Telegraph Road

by Mark Knopfler

A long time ago came a man on a track
Walking thirty miles with a sack on his back
And he put down his load where he thought it was the best
He made a home in the wilderness

He built a cabin and a winter store
And he ploughed up the ground by the cold lake shore
The other travelers came riding down the track
And they never went further, no, they never went back

Then came the churches, then came the schools
Then came the lawyers, then came the rules
Then came the trains and the trucks with their loads
And the dirty old track was the Telegraph Road

Then came the mines, then came the ore
Then there was the hard times, then there was a war
Telegraph sang a song about the world outside
Telegraph Road got so deep and so wide
Like a rolling river

And my radio says tonight it's gonna freeze
People driving home from the factories
There's six lanes of traffic
Three lanes moving slow

I used to like to go to work, but they shut it down
I've got a right to go to work, but there's no work here to be found
Yes, and they say we're going to have to pay what's owed
We're gonna have to reap from some seed that's been sowed

And the birds up on wires and the telegraph poles
They can always fly away from this rain and this cold
You can hear them singing out their telegraph code
All the way down the Telegraph Road

You know I'd sooner forget, but I remember those nights
When life was just a bet on a race between the lights
You had your head on my shoulder, you had your hand in my hair
Now you act a little colder like you don't seem to care

But just believe in me, baby, and I'll take you away
From out of this darkness and into the day
From these rivers of headlights, these rivers of rain
From the anger that lives on the streets with these names
'Cause I've run every red light on memory lane
I've seen desperation explode into flames
And I don't want to see it again
From all of these signs saying, 'Sorry but we're closed'
All the way down the Telegraph Road

Dyslexic Heart

by Paul Westerberg

You're shooting glances, and they're so hard to read
I misconstrue what you mean
Slip me a napkin, and now that's a start
Is this your name or a doctor's eye chart?

I try to comprehend you
But I got a dyslexic heart
I ain't dying to offend you
I got a dyslexic heart

You keep swaying
What are you saying?
Think about staying
Are you just playing, making passes?
My heart could use some glasses

Do I read you correctly?
You need me directly
Help me with this part
Do I date you, do I hate you?
Do I got a dyslexic heart?

Ash Wednesday (Pt. II)

[Part I here]
by T.S. Eliot

Lady, three white leopards sat under a juniper-tree
In the cool of the day, having fed to satiety
On my legs my heart my liver and that which had been contained
In the hollow round of my skull. And God said
Shall these bones live? shall these
Bones live? And that which had been contained
In the bones (which were already dry) said chirping:
Because of the goodness of this Lady
And because of her loveliness, and because
She honours the Virgin in meditation,
We shine with brightness. And I who am here dissembled
Proffer my deeds to oblivion, and my love
To the posterity of the desert and the fruit of the gourd.
It is this which recovers
My guts the strings of my eyes and the indigestible portions
Which the leopards reject. The Lady is withdrawn
In a white gown, to contemplation, in a white gown.
Let the whiteness of bones atone to forgetfulness.
There is no life in them. As I am forgotten
And would be forgotten, so I would forget
Thus devoted, concentrated in purpose. And God said
Prophesy to the wind, to the wind only for only
The wind will listen. And the bones sang chirping
With the burden of the grasshopper, saying

Lady of silences
Calm and distressed
Torn and most whole
Rose of memory
Rose of forgetfulness
Exhausted and life-giving
Worried reposeful
The single Rose
Is now the Garden
Where all loves end
Terminate torment
Of love unsatisfied
The greater torment
Of love satisfied
End of the endless
Journey to no end
Conclusion of all that
Is inconclusible
Speech without word and
Word of no speech
Grace to the Mother
For the Garden
Where all love ends.

Under a juniper-tree the bones sang, scattered and shining
We are glad to be scattered, we did little good to each other,
Under a tree in the cool of the day, with the blessing of sand,
Forgetting themselves and each other, united
In the quiet of the desert. This is the land which ye
Shall divide by lot. And neither division nor unity
Matters. This is the land. We have our inheritance.

