by Charles Baudelaire
� Thou who abruptly as a knife
Didst come into my heart; thou who,
A demon horde into my life,
Didst enter, wildly dancing, through
� The doorways of my sense unlatched
To make my spirit thy domain-
Harlot to whom I am attached
As convicts to the ball and chain,
� As gamblers to the wheel's bright spell,
As drunkards to their raging thirst,
As corpses to their worms - accurst
Be thou! Oh, be thou damned to hell!
� I have entreated the swift sword
To strike, that I at once be freed;
The poisoned phial I have implored
To plot with me a ruthless deed.
� Alas! the phial and the blade
Do cry aloud and laugh at me:
"Thou art not worthy of our aid;
Thou art not worthy to be free.
� Though one of us should be the tool
To save thee from thy wretched fate,
Thy kisses would resuscitate
The body of thy vampire, fool!"
Angelus: Passion. It lies in all of us.
Sleeping...waiting... And though unwanted... unbidden... it will stir... open its jaws, and howl.
It speaks to us... guides us... Passion rules us all. And we obey. What other choice do we have?
Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love... the clarity of hatred... and the ecstasy of grief.
It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion, maybe we'd know some kind of peace.
But we would be hollow. Empty rooms, shuttered and dank... Without passion, we'd be truly dead
There�s a place that I travel
When I want to roam
Nobody knows it but me
The roads don�t go there
The signs stay home
Nobody knows it but me
It�s far far away
Away away afar
It over the moon and sea
Wherever you going
That�s wherever you are
Nobody knows it but me
By the cool sands of time
Through the bloody gates of heaven
Past the sentries in my mind
Bring about the change so quickly
Bring about the terror's night
Bring about the blood of lovers
Bring about the smell of fright
I see you watching where I walk
Through the moonlit jasmine fields
Listen closely as I talk
About the stars and their lovers past
Past fields of poppies, burning
bright
Into towers of Blackened Bone
Follow me, Bastard of Caine,
Come with me. I have no home.
As I drain your life's blood sweetly
As you sigh into my warm hands
As I suck your madness sweetly
Streaming down like crimson hands
I dance the dance of the fool
And pray you find me mad
For if you lay hands upon the root
You'll know me, without illusion
And find me guilty of the truth.
There�s a pile of coal just out back
Feeds the morning flame
Keeps us warm throughout the night
Fends off the winter�s rain
We pull it from the mountainside
They pay us by the ton
God bless the black- faced miner
Strangers to the sun
- Tim Flannery
Piece of the past
