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Characteristics of a popular politician: a horrible voice, bad breeding, and a vulgar manner.

quote by Aristophanes
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Popular Thug

You know what I am
You know what I do well at least I thought you knew
They call me Pusha
Damn
I take you like a slap in the face
Everytime the bass is mentioned like I had bad intentions
Listen, I thought love was given
So for you I did those things you were missing
Never have to say
Please gimme borrow
As long as I got yay
And two semi autos
And connects in the jets
Like wetback Carlos
I ain't askin' you to follow
Just think about tomorrow
Please
I should have known by the way that you stared
Eyeing Passes by like you're rich but life ain't fair
But you make my record skip
Make my record skip
Make my record skip
Make my record skip
I would have never talked to you if I had known you was a popular thug
Hey, popular thug (you're damn right)
I would have never talked to you if I had known you was a popular thug
Hey, popular thug (you're damn right)
I can't help if I'm a thug and I'm popular
I think that come along with driving a shocking car
Watch the coke light up they life
The rocks with stars
Had fiends talking crippled
Cuz they locked they jaw
Aw Pusha T you think it's cool that you deal
Bout as cool as that breeze on the beach in Brazil
As long as fiends want pain
Then I'm gon' slang
When my financial change
Then I'm gon' change
I should have seen in the way you touched my hand
Shuffling your car keys
But sounded like a gentleman
But ya make my record skip
Make my record skip
Make my record skip
Make my record skip
I would have never talked to you if I had known you was a popular thug
Hey, popular thug (you're damn right)
I would have never talked to you if I had known you was a popular thug
Hey, popular thug (you're damn right)

[...] Read more

song performed by Kelis
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I'm Bad

bad bad bad bad bad
bad bad bad bad bad
bad bad bad bad
I was bas born
I'd be badder when I die
I'm bad when I am sober
I'm badder when I'm high
I'm when I feel good
I'm bad when I'm blue
I'm bad to myself
So I'll be bad to you
So I'll be bad to you
I should've been good
Look at the trouble I've had
I would if I could
But I'm just bad
bad bad bad bad bad
bad bad bad bad
I'm, bad and I'm alive
I'll be badder when I'm dead
I'm bad in my body
man I'm badder in the head
I'm bad in the bed
Something wrong from the start
Guilt in my mind
Evil in my heart
Evil in my heart
I don't need to be happy
I don't care if I'm sad
I don't care about nothin'
Cause I'm bad bad bad bad bad
bad bad bad bad
Don't lend me a dollar
Don't lend me a dime
Don't lend me your wife
She'll have a good time
I'm bad in my car
I'm badder when I'm home
I'm bad when I'm with you
And I'm badder all alone
I'm a low down worm
I'm a conquering worm
I'm a blood-suckin' worm
I'm a slime baitin' worm
I'll put you on the hook
And I'll watch you squirm
I could never learn
Any young turks new tricks
I could never learn
Not to kick against the pricks

[...] Read more

song performed by Violent Femmes
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Epilogue

(THE GRAVEYARD OF SPOON RIVER. TWO VOICES ARE HEARD BEHIND A SCREEN DECORATED WITH DIABOLICAL AND ANGELIC FIGURES IN VARIOUS ALLEGORICAL RELATIONS. A FAINT LIGHT SHOWS DIMLY THROUGH THE SCREEN AS IF IT WERE WOVEN OF LEAVES, BRANCHES AND SHADOWS.)

FIRST VOICE

A game of checkers?

SECOND VOICE

Well, I don't mind.

FIRST VOICE

I move the Will.

SECOND VOICE

You're playing it blind.

FIRST VOICE

Then here's the Soul.

SECOND VOICE

Checked by the Will.

FIRST VOICE

Eternal Good!

SECOND VOICE

And Eternal Ill.

FIRST VOICE

I haste for the King row.

SECOND VOICE

Save your breath.

FIRST VOICE

I was moving Life.

SECOND VOICE

You're checked by Death.

[...] Read more

poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Song: Popular Culture

Oh I'm sick to death of spin,
And this banal, self-serving sin,
That justifies usurpation like a king.
When shove will come to push,
Weilding power without blush,
This vigilante State is so right-wing!

Pop, pop, popular history,
Grows a crop of myth and mystery,
Where legends reap the cynical flattery,
That maintains the lie:
Of who we are,
What we've become,
In whose name,
Was violence done;
Of why we're here,
And how we came.
Who's excused,
And who's to blame.
Of where we're going,
And where we're from;
And what we're doing,
To right the wrongs...

Pop, pop, popular culture.
Does it diminish or exalt ya?
Pop, pop, popular culture.
Is it Art or just sheer torture?

Pop, pop, popular culture;
Soporific by it's nature,
From mediocre to bad.
Pop, pop, popular culture,
Confers on all a bland inertia,
Embracing every fad:
Of how we look,
The way we feel;
What is image,
And what is real.
Of what to eat,
And what to wear;
How best to cheat,
Or how to care.
The puzzle of love,
The seizures of hate;
How best to survive,
The quirks of cruel fate.
The rule of the stars,
Or the lives of the great;
Hints from the famous,

[...] Read more

poem by Dave SmithWhite
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Bad Bad Boy

Im a bad, bad, boy
And Im gonna steal your love
Said Im a bad, bad, boy
And Im gonna steal your love
Come take me to your house
Then Im gonna rip you off
Well I made my first kill
With the old town girl
She was the apple of her daddys eye
Well that woman looked up at me
And I said honey well be
Together till the day I die
But I lied
Im a bad, bad, boy
And Im gonna steal your love
Im a bad, bad, boy
And Im gonna steal your love
Come take me to your house
Then Im gonna rip you off
There seems to be no end
Of women who are lookin for a man
My services dont come cheap
But I help out when I can
Tell them lies that they wanna hear
Andi really lead em on
Spend all of their money
And Im long, gone
Im a bad, bad, boy
And Im gonna steal your love
Im a bad, bad, boy
And Im gonna steal your love
Come take me to your house
Then Im gonna rip you off
Ive got tastes for fast cars
I dont wanna settle down
The good life sure come s easily
With all the mugs around
The women they just come to me
I dont have to look around
I move into their homes with them
Then I move on
Im a bad, bad, boy
And Im gonna steal your love
Im a bad, bad, boy
Im gonna steal your love
Come take me to your house
Then Im gonna rip you off
Im a bad, bad, bad, bad, bad,bad, bad, bad, bad,bad,bad, bad, boy
Im bad, Im bad, Im bad, Im such a, such a bad, bad boy
Im gonna rip you off

[...] Read more

song performed by Nazareth
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Bad Girl

Bad Girl"
Sho nuff
Shawty
What it do?
Oooooooh
Pimpin', oh boy
uh
What y'all know about a supermodel
Fresh outta Elle magazine
Buy her own bottles
Look pimp juice, I need me one
Bad than a mutha
I hear you sayin'
I need a bad girl
If you're a bad girl
Playas when you see me
Act like you know me
I keep a dollar worth of dimes
You know pimpin' ain't easy
For all my chicks in the club
Who knows how to cut a rug
If you're a bad girl
Get at me bad girl
[Chorus]
Ooh work me baby
Shakin' it the way I like
I'm ready to be bad
I need a bad girl (say yeah)
Get at me bad girl
What sexy lady's comin' home with me tonight?
I'm ready to be bad
I need a bad girl (super bad baby)
Get at me bad girl
Now I've seen a lotta broads
All on one accord
Everyone looked the same but
Take a look at my dame (my dame)
Fo' sho', she take that Hpnotiq or Alize
There ain't much more I can say but (I need a)
I need a bad girl (bad girl)
If you're a bad girl
Got one thou' on the bar now
Chick need a drink on the flo' now
Look at them bad girls movin' it
Makin' faces while they doin' it
Oh, I wanna take one to the restroom
So close I'm smellin' like your perfume
If you're a bad girl
Get at me bad girl
[Chorus]

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song performed by Usher
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The American Popular Song

