Touch of Grey

by Robert Hunter

It must be getting early
Clocks are running late
Paint-by-number morning sky
Looks so phony

Dawn is breaking everywhere
Light a candle, curse the glare
Draw the curtains, I don't care
'Cause it's alright

I will get by
I will survive

I see you got your list out
Say your piece and get out
I guess I got the gist of it
But it's alright

Sorry that you feel that way
The only thing there is to say
Every silver lining's got a
Touch of grey

It's a lesson to me
The Ables and the Bakers and the C's
The ABC's, we all must face
And try to keep a little grace

I know the rent is in arrears
The dog has not been fed in years
It's even worse than it appears
But it's alright

Cows are giving kerosene
The kid can't read at seventeen
The words he knows are all obscene
But it's alright

I will get by
I will survive

It's a lesson to me
The Deltas and the East and the Freeze
The ABC's, we all think of
And try to keep a little love

The shoe is on the hand it fits
There's really nothing much to it
Whistle through your teeth and spit
'Cause it's alright

Oh well, a touch of grey
Kind of suits you anyway
That was all I had to say
And it's alright

I will get by
I will survive

The Trees

by Philip Larkin

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

Taxman

by George Harrison

Let me tell you how it will be
There's one for you, nineteen for me
'Cause I'm the taxman
I'm the taxman

Should five percent appear too small
Be thankful I don't take it all
'Cause I'm the taxman
I'm the taxman

If you drive a car, I'll tax the street
If you try to sit, I'll tax your seat
If you get too cold, I'll tax the heat
If you take a walk, I'll tax your feet

'Cause I'm the taxman
I'm the taxman

Don't ask me what I want it for
(Ha ha, Mr. Wilson)
If you don't want to pay some more
(Ha ha, Mr. Heath)
'Cause I'm the taxman
I'm the taxman

Now my advice for those who die
Declare the pennies on your eyes
'Cause I'm the taxman
I'm the taxman
And you're working for no one but me

Indian Fever

Anonymous

Indian Fever
It's catching fire with everyone
Indian Fever
You can be part of the fun
You're the winner at every game
That's where the excitement begins
So catch Indian Fever
Be a believer with the Cleveland Indians

Indian Fever
It starts with the very first inning
Indian Fever
Each game is a brand new beginning
It's the hits, the homers, the double plays
It's how you feel when we win
So catch Indian Fever
Be a believer with the Cleveland Indians

Come, Ye Faithful, Raise the Strain

by St. John of Damascus
Trans. J.M. Neale

Come, ye faithful, raise the strain of triumphant gladness;
God hath brought His Israel into joy from sadness;
Loosed from Pharaoh's bitter yoke Jacob's sons and daughters;
Led them with unmoistened foot through the Red Sea waters.

'Tis the spring of souls today; Christ hath burst His prison,
And from three days' sleep in death as a sun hath risen;
All the winter of our sins, long and dark, is flying
From His light, to whom we give laud and praise undying.

Now the queen of seasons, bright with the day of splendor,
With the royal feast of feasts, comes its joy to render;
Comes to glad Jerusalem, who with true affection
Welcomes in unwearied strains Jesus's resurrection.

Neither might the gates of death, nor the