annus horribilis tris

autumn stone - Small Faces

i was nowhere,
till you changed my mind,
love is sent through being good to you.

then you were somewhere,
somewhere hard to find,
only what you always were,its true.

i'm looking for an open door,
where i can sit,and play in peace with you.

tomorrow changes
fields of green today,
yesterday is dead,but not my memory,

we were strangers,
and then you came to stay,
the sweetest spring dawn morning sings to me.

so now i've found a living sound,
that moves,that breathes and then makes love to me.

annus horribilis bis

annus horribilis

I should have known better - Wire

In an act of contrition
I lay down by your side
It's not your place to comment
On my state of distress
For this is for real
I've tears in my eyes
Am I laughing or crying?
I suggest I'm not lying
I haven't found a measure yet to
Calibrate my displeasure yet so
To ignore my warning
Could be your folly
The judgment is harsh
I offer no plea
Valuing the vengeance which you treasure
I've redefined the meaning of vendetta
The procession's disordered
You protect your possessions
In light of your actions
I question your love
May I make an observation
Your bite is worse than my aggression
I should have known better
I should have known better
Than to become a target
Albeit a target which moves
No offer of terms or concessions
For statements or confessions
You don't feel warm
I pass close by
You shiver, I whisper
Excuse me, what's your problem?
Oh, I see
I should have known better

an end has a start - Editors

(...)
You came on your own
That's how you'll leave
With hope in your hands
And air to breathe
(...)

if it be your will - Leonard Cohen

(...)
If it be your will
That I speak no more
And my voice be still
As it was before
I will speak no more
I shall abide until
I am spoken for
If it be your will
(...)

each man kills the thing he loves - Gavin Friday

(...)
Each man kills the thing he loves, by each let
this be heard. Some do it with a bitter look, some
with a flattering word. The coward does it with a
kiss, the brave man with a sword. Some kill their
love when they are young, some when they are old.
Some strangle with the hands of lust, some with
the hands of gold. The kindest use a knife
because, the dead so soon grow cold. Some love too
little, some too long, some buy and other sell.
Some do the deed with so many tears, and some
without a sigh. For each man kills the thing he
loves, yet each man does not die.
(...)

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