauty turned spiritual.

Simon Stalenhag

Octavio Paz (1914-1998)

Summit and Gravity

  
There's a motionless tree
And another one coming forward
                                                         A river of trees
Hits my chest
                        The green surge
Is good fortune
You are dressed in red
                                      You are
The seal of the scorched year
The carnal firebrand
                                   The star fruit
In you like sun
                           The hour rests
Above an abyss of clarities
The height is clouded by birds
Their beaks construct the night
Their wings carry the day
Planted in the crest of light
Between firmness and vertigo
                 You are
         Transparent balance

Peter Orlovsky (1933-2010)

Snail Poem Written by: Peter Orlovsky |

 Make my grave shape of heart so like a flower be free aired & handsome felt, Grave root pillow, tung up from grave & wigle at blown up clowd. Ear turnes close to underlayer of green felt moss & sound of rain dribble thru this layer down to the roots that will tickle my ear. Hay grave, my toes need cutting so file away in sound curve or Garbage grave, way above my head, blood will soon trickle in my ear - no choise but the grave, so cat & sheep are daisey turned. Train will tug my grave, my breath hueing gentil vapor between weel & track. So kitten string & ball, jumpe over this mound so gently & cutely So my toe can curl & become a snail & go curiousely on its way. 1958 NYC

Read more at: http://www.poetrysoup.com/famous/poem/8716/snail_poem

Milan Paran