It's a popular song, an American popular song.
And there's something about it, can't live without it.
It's the tune of the day, somehow it takes you away
and it grabs you, and it holds you, feel it control you,
makes you want to clap your hands.
Makes you want to stomp your feet.
Makes you want to sing along. It means business.
The American popular song goes on and on.
The American popular song goes on and on and on.
It's a popular song. An American popular song.
A simple story wrapped up in glory.
Once you hear it you know you got to hear it some more.
And that's power, try it, you can't deny it.
Makes you want to clap your hands.
Makes you want to stomp your feet.
Makes you want to sing along. It means business.
The American popular song goes on and on.
The American popular song goes on and on and on.
It's a popular song. An American popular song.
It's a popular song, an American popular song.
It's a popular song, an American popular song.

song performed by Neil Diamond
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Bad Boy

Bad boy, bad boy
Bad boy, bad boy
Boys will be boys, bad boy, bad boy
Boys will be boys, bad boy.bad boy
Boys will be boys, bad boy, bad boy
Always gettin so restless, nothin but trouble
Boys will be boys, bad boy, bad boy
Get me feelin breathless, nothin but trouble
Boys will be boys, bad boy, bad boy
Bad, bad, bad, bad boy, you make me feel so good
Bad, bad, bad, bad boy, you make me feel so good, knew you would
The way you hold me tight you get me so excited
You do me oh , so right, my heart goes beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat
Bad, bad, bad, bad boy, you make me feel so good, I want you
Bad, bad, bad, bad boy, you make me feel so good, knew you would
Boys will be boys, bad boy, bad boy
Always gettin so restless, nothin but trouble
Boys will be boys, bad boy, bad boy
Get me feelin breathless, nothin but trouble
And when he drives me home
I feel safe at night
You call me on the phone
It goes ring, ring, ring, ring-a-ring, ring
Boys will be boys, bad boy, bad boy
Always gettin so restless, nothin but trouble
Boys will be boys, bad boy, bad boy
Get me feelin breathless, nothin but trouble
Boys will be boys, bad boy, bad boy

song performed by Gloria Estefan
Added by Lucian Velea
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Tamar

I
A night the half-moon was like a dancing-girl,
No, like a drunkard's last half-dollar
Shoved on the polished bar of the eastern hill-range,
Young Cauldwell rode his pony along the sea-cliff;
When she stopped, spurred; when she trembled, drove
The teeth of the little jagged wheels so deep
They tasted blood; the mare with four slim hooves
On a foot of ground pivoted like a top,
Jumped from the crumble of sod, went down, caught, slipped;
Then, the quick frenzy finished, stiffening herself
Slid with her drunken rider down the ledges,
Shot from sheer rock and broke
Her life out on the rounded tidal boulders.

The night you know accepted with no show of emotion the little
accident; grave Orion
Moved northwest from the naked shore, the moon moved to
meridian, the slow pulse of the ocean
Beat, the slow tide came in across the slippery stones; it drowned
the dead mare's muzzle and sluggishly
Felt for the rider; Cauldwell’s sleepy soul came back from the
blind course curious to know
What sea-cold fingers tapped the walls of its deserted ruin.
Pain, pain and faintness, crushing
Weights, and a vain desire to vomit, and soon again
die icy fingers, they had crept over the loose hand and lay in the
hair now. He rolled sidewise
Against mountains of weight and for another half-hour lay still.
With a gush of liquid noises
The wave covered him head and all, his body
Crawled without consciousness and like a creature with no bones,
a seaworm, lifted its face
Above the sea-wrack of a stone; then a white twilight grew about
the moon, and above
The ancient water, the everlasting repetition of the dawn. You
shipwrecked horseman
So many and still so many and now for you the last. But when it
grew daylight
He grew quite conscious; broken ends of bone ground on each
other among the working fibers
While by half-inches he was drawing himself out of the seawrack
up to sandy granite,
Out of the tide's path. Where the thin ledge tailed into flat cliff
he fell asleep. . . .
Far seaward
The daylight moon hung like a slip of cloud against the horizon.
The tide was ebbing
From the dead horse and the black belt of sea-growth. Cauldwell
seemed to have felt her crying beside him,

[...] Read more

poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Someone Keeps Moving My Chair

Mr. horrible
Mr. horrible
Telephone call for mr. horrible
But before he can talk to the ugliness men
Theres some horrible business left
For him to attend to
Something unpleasant has spilled on his brain
As he sponges it off they say
Is this horrible?
Is this horrible?
Its the ugliness men, mr. horrible
Were just trying to bug you
We thought that our dreadfulness
Might be a thing to annoy you with
But mr. horrible says, I dont mind
The thing that bothers me is
Someone keeps moving my chair
Would you mind if we balance this glass of milk
Where your visiting friend accidentally was killed?
Would it be okay with you if we wrote a reminder
Of things well forget to do today otherwise,
Using a green magic marker, if its alright
On the back of your head?
Mr. horrible
Mr. horrible
Were not done with you yet mr. horrible
You have to try on these pants so the ugliness men
Can decide if theyre just as embarrassing as we think
We have to be sure about this
But mr. horrible says, I dont mind
The thing that bothers me is
Someone keeps moving my chair
Someone keeps moving my chair
Mr. horrible says, I dont mind
The thing that bothers me is
Someone keeps moving my chair

song performed by They Might Be Giants
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The Interpretation of Nature and

I.

MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything.


II.

Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions.

III.

Human knowledge and human power meet in one; for where the cause is not known the effect cannot be produced. Nature to be commanded must be obeyed; and that which in contemplation is as the cause is in operation as the rule.

IV.

Towards the effecting of works, all that man can do is to put together or put asunder natural bodies. The rest is done by nature working within.

V.

The study of nature with a view to works is engaged in by the mechanic, the mathematician, the physician, the alchemist, and the magician; but by all (as things now are) with slight endeavour and scanty success.

VI.

It would be an unsound fancy and self-contradictory to expect that things which have never yet been done can be done except by means which have never yet been tried.

VII.

The productions of the mind and hand seem very numerous in books and manufactures. But all this variety lies in an exquisite subtlety and derivations from a few things already known; not in the number of axioms.

VIII.

Moreover the works already known are due to chance and experiment rather than to sciences; for the sciences we now possess are merely systems for the nice ordering and setting forth of things already invented; not methods of invention or directions for new works.

IX.

The cause and root of nearly all evils in the sciences is this -- that while we falsely admire and extol the powers of the human mind we neglect to seek for its true helps.

X.

The subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of the senses and understanding; so that all those specious meditations, speculations, and glosses in which men indulge are quite from the purpose, only there is no one by to observe it.

XI.

As the sciences which we now have do not help us in finding out new works, so neither does the logic which we now have help us in finding out new sciences.

XII.

The logic now in use serves rather to fix and give stability to the errors which have their foundation in commonly received notions than to help the search after truth. So it does more harm than good.

XIII.

[...] Read more

poem by Sir Francis Bacon
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Too Bad

The troubles you've caused now on you sit.
Too bad.
Too bad.
And everyone of them you committed.
Too bad.
Too bad.
With a causing them you can't admit.
Too bad.
Too bad.

Your eyes now weep.
Too bad.
You can not sleep.
Too bad.
You want to blame somebody else
but on you people peep!
Too bad.
Too bad.

On you...
All your sadness begins!
Too bad.
Too bad.

Your eyes now weep.
Too bad.
You can not sleep.
Too bad.
You want to blame somebody else
but on you people peep!
Too bad.
Too bad.

The troubles you've caused
now on you sit.
Too bad.
Too bad.
And everyone of them
you committed.
Too bad.
Too bad.
With a causing them
you can't admit.
Too bad.
Too bad.

On you...
All your sadness begins!
Too bad.
Too bad.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Map Of Culture

Culture

Contents

What is Culture?

The Importance of Culture

Culture Varies

Culture is Critical

The Sociobiology Debate

Values, Norms, and Social Control

Signs and Symbols

Language

Terms and Definitions

Approaches to the Study of Culture

Are We Prisoners of Our Culture?

What is Culture?

I prefer the definition used by Ian Robertson: 'all the shared products of society: material and nonmaterial' (Our text defines it in somewhat more ponderous terms- 'The totality of learned, socially transmitted behavior. It includes ideas, values, and customs (as well as the sailboats, comic books, and birth control devices) of groups of people' (p.32) .

Back to Contents

[...] Read more

poem by Nyein Way
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Bad Boy

C'mon!
Yeah!
I thought that I was indestructible
But how could I imagine this
I never gave a second thought
Was only hit or miss
While you feed me and it feel so good
Does that mean that wrong is right?
Guess I got the warning
It happened overnight
Honey, it's only nasty
When it's nasty
And you know that it hurts
When it's right
I'm a bad boy
I'm a bad boy
They call me nasty
They call me bad
'Cause I'm a bad boy
I'm a bad boy
There are the good ways
To be a bad, bad boy
I'm a bad, bad boy
I'm a bad, bad boy
I'm a bad, bad boy
Well my behaviour has been in question
Since the day that I was born
I get on my knees to love and to please
Now you've been warned, yeah
Pay the price if you don't ignite
Now they're trying to pick and choose
You may be the most and know the cost
Yes, come to you
Oh your eyes are on me now
My defence must be bad somehow
Bad boy
I'm a bad boy
Call me nasty
They call me bad
But I'm a bad boy
I'm a bad boy
There are the good ways
To be a bad, bad boy
I'm a bad, bad boy
Show me
And it's only nasty
When it's nasty
And you know that it hurts
When it's right, right, right, right, right
I'm a bad boy

[...] Read more

song performed by Quiet Riot
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In a Manner of Speaking

In a manner of speaking, I want to kill you,
said the drunk redneck to his wife,
In a manner of speaking, I don't love you,
said my ex (turned vegan) to me,
as I returned from a psych ward, hoping for
some sort of reconciliation,
And in a manner of speaking, the whole
world has gone to shit, that no mentally
unbalanced poet can improve upon,
In a manner of speaking, I was just a haiku
before I birthed an epic poem in 2008
and it went something like:
In a manner of speaking…

In a manner of speaking, there is plenty of
beer and loose women,
In a manner of speaking, there is plenty of
internet journals with useless information,
In a manner of speaking, there are plenty of
assholes writing about getting laid and anal sex
on MySpace,
In a manner of speaking, my friend got raped
a few years ago and now has occasional herpes
outbreaks, which are quite disturbing
to her husband,
In a manner of speaking, I'm losing faith in humanity
and love at times,
In a manner of speaking, we just go through the motions,
hoping for something to change or something
spectacular to happen.

But I don't really know any more,
trying to make sense of it all, screaming for some sort of
sanity that eludes me,
In a manner of speaking, I feel alone here,
unable to connect to what's around me-
I just told some guy at a bar that I was a Dallas Cowboys
fan and I don't even watch football,
and he told me to come in my 'gear' on Sunday,
In a manner of speaking, I feel somewhat liberated
because I have no clue as to what I'm doing,
knowing that there is really no escape.

January 8,2008
-Alexander Shaumyan

poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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A Decade Under The Influence

Sad, small, sweet, so delicate
We used to be this dying breed
I got a bad feeling about this
I got a bad feeling about this
You kept still until the long drive home
You slept safe and close to the window...
I got a bad feeling about this
I got a bad feeling about...
Who's to say you'll have to go (I could go all night)
Well say you'll have to go (I could go all...)
To hell with you and all your friends
To hell with you and all your friends, it's on
Sad, small, sure in porcelain
You're skin and bones, I'm a nervous wreck
I got a bad feeling about this (when it comes to this)
I got a bad feeling about this
You kept still until the long drive home
You slept safe and close to the window
I got a bad feeling about this
I got a bad feeling about...
Who's to say you'll have to go (I could go all night)
Well, say you'll have to go (I could go all...)
To hell with you and all your friends
To hell with you and all your friends, it's on
I got a bad feeling about this (what is this for?)
I got a bad feeling about...
Anyone will do tonight
Anyone will do tonight
Close your eyes, just settle, settle
Close your eyes, just settle, settle
Anyone will do tonight
Anyone will do tonight
Close your eyes, just settle, settle
Close your eyes, just settle, settle
Anyone (anyone) will do tonight
Anyone (anyone) will do tonight
Close your eyes, just settle, settle
Close your eyes, just settle, settle
Well I got a bad feeling about this,
I got a bad feeling about this (to hell with you and all your friends, it's on).
I'm coming over but it never was enough
I thought it through and my worst brings out the best in you
Well I got a bad feeling about this
I got a bad feeling about this (to hell with you and all your friends, it's on)
I'm coming over but it never was enough
I thought it through and my worst brings out the best in you
Well I got a bad feeling about this
I got a bad feeling about this (to hell with you and all your friends, it's on)
I'm coming over but it never was enough,
I thought it through and my worst brings out the best in you

[...] Read more

song performed by Taking Back Sunday
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Gotham - Book I

Far off (no matter whether east or west,
A real country, or one made in jest,
Nor yet by modern Mandevilles disgraced,
Nor by map-jobbers wretchedly misplaced)
There lies an island, neither great nor small,
Which, for distinction sake, I Gotham call.
The man who finds an unknown country out,
By giving it a name, acquires, no doubt,
A Gospel title, though the people there
The pious Christian thinks not worth his care
Bar this pretence, and into air is hurl'd
The claim of Europe to the Western world.
Cast by a tempest on the savage coast,
Some roving buccaneer set up a post;
A beam, in proper form transversely laid,
Of his Redeemer's cross the figure made--
Of that Redeemer, with whose laws his life,
From first to last, had been one scene of strife;
His royal master's name thereon engraved,
Without more process the whole race enslaved,
Cut off that charter they from Nature drew,
And made them slaves to men they never knew.
Search ancient histories, consult records,
Under this title the most Christian lords
Hold (thanks to conscience) more than half the ball;
O'erthrow this title, they have none at all;
For never yet might any monarch dare,
Who lived to Truth, and breathed a Christian air,
Pretend that Christ, (who came, we all agree,
To bless his people, and to set them free)
To make a convert, ever one law gave
By which converters made him first a slave.
Spite of the glosses of a canting priest,
Who talks of charity, but means a feast;
Who recommends it (whilst he seems to feel
The holy glowings of a real zeal)
To all his hearers as a deed of worth,
To give them heaven whom they have robb'd of earth;
Never shall one, one truly honest man,
Who, bless'd with Liberty, reveres her plan,
Allow one moment that a savage sire
Could from his wretched race, for childish hire,
By a wild grant, their all, their freedom pass,
And sell his country for a bit of glass.
Or grant this barbarous right, let Spain and France,
In slavery bred, as purchasers advance;
Let them, whilst Conscience is at distance hurl'd,
With some gay bauble buy a golden world:
An Englishman, in charter'd freedom born,
Shall spurn the slavish merchandise, shall scorn

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poem by Charles Churchill
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So Bad

When you move electricity pulses And the crowd clears out of your way When
you dance it gets a little explosive So look out I think I'm headed your way
I'm movin' in fast Comin' on strong Baby, you're becoming my number one
You're so bad (so bad)
Ooh, the best I had Dancin' like you wanna make your daddy mad
You're so bad (so bad)
Ooh, the best I had I'm comin' in fast Comin' on strong
You're dancin' like you wanna prove your mamma wrong
When you talk to me I'm not even listening It's your lips not in the things
that you say When you walk it's not about your direction It's a chance to
see the way your hips sway
You know, I'm comin' in fast Comin' on strong Baby, you're becoming
my number one
You're so bad (so bad)
Ooh, the best I had Dancin' like you wanna make your daddy mad
You're so bad (so bad)
Ooh, the best I had I'm comin' in fast Comin' on strong You're dancin' like
you wanna prove your mamma wrong
I bet you never hear no Bet you get what you want There's no one who'd dare
deny you And if you feel insecure If in doubt, if unsure A mirror will
surely remind you You're so bad (so bad)
So bad
You know, you're comin' in fast Comin' on strong Baby, you're becoming
my number one
Because you're so bad (so bad)
Ooh, the best I had Dancin' like you wanna make your daddy mad
You're so bad (so bad)
Ooh, the best I had You're comin' in fast Comin' on strong
You're so bad (so bad)
Ooh, the best I had Dancin' like you wanna make your daddy mad
So bad (so bad)
Ooh, I bet you're glad You're comin' in fast Comin' on strong
You're dancin' like you wanna prove your mamma wrong
So bad
So bad
You're so bad
You're so bad
So bad
So bad
So you're so bad
So bad
You're so bad
So bad
So bad

song performed by Darren Hayes
Added by Lucian Velea
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Bad Dream

Im living in a bad dream.
Theyre supposed to be here by now.
What the hell is taking them so long?
I parked the car just like they said.
Now, Im sitting, waiting for a bullet in my head.
Im living in a bad dream.
Im living in a bad dream.
Im living in a bad dream gone bad.
Im living in a bad dream.
Im living in a bad dream
Im living in a bad dream thats sad.
Im supposed to be feeling better by now.
What the hell is taking me so long?
I hit the hay just like they said.
Now, Im sitting, waiting for a bell in my head.
Im living in a bad dream.
Im living in a bad dream.
Im living in a bad dream gone bad.
Im living in a bad dream.
Im living in a bad dream
Im living in a bad dream thats sad.
On a curve, lost control.
On a cliff, lost control.
This is not happening to me.
I say so.
Im supposed to be a better person by now.
What the hell is taking me so long?
Dying saviors off sum cross.
Now, Im hoping and Im praying that theyll nullify my losses.
Im living in a bad dream.
Im living in a bad dream.
Im living in a bad dream gone bad.
Im living in a bad dream.
Im living in a bad dream
Im living in a bad dream thats sad.
Im living in a bad dream.
Im living in a bad dream.
Im living in a bad dream gone bad.
Im living in a bad dream.
Im living in a bad dream
Im living in a bad dream thats sad.
Im living in a bad dream.
Gordon gano: vocals, guitar
Brian ritchie: acoustic bass guitar, vocals, autoharp
Guy hoffman: drums, vocals
David vartanian: electric piano
Produced by brian ritchie and gordon gano
Recorded and mixed by david vartanian at dvs perversion room, milwaukee, wi
gorno music reprinted with permission

song performed by Violent Femmes
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Tower Beyond Tragedy

I
You'd never have thought the Queen was Helen's sister- Troy's
burning-flower from Sparta, the beautiful sea-flower
Cut in clear stone, crowned with the fragrant golden mane, she
the ageless, the uncontaminable-
This Clytemnestra was her sister, low-statured, fierce-lipped, not
dark nor blonde, greenish-gray-eyed,
Sinewed with strength, you saw, under the purple folds of the
queen-cloak, but craftier than queenly,
Standing between the gilded wooden porch-pillars, great steps of
stone above the steep street,
Awaiting the King.
Most of his men were quartered on the town;
he, clanking bronze, with fifty
And certain captives, came to the stair. The Queen's men were
a hundred in the street and a hundred
Lining the ramp, eighty on the great flags of the porch; she
raising her white arms the spear-butts
Thundered on the stone, and the shields clashed; eight shining
clarions
Let fly from the wide window over the entrance the wildbirds of
their metal throats, air-cleaving
Over the King come home. He raised his thick burnt-colored
beard and smiled; then Clytemnestra,
Gathering the robe, setting the golden-sandaled feet carefully,
stone by stone, descended
One half the stair. But one of the captives marred the comeliness
of that embrace with a cry
Gull-shrill, blade-sharp, cutting between the purple cloak and
the bronze plates, then Clytemnestra:
Who was it? The King answered: A piece of our goods out of
the snatch of Asia, a daughter of the king,
So treat her kindly and she may come into her wits again. Eh,
you keep state here my queen.
You've not been the poorer for me.- In heart, in the widowed
chamber, dear, she pale replied, though the slaves
Toiled, the spearmen were faithful. What's her name, the slavegirl's?
AGAMEMNON Come up the stair. They tell me my kinsman's
Lodged himself on you.
CLYTEMNESTRA Your cousin Aegisthus? He was out of refuge,
flits between here and Tiryns.
Dear: the girl's name?
AGAMEMNON Cassandra. We've a hundred or so other
captives; besides two hundred
Rotted in the hulls, they tell odd stories about you and your
guest: eh? no matter: the ships
Ooze pitch and the August road smokes dirt, I smell like an
old shepherd's goatskin, you'll have bath-water?
CLYTEMNESTRA
They're making it hot. Come, my lord. My hands will pour it.

[...] Read more

poem by Robinson Jeffers
Added by Poetry Lover
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