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keith a 9565 posts |
Aug 03, 2005, 20:05
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Peters & Lee?
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supercat 4257 posts |
Aug 03, 2005, 20:18
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probably has, but we have't found it yet. ;-) xx
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supercat 4257 posts |
Aug 03, 2005, 20:20
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well have done two of those things but am not telling you which. Blimey who wrote/sung that? xxx
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supercat 4257 posts |
Aug 03, 2005, 20:20
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Pure class Keith. xx
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machineryelf 3679 posts |
Aug 03, 2005, 21:28
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The Stolen Child WB Yeats via The Waterboys Where dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake, There lies a leafy island Where flapping herons wake The drowsy water-rats; There we've hid our faery vats, Full of berries And of reddest stolen cherries. Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim grey sands with light, Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night, Weaving olden dances, Mingling hands and mingling glances Till the moon has taken flight; To and fro we leap And chase the frothy bubbles, While the world is full of troubles And is anxious in its sleep. Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Where the wandering water gushes From the hills above Glen-Car, In pools among the rushes That scarce could bathe a star, We seek for slumbering trout And whispering in their ears Give them unquiet dreams; Leaning softly out From ferns that drop their tears Over the young streams. Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Away with us he's going, The solemn-eyed: He'll hear no more the lowing Of the calves on the warm hillside Or the kettle on the hob Sing peace into his breast, Or see the brown mice bob Round and round the oatmeal-chest. For he comes, the human child, To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, From a world more full of weeping than he can understand.
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machineryelf 3679 posts |
Aug 03, 2005, 21:35
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for anyone who grew up in a shitty southern seaside town in the seventies Trudging slowly over wet sand Back to the bench where your clothes were stolen This is the coastal town That they forgot to close down Armageddon - come Armageddon! Come, Armageddon! Come! Everyday is like Sunday Everyday is silent and grey Hide on the promenade Etch a postcard : "How I Dearly Wish I Was Not Here" In the seaside town ...that they forgot to bomb Come, Come, Come - nuclear bomb Everyday is like Sunday Everyday is silent and grey Trudging back over pebbles and sand And a strange dust lands on your hands (And on your face...) (On your face ...) (On your face ...) (On your face ...) Everyday is like Sunday "Win Yourself A Cheap Tray" Share some greased tea with me Everyday is silent and grey i remember reading that poem at school and thinking lucky Slough bastards should try living here, then they would have something to moan about.
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Pilgrim 597 posts |
Aug 03, 2005, 21:41
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I don't know what's more depressing: these lyrics, or that the bloke that wrote 'em is still out there making money....... Pilgrim
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machineryelf 3679 posts |
Aug 03, 2005, 21:59
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LOL, bloody hell that must be a first for Morrisey.
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keith a 9565 posts |
Aug 03, 2005, 22:04
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I know you lot down south are a lot less uptight than us North Walians, but I hope it was the baby martian business!
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keith a 9565 posts |
Aug 03, 2005, 22:04
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; )
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