[Part III here]

Canadian Rose

by John Popper

Autumn air it carries me there
Less than an hour to go
Six hundred miles an hour
And still it feels so slow
I'm trying to get back to Burlington
To a square in the center of town
To a spot on a wooden table
Where her feet didn't reach the ground

And when she kisses me it tasted like cinnamon
And her skin smelled of cider and rose
And when she looked at me we both got quiet
And my heart beat so hard, we were in so close
Once in such a beautiful while that still makes me smile

And she called me her ugly American
And I would call her my Canadian flower
And I don't think that we'll ever get there again
We had such power
And she would call me her ugly American
And I'll remember my Canadian rose
Especially when the fall comes to Burlington
We were in so close

I finally made it, this town looks rearranged
I don't know these people anymore
But in the best ways not much else has changed
From the way it was before
And at least they still have that certain table
Where I once carved a particular name
I run my fingers through the weathered carving
And I almost can feel the same

And my mouth it almost tastes just like cinnamon
As I ponder what my pilgrimage means
And I try to figure out where Vancouver is from here
And I listen to the leaves
If only for a beautiful while that still makes me smile

And every single hope and dream I could ever conjure up
Passionately springs in me, and all things are possible
Plausible and perfectly, both of ours forever after and every day
At least it seemed that way
Once in such a beautiful while that still makes me smile

Rewrite This Tragedy

by Sara Groves

Tonight I forgot a line in the play
That you and I have been rehearsing
Since the day we met
It made me put down my script
And made me look around a bit
Wonder how we came to play these roles

I'm here to rewrite this tragedy
One line at a time
Hold on, I'm changing all the scenery
It's okay, we'll be fine
'Cause we know how this ends
We know there's a better story

Sometimes it's hard to tell
What to keep and what to kill
What of this makes us who we are
All that we love the most
All that we cannot let go
How much of change can we survive?

There's a better story
Of true love, of true grace
There's the hope of glory
And our first chance to be truly brave
It's the place we're going
When we can't stay where we are

Burnt Norton (Pt. I)

by T.S. Eliot

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.
                                         But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know.
                               Other echoes
Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?
Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,
Round the corner. Through the first gate,
Into our first world, shall we follow
The deception of the thrush? Into our first world.
There they were, dignified, invisible,
Moving without pressure, over the dead leaves,
In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air,
And the bird called, in response to
The unheard music hidden in the shrubbery,
And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses
Had the look of flowers that are looked at.
There they were as our guests, accepted and accepting.
So we moved, and they, in a formal pattern,
Along the empty alley, into the box circle,
To look down into the drained pool.
Dry the pool, dry concrete, brown edged,
And the pool was filled with water out of sunlight,
And the lotos rose, quietly, quietly,
The surface glittered out of heart of light,
And they were behind us, reflected in the pool.
Then a cloud passed, and the pool was empty.
Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children,
Hidden excitedly, containing laughter.
Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind
Cannot bear very much reality.
Time past and time future
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.

[Pt. II here]

When You're on Top

by Jakob Dylan

I need a bed that nobody's slept in
I need some air nobody's been breathing
I need a thought that I can believe in
Is this fog or is the building really burning?

I need you now much more than ever
I'm making new friends, but none of them matter
Maybe now we don't fit together
But you've got your arms around no one but strangers

I feel fine with the sun in my eyes
The wind in my hair
I'm falling out of this sky
I'm doing better than I thought I would
But nothing's ever as good
As when you're on top

I want to wake up and just start running
Into a ditch or straight up a mountain
I want to get what no one's been getting
Make it deeper than hell or make it higher than heaven

I need someone whose price hasn't been met
When everybody's disappearing by the minute
There isn't anyone left I haven't met yet
I remember when they hadn't gotten to you yet

I'm half-way up and over this rainbow
I heard a shot fire up from the ghettos
As I drop, I didn't think you'd follow
Just didn't know the sky was this shallow

I need a garden where nothing's forbidden
I need an apple that no one's been eating
I want to start again back at the beginning
I had a vision that this feeling maybe has an ending

I need you now much more than ever
I want to start again back at the beginning

Feed the Birds

by Robert B. Sherman

Early each day to the steps of Saint Paul's
The little old bird woman comes
In her own special way to the people she calls
Come, buy my bags full of crumbs

Come feed the little birds
Show them you care
And you'll be glad if you do
Their young ones are hungry
Their nests are so bare
All it takes is tuppence from you

Feed the birds, tuppence a bag
Tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag
'Feed the birds,' that's what she cries
While overhead, her birds fill the skies

All around the cathedral
The saints and apostles
Look down as she sells her wares
Although you can't see it
You know they are smiling
Each time someone shows that he cares

Though her words are simple and few
Listen, listen, she's calling to you
Feed the birds, tuppence a bag
Tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag