Say, Mr. Tambourine Man,

what sort of songs can a tambourine play?

Different rhythms for sure but a tune - no way !

You've got just the one note and though we could dance,

we'd all need to be in some sort of trance.

Bar Staff

Proud and sleek as a viking longship

she cuts through the roiling waves of customers,

searching both sides for abandoned glasses

then back in her wash to the wash.

No war lasts forever.

One side wins or all sides tire.

Righteous causes sever

loving feelings and hates expire.

No love lasts forever

if love is passion. Passion wanes.

Love and war were ever

struggles ending unsure who gains.

How dare this child be born pushing through pain,

butting into the world a bloody stain !

Nature will punish the crimesince never loth

to issue life and death sentences both.

When young the future is infinite,

the space beyond the horizon,

but in time a faint mist forms,

thickening to a dark cloud

like a wild animal silently,

slowly padding toward you.

Tweets 8

Dying might be difficult

but death is nothing

SAVANNAH

None too likely to be a star

but decorative way above par

and always ready to serve you a jar -

beauties behind the bar.

Some media play upon our fears

of illness, cancer, heart disease,

but it isn't play at all to them -

it's business, if you please !

POP SONG LYRICS

The words young girls so long to hear

but real-life boys so rarely say.

ILLOGICAL

If some-one is trying to murder me,

I am justified in killing him.

But if he does actually kill me,

he's then protected from being executed.

I really wish I could sleep on my back

but it's one ability I somehow lack.

No matter how long I've sometimes tried

I always end up turning on my side.

I don't like young attention seekers,

thinking they shouldn't be so vain

but have to admit that when they're older

they could be stars that entertain.

She wasn't at all attractive

but her attention massaged my ego.

 

Birdsong

I like to hear the cheep of a sparrow,

the cheerful trill of a robin.

I enjoy the warble of a blackbird,

the echo of a songthrush.

I now miss the twitter of a skylark

and I've never heard a nightingale.

But it's all just pleasant British birdsong,

less than human musical feats,

and exaggeration is surely wrong

as done by Shelley and Keats.