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Sanctity Of Dreams

Paint a moustache on the Mona Lisa
Ride a Harley through the heart of danger
Pick up a pen and fight a war for the right to dream
I was seventeen
Give up my house, sleep for nights on concrete
Meditate with all the bums on Vine Street
No more running, no more hiding in the house of the dead
I think I'll grow some dreads
I believe in the sanctity of dreams
No more running from these masqueraders
I believe that society will never dream like me
I dream of loving, of the empty graveyard
I dream of Vegas and the transcendental wildcard
A place where noone waits to die before they go into the light
And just the blind have sight
I follow nothing but the compass of my instinct
No matter where it leads, I know it will take me to the brink
And leave me there by myself and all alone with my dreams
Can you hear my scream?
I believe in the sanctity of dreams

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song performed by Live
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Sanctity Of Dreams

Paint a moustache on the Mona Lisa
Ride a Harley through the heart of danger
Pick up a pen and fight a war for the right to dream
I was seventeen
Give up my house, sleep for nights on concrete
Meditate with all the bums on Vine Street
No more running, no more hiding in the house of the dead
I think I'll grow some dreads
I believe in the sanctity of dreams
No more running from these masqueraders
I believe that society will never dream like me
I dream of loving, of the empty graveyard
I dream of Vegas and the transcendental wildcard
A place where noone waits to die before they go into the light
And just the blind have sight
I follow nothing but the compass of my instinct
No matter where it leads, I know it will take me to the brink
And leave me there by myself and all alone with my dreams
Can you hear my scream?
I believe in the sanctity of dreams

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song performed by Live
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Victories Of Love. Book I

I
From Frederick Graham

Mother, I smile at your alarms!
I own, indeed, my Cousin's charms,
But, like all nursery maladies,
Love is not badly taken twice.
Have you forgotten Charlotte Hayes,
My playmate in the pleasant days
At Knatchley, and her sister, Anne,
The twins, so made on the same plan,
That one wore blue, the other white,
To mark them to their father's sight;
And how, at Knatchley harvesting,
You bade me kiss her in the ring,
Like Anne and all the others? You,
That never of my sickness knew,
Will laugh, yet had I the disease,
And gravely, if the signs are these:

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poem by Coventry Patmore
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I Dont Have

I dont live anymore
I dont love me this way
I dont have wings to fly
I dont have, gone away
I dont have anything
I dont need a space to breathe
I dont hide in sanctity
I dont need what you need
I dont have, have a space to...
I dont claim to know just why
I dont try to pacify
I dont love me just yet
I dont care, gone away
This ones mine
This ones mine
This ones mine
All mine
Not this time I wont deny
This ones mine
All this time

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song performed by Nickelback
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Haloes angels without wings

as man transform in its unique formation, the soul illuminate
his spirit creating a halo of sanctity of wings in his humanoid
form

our navel, made us to believe that man, is created out of nothing
but, a breath that ends and begins our life to see and witness, the
living God

thus making, every human being different from other, forms of
living organism, in this changing world, a purpose that ends, to
a simple dust of where it started

in every action of touch we made, gives us the credits of thanking
the source of who's the giver of everything, the sole and the
heart that exist, before the concept of existence comes to being

let not your heart and eyes see, the halo of sacredness engulf your
self, be a philanthropist of heart and soul to our brethren, for the
wings of sanctity molded you towards life everlasting

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poem by Antonio Liao
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Take A Picture

Awake on my airplane
Awake on my airplane
My skin is bear
My skin is theirs
Awake on my airplane
Awake on my airplane
My skin is bare
My skin is theirs
I feel like a newborn
And I feel like a newborn
Awake on my airplane
Awake on my airplane
I feel so real

[Chorus:]
Could you take my picture
'Cuz I won't remember
Could you take my picture
'Cuz I won't remember
Could you take my picture

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song performed by Filter from Title of Record
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Of Heaven

Heaven is a place, also a state,
It doth all things excel,
No man can fully it relate,
Nor of its glory tell.

God made it for his residence,
To sit on as a throne,
Which shows to us the excellence
Whereby it may be known.

Doubtless the fabric that was built
For this so great a king,
Must needs surprise thee, if thou wilt
But duly mind the thing.

If all that build do build to suit
The glory of their state,
What orator, though most acute,
Can fully heaven relate?

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poem by John Bunyan
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The Prophecy Of St. Oran: Part III

I.
'A CURSE is on this work!' Columba cried;
And with their dark robes flapping in the gale,
The frightened monks came hurrying to his side,
And looked at one another turning pale;
For every night the work done in the day
Strewn on the ground in wild confusion lay.

II.
'A curse is on this work!' he cried again
As his keen glances swept each face in turn:
'Behold, God smites us in the hurricane,
And in the lightning doth His anger burn.
Brethren, some secret deadly sin there is
Known to the Lord for which we suffer this.

III.
'Why is it that the elements combine

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poem by Mathilde Blind
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From Mount Gerizzim

esides what I said of the Four Last Things,
And of the weal and woe that from them springs;

An after-word still runneth in my mind,
Which I shall here expose unto that wind

That may it blow into that very hand
That needs it. Also that it may be scann'd

With greatest soberness, shall be my prayer,
As well as diligence and godly care;

So to present it unto public view,
That only truth and peace may thence ensue.

My talk shall be of that amazing love
Of God we read of; which, that it may prove,

By its engaging arguments to save
Thee, I shall lay out that poor help I have

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poem by John Bunyan
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Upon Appleton House, to My Lord Fairfax

Within this sober Frame expect
Work of no Forrain Architect;
That unto Caves the Quarries drew,
And Forrests did to Pastures hew;
Who of his great Design in pain
Did for a Model vault his Brain,
Whose Columnes should so high be rais'd
To arch the Brows that on them gaz'd.

Why should of all things Man unrul'd
Such unproportion'd dwellings build?
The Beasts are by their Denns exprest:
And Birds contrive an equal Nest;
The low roof'd Tortoises do dwell
In cases fit of Tortoise-shell:
No Creature loves an empty space;
Their Bodies measure out their Place.

But He, superfluously spread,
Demands more room alive then dead.

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poem by Andrew Marvell
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