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Literature Text
If hate is just love gone wrong
then we could have been fantastic
Because I love the way you move
but I hate the way you sing.
Yes, I love this song,
and you've got the dance just right,
but you're slaughtering it.
It's not your voice
and it's not the words
You know the lyrics so well
and you sing them so beautifully
It's a feeling
somewhere behind the words
that just isn't right
oh, isn't right at all.
You turn love-songs
into odes of silence
You turn rock-n-roll
into sticks-n-stones
You turn pop around
into something worth
listening to.
Yes, if any publicity is good publicity
then it explains why they say
that love can start with a war
because then all attention
is good attention
and I’m paying it to you
in how I could have been screaming
screaming out loud
“You’re ruining our song!”
Though we
we share nothing
We've got no song
no tune is ours
and if it was
if there was such a song
I bet you could sing it
and I would never complain
I would have no complaints
simply listening
would be enough,
for. me. then
It's not your voice
and it's not the words
You know the lyrics so well
and you sing them so beautifully
It's a feeling
somewhere behind the words
that just isn't right
oh, isn't right at all.
then we could have been fantastic
Because I love the way you move
but I hate the way you sing.
Yes, I love this song,
and you've got the dance just right,
but you're slaughtering it.
It's not your voice
and it's not the words
You know the lyrics so well
and you sing them so beautifully
It's a feeling
somewhere behind the words
that just isn't right
oh, isn't right at all.
You turn love-songs
into odes of silence
You turn rock-n-roll
into sticks-n-stones
You turn pop around
into something worth
listening to.
Yes, if any publicity is good publicity
then it explains why they say
that love can start with a war
because then all attention
is good attention
and I’m paying it to you
in how I could have been screaming
screaming out loud
“You’re ruining our song!”
Though we
we share nothing
We've got no song
no tune is ours
and if it was
if there was such a song
I bet you could sing it
and I would never complain
I would have no complaints
simply listening
would be enough,
for. me. then
It's not your voice
and it's not the words
You know the lyrics so well
and you sing them so beautifully
It's a feeling
somewhere behind the words
that just isn't right
oh, isn't right at all.
Literature
One of a Kind
It is better to act in kindness, then to retract an act in kind. Giving of yourself is charity. Forgiveness is truly divine. Here in the darkness, all might seem grim, camaraderie is hard to find. Your graciousness burns ever brighter, truly you are one of a Kind. Latin Melius est benigne agere; tunc actum generaliter repetemus. Te ipsum das, caritas est. Venia vere divina est. Hic in tenebris omnia tristia cernuntur; camaraderie difficile invenire. Tua gratia lucet et lucet; Nimirum tu differs. Hello! I invite you to translate my poem into your native language and please share it with us, so that we all might enjoy!
Literature
Age
My hands have never been as heavy as they are now. Looking at my fingers, withered by time and hardships, I recall their former lightness as I bent timber into pieces of art—so agile and precise. As I sit here in front of the workbench I made decades ago, the same workbench in front of which I used to spend night after night pouring every ounce of my being, of my soul even, I am reminded of how much has changed. As I sit here and gently run my calloused, numb hand across the same old wood, which although has no ears to hear me, I still feel the need to apologise to—for my inability. It hurt. It hurt to look at my countless tools, knowing I’ll NEVER use them again, pains me more than my diminishing health ever could. Ever since I become like this, all I do is come here in my workshop and just sit. It was difficult to come here today. I slipped and fell down the steps to the basement. I've fallen down before, but today was more painful than ever. Getting up was hard, and my knees still
Literature
Forget the Title
I would give this poem a title, but try at what expense? My words are not confined - Nor do I mind - That my words are such a mess. I digress...I digress. I would give you each a title, but I would rather just confess. Our worlds are intertwined - For this I do mind - That our worlds are just a test. We digress...We digress. I would give these thoughts a title, but they never seem to rest. These thoughts were once divine - This testament of mind - That stays close to the vest. They digress...They digress. Erase the mess. Throw out the test. Strip off your vest. Digress. Digress. Digress.
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