Try to Remember

by Tom Jones

Try to remember the kind of September
When life was slow and oh, so mellow
Try to remember the kind of September
When grass was green and grain was yellow
Try to remember the kind of September
When you were a tender and callow fellow
Try to remember, and if you remember, then follow

Try to remember when life was so tender
That no one wept except the willow
Try to remember when life was so tender
That dreams were kept beside your pillow
Try to remember when life was so tender
That love was an ember about to billow
Try to remember, and if you remember, then follow

Deep in December it's nice to remember
Although you know the snow will follow
Deep in December it's nice to remember
Without the hurt the heart is hollow
Deep in December it's nice to remember
The fire of September that made us mellow
Deep in December our hearts should remember and follow

Alone on the Rope

by Noel Gallagher

I won't let your smile
Get lost in the fall
I won't let your dreams
Run away in the dark

Still recall the way you were
And that look in your eyes

I can't hear the sound
A thought ringing in my ears
I still feel the pain
I carried with me for years

Still recall the way you were
And that look in your eyes

You could leave when the walls are falling down
I can tell by the look in your eyes
You're alone on the rope
And if you can't find no hope
Don't look down

Savannah Rain

by James Wilson

And I'm lost somewhere
Out in the midnight air
Driving around wondering if I'll make it through
This lonesome night
I'm still praying for daylight
And wishing to hell that I could just come home to you

My radio's on
And every single song
Tells the same old lonesome story of you and me
And it's ringing in my head
Those words that you said
I guess some things, they were never meant to be

Just smell the sweet, soft, Southern smell of magnolias
And hear the wind is calling out your name
I'm just another broken heart lost in Georgia
Falling like the sweet Savannah rain

It's hard to be a man
And it's hard to give a damn
And I guess that there ain't much else left to say
'Cause what's done can't be undone
And there ain't nowhere to run
But it hurts too goddamn much to stay

The memories still remain
Chasing headlights in the rain
And these shifting gears won't ease my troubled mind
And there ain't nothing left to do
But howl at the moon
And keep driving 'till I see that morning sunrise

Little Gidding (Pt. II)

[Pt. I here]
by T.S. Eliot

Ash on an old man's sleeve
Is all the ash the burnt roses leave.
Dust in the air suspended
Marks the place where a story ended.
Dust inbreathed was a house—
The walls, the wainscot and the mouse,
The death of hope and despair,
      This is the death of air.

There are flood and drought
Over the eyes and in the mouth,
Dead water and dead sand
Contending for the upper hand.
The parched eviscerate soil
Gapes at the vanity of toil,
Laughs without mirth.
      This is the death of earth.

Water and fire succeed
The town, the pasture and the weed.
Water and fire deride
The sacrifice that we denied.
Water and fire shall rot
The marred foundations we forgot,
Of sanctuary and choir.
      This is the death of water and fire.

In the uncertain hour before the morning
     Near the ending of interminable night
     At the recurrent end of the unending
After the dark dove with the flickering tongue
     Had passed below the horizon of his homing
     While the dead leaves still rattled on like tin
Over the asphalt where no other sound was
     Between three districts whence the smoke arose
     I met one walking, loitering and hurried
As if blown towards me like the metal leaves
     Before the urban dawn wind unresisting.
     And as I fixed upon the down-turned face
That pointed scrutiny with which we challenge
     The first-met stranger in the waning dusk
     I caught the sudden look of some dead master
Whom I had known, forgotten, half recalled
     Both one and many; in the brown baked features
     The eyes of a familiar compound ghost
Both intimate and unidentifiable.
     So I assumed a double part, and cried
     And heard another's voice cry: 'What! are you here?'
Although we were not. I was still the same,
     Knowing myself yet being someone other—
     And he a face still forming; yet the words sufficed
To compel the recognition they preceded.
     And so, compliant to the common wind,
     Too strange to each other for misunderstanding,
In concord at this intersection time
     Of meeting nowhere, no before and after,
     We trod the pavement in a dead patrol.
I said: 'The wonder that I feel is easy,
     Yet ease is cause of wonder. Therefore speak:
     I may not comprehend, may not remember.'
And he: 'I am not eager to rehearse
     My thoughts and theory which you have forgotten.
     These things have served their purpose: let them be.
So with your own, and pray they be forgiven
     By others, as I pray you to forgive
     Both bad and good. Last season's fruit is eaten
And the fullfed beast shall kick the empty pail.
     For last year's words belong to last year's language
     And next year's words await another voice.
But, as the passage now presents no hindrance
     To the spirit unappeased and peregrine
     Between two worlds become much like each other,
So I find words I never thought to speak
     In streets I never thought I should revisit
     When I left my body on a distant shore.
Since our concern was speech, and speech impelled us
     To purify the dialect of the tribe
     And urge the mind to aftersight and foresight,
Let me disclose the gifts reserved for age
     To set a crown upon your lifetime's effort.
     First, the cold friction of expiring sense
Without enchantment, offering no promise
     But bitter tastelessness of shadow fruit
     As body and soul begin to fall asunder.
Second, the conscious impotence of rage
     At human folly, and the laceration
     Of laughter at what ceases to amuse.
And last, the rending pain of re-enactment
     Of all that you have done, and been; the shame
     Of motives late revealed, and the awareness
Of things ill done and done to others' harm
     Which once you took for exercise of virtue.
     Then fools' approval stings, and honour stains.
From wrong to wrong the exasperated spirit
     Proceeds, unless restored by that refining fire
     Where you must move in measure, like a dancer.'
The day was breaking. In the disfigured street
     He left me, with a kind of valediction,
     And faded on the blowing of the horn.

[Pt. III here]

One Rainy Wish

by Jimi Hendrix

Golden rose, the color of the dream I had
Not too long ago
Misty blue and lilac too
Never to grow old

There you were under the tree of song
Sleeping so peacefully
In your hand a flower played
Waiting there for me

I have never laid eyes on you
Not like before this timeless day
But you woke and you smiled my name
And you stole my heart away