Substandard Superhuman (radioactive) wrote in fatum_ferox,
Substandard Superhuman

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Hope you enjoy these. (And welcome to kementari2!)

For a Friend Whose Work Has Come to Nothing
[by William Butler Yeats]

Now all the truth is out,
Be secret and take defeat
From any brazen throat,
For how can you compete,
Being honour bred, with one
Who, were it proved he lies,
Were neither shamed in his own
Nor in his neighbors' eyes?
Bred to a harder thing
Than Triumph, turn away
And like a laughing string
Whereon mad fingers play
Amid a place of stone,
Be secret and exult,
Because of all things known
That is most difficult.

Will We Survive?
[by Swans]

   i'll drink the moonlight from your hands
   i'll swim an ocean filled with sorrow
   no lover please don't go
   we can crucify tomorrow
   let the sunlight feed the air
   let it fill our lungs with lies
   we'll be memorized by shadows
   but our loneliness will survive

   now the sugar in your soft voice
   makes the sweetness in your weeping
   and the black rose that you swallowed
   feeds the solitude you're dreaming
   no i'll never taste your tears again
   in the darkness that we're breathing in
   now the sun will kill the garden
   in a universe that is bleeding

For Annie
[by Edgar Allen Poe]

Thank Heaven! The crisis --
     The danger is past,
And the lingering illness
     Is over at last --
And the fever called "Living"
     Is conquered at last.

Sadly, I know
     I am shorn of my strength,
And no muscle I move
     As I lie at full length --
But no matter! -- I feel
     I am better at length.

And I rest so composedly
     Now, in my bed,
That any beholder
     Might fancy me dead --
Might start at beholding me,
     Thinking me dead.

The moaning and groaning,
     The sighing and sobbing,
Are quieted now,
     With that horrible throbbing
At heart: -- ah that horrible
     Horrible throbbing!

The sickness -- the nausea --
     The pitiless pain --
Have ceased the fever
     That maddened my brain --
With the fever called "Living"
     That burned in my brain.

And oh! Of all tortures
     That torture the worst
Has abated -- the terrible
     Torture of thirst
For the napthaline river
     Of Passion accurst: --
I have drunk of a water
     That quenches all thirst: --

Of a water that flows,
     With a lullaby sound,
From a spring but a very few
     Feet under ground --
From a cavern not very far
     Down under ground.

And ah! Let it never
     Be foolishly said
That my room is gloomy
     And narrow my bed;
For a man never slept
     In a different bed --
And to sleep, you must slumber
     In just such a bed.

My tantalized spirit
     Here blandly reposes,
Forgetting, or never
     Regretting, its roses --
Its old agitations
     Or myrtles and roses:

For now, while so quietly
     Lying, it fancies
A holier odor
     About it, of pansies --
A rosemary odor,
     Commingled with pansies --
With rue and the beautiful
     Puritan pansies.

And so it lies happy,
     Bathing in many
A dream of the truth
     And the beauty of Annie --
Drowned in a bath
     Of the tresses of Annie.

She tenderly kissed me,
     She fondly caressed,
And then I fell gently
     To sleep on her breast --
Deeply to sleep
     From the heaven of her breast.

When the light was extinguished,
     She covered me warm,
And she prayed to the angels
     To keep me from harm --
To the queen of the angels
     To shield me from harm.

And I lie so composedly,
     Now, in my bed,
(Knowing her love)
     That you fancy me dead --
And I rest so contentedly,
     Now, in my bed,
(With her love at my breast)
     That you fancy me dead --
That you shudder to look at me,
     Thinking me dead: --

But my heart it is brighter
     Than all of the many
Stars of the sky,
     For it sparkles with Annie --
It glows with the light
     Of the love of my Annie --
With the thought and the light
     Of the eyes of my Annie.

The Orkish Blues
[by T. Waits & K. Brennan]

The women all control their men
With razors and with wrists
And the princess sqeezes grapejuice
On a torrid bloody kiss
What will you be wearing there
The lion or the raven hair?
The flesh will all be tearing,
But the tail will be my own
In the colosseum tonight.

This one's for the balcony
And this one's for the floor
As the senators decapitate
The presidential whore
The bald headed senators
Are splashing in the blood
The dogs are having someone
Who is screaming in the mud
In the colosseum tonight.

Now it's raining and it's pouring
On the pillaging and goring
The constable is swinging
From the chains
For the dead there is no story
No memory, no blame
Their families shout blue murder
But tomorrow it's the same
In the colosseum tonight.

A slowly acting poison
Will be given to the favorite one
The dark horse will bring glory
To the jailer and his men
It's always much more sporting
When there's families in the pit
And the madness of the crowd
Is an epileptic fit
In the colosseum tonight.

No justice here, no liberty
No reason, no blame
There's no cause to taint
The sweetest taste of blood
And greetings from the nation
As we shake the hands of time
They're taking their ovations
The vultures stay behind
In the colosseum, in the colosseum,
In the colosseum tonight...

She Walks in Beauty
[by George Gordon, Lord Byron]

She walks in beauty, like the night
    Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
    Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
    Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
    Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
    Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
    How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
    So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
    But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
    A heart whose love is innocent!

Why these? No comment.

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