The Waste Land (Pt. I)

by T.S. Eliot

Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis
vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent:
Σίβυλλα τί θέλεις; respondebat illa: ἀποθενεîν θέλω

I. The Burial of the Dead

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
   Frisch weht der Wind
   Der Heimat zu
   Mein Irisch Kind
   Wo weilest du?
'You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
'They called me the hyacinth girl.'
―Yet when we came back, late, from the hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Oed' und leer das Meer.

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
Had a bad cold, nevertheless
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
Here is Belladonna, The Lady of the Rocks,
The lady of situations.
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:
One must be so careful these days.

Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying: 'Stetson!
'You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!
'That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
'O keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,
'Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!
'You! Hypocrite lecteur! - mon semblable, - mon frère!'

[Part II here]

Just Showed Up for My Life

by Sara Groves

Spending my time sleep-walking
Moving my mouth, but not saying a thing
Hoping the changes would take
By working their way from the outside in
I was in love with an idea
Preoccupied with how a life should appear
Spending my time at the surface
Repairing the holes in the shiny veneer

There are so many ways to hide
There are so many ways not to feel
There are so many ways to deny what is real
And I just showed up for my own life
And I'm standing here taking it in and it sure looks bright

I'm going to live my life inspired
Look for the holy in the common place
Open the windows and feel
All that's honest and real until I'm truly amazed
I'm going to feel all my emotions
I'm going to look you in the eyes
I'm going to listen and hear
Until it's finally clear and it changes our lives

There are so many ways to hide
There are so many ways not to feel
There are so many ways to deny what is real
And I just showed up for my own life
And I'm standing here taking it in, and it sure looks bright

The glory of God is man fully alive
The glory of God is man fully alive

Painting Pictures of Egypt

by Sara Groves

I don't want to leave here
I don't want to stay
It feels like pinching to me either way
The places I long for the most
Are the places where I've been
They are calling out to me like a long lost friend

It's not about losing faith
It's not about trust
It's all about comfortable when you move so much
The place I was wasn't perfect
But I had found a way to live
It wasn't milk or honey, but then neither is this

I've been painting pictures of Egypt
Leaving out what it lacks
The future seems so hard, and I want to go back
But the places that used to fit me
Cannot hold the things I've learned
And those roads were closed off to me while my back was turned

The past is so tangible
I know it by heart
Familiar things are never easy to discard
I was dying for some freedom
But now I hesitate to go
I am caught between the promise and the things I know

If it comes too quick
I may not appreciate it
Is that the reason behind all this time and sand?
If it comes too quick
I may not recognize it
Is that the reason behind all this time and sand?

Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands

by Bob Dylan

With your mercury mouth in the missionary times
And your eyes like smoke and your prayers like rhymes
And your silver cross and your voice like chimes
Who do they think could bury you?
With your pockets well protected at last
And your streetcar visions which you place on the grass
And your flesh like silk and your face like glass
Who could they get to carry you?

Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums
Should I put them by your gate
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

With your sheets like metal and your belt like lace
And your deck of cards missing the jack and the ace
And your basement clothes and your hollow face
Who among them can think he could outguess you?
With your silhouette when the sunlight dims
Into your eyes where the moonlight swims
And your match-book songs and your gypsy hymns
Who among them would try to impress you?

Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums
Should I leave them by your gate
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

The kings of Tyrus with their convict list
Are waiting in line for their geranium kiss
And you wouldn't know it would happen like this
But who among them really wants just to kiss you?
With your childhood flames on your midnight rug
And your Spanish manners and your mother's drugs
And your cowboy mouth and your curfew plugs
Who among them do you think could resist you?

Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums
Should I leave them by your gate
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

The farmers and the businessmen, they all did decide
To show you where the dead angels are that they used to hide
But why did they pick you to sympathize with their side?
How could they ever mistake you?
They wished you'd accepted the blame for the farm
But with the sea at your feet and the phony false alarm
And with the child of a hoodlum wrapped up in your arms
How could they ever, ever persuade you?

Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums
Should I leave them by your gate
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

With your sheet-metal memory of Cannery Row
And your magazine-husband who one day just had to go
And your gentleness now, which you just can't help but show
Who among them do you think would employ you?
Now you stand with your thief, you're on his parole
With your holy medallion which your fingertips fold
And your saintlike face and your ghostlike soul
Who among them do you think could destroy you?

Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums
Should I leave them by your gate
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

Visions of Johanna

by Bob Dylan

Ain't it just like the night
To play tricks when you're trying to be so quiet?
We sit here stranded
Though we're all doing our best to deny it
And Louise holds a handful of rain
Tempting you to defy it
Lights flicker from the opposite loft
In this room the heat pipes just cough
The country music station plays soft
But there's nothing, really nothing to turn off
Just Louise and her lover so entwined
And these visions of Johanna that conquer my mind

In the empty lot where the ladies play
Blindman's bluff with the key chain
And the all-night girls
They whisper of escapades out on the 'D' train
We can hear the night watchman click his flashlight
Ask himself if it's him or them that's really insane
Louise, she's all right, she's just near
She's delicate and seems like the mirror
But she just makes it all too concise and too clear
That Johanna's not here
The ghost of 'lectricity howls in the bones of her face
Where these visions of Johanna have now taken my place

Now, little boy lost
He takes himself so seriously
He brags of his misery
He likes to live dangerously
And when bringing her name up
He speaks of a farewell kiss to me
He's sure got a lotta gall
To be so useless and all
Muttering small talk at the wall
While I'm in the hall
How can I explain? It's so hard to get on
And these visions of Johanna, they kept me up past the dawn

Inside the museums
Infinity goes up on trial
Voices echo, 'This is what
'Salvation must be like after a while'
But Mona Lisa must've had the highway blues
You can tell by the way she smiles
See the primitive wallflower freeze
When the jelly-faced women all sneeze
Hear the one with the mustache say, 'Jeeze
'I can't find my knees'
Oh, jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule
But these visions of Johanna, they make it all seem so cruel

The peddler now speaks
To the countess who's pretending to care for him
Saying, 'Name me someone that's not a parasite
'And I'll go out and say a prayer for him'
But like Louise always says, 'Ya can't look at much, can ya man?'
As she, herself, prepares for him
And Madonna, she still has not showed
We see this empty cage now corrode
Where her cape of the stage once had flowed
The fiddler, he now steps to the road
He writes everything's been returned which was owed
On the back of the fish truck that loads
While my conscience explodes
The harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rain
And these visions of Johanna are now all that remain

I'll Be the One

by Warren Haynes

When you're walking down the street
I'll be the one that stares like a statue
You turn the corner
I'll be the one that follows you downtown
When you finally notice me
I'll be the one fumbling with his feelings
Totally oblivious to anything and everything else around

Girl, when we meet
I'll be the one that showers you with attention
To win your love
I'll fight until the very end
When you treat me like a fool
I'll be the one that doesn't need redemption
Yeah, drive me away, keep coming back again and again

I'll be the rain if you want me to be
Help you to grow with no guarantee
Even be the clown, sad but true
But don't use me up
Or I'll be the one that used to worship you

When silence fills your world
I'll be the one that knows what you're thinking
And when passion burns like fire
I'll be the one bathing in the light
When the curse of darkness falls
I'll be the one who offers a candle
I'll even be the cushion for things that go crazy in the night

I'll be the rain if you want me to be
Help you to grow with no guarantee
Even be the clown sad but true
But don't use me up
Or I'll be the one that used to worship you

The Sounds of Silence

by Paul Simon

Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence

In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence

'Fools,' said I, 'you do not know
'Silence like a cancer grows
'Hear my words that I might teach you
'Take my arms that I might reach you'
But my words like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the signs said: the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls
And whispered in the sounds of silence

T-Shirts (What We Should Be Known For)

by Derek Webb

They'll know us by the T-shirts that we wear
They'll know us by the way we point and stare
At anyone whose sin looks worse than ours
Who cannot hide the scars
Of this curse that we all bear

They'll know us by our picket lines and signs
They'll know us by the pride we hide behind
Like anyone on earth is living right
And that isn't why Jesus died
Not to make us think we're right

When love, love, love
Is what we should be known for
Love, love, love
It's the how, and it's the why
We live and breathe and we die

They'll know us by reasons we divide
And how we can't seem to unify
Because we've gotta sing songs a certain style
Or we'll walk right down that aisle
And just leave them all behind

They'll know us by the billboards that we make
Just turning God's words to cheap clichés
Says, 'What part of murder don't you understand?'
But we hate our fellow man
And point a finger at his grave

They'll know us by the T-shirts that we wear
They'll know us by the way we point and stare
Telling them their sins are worse than ours
Thinking we can hide our scars
Beneath these T-shirts that we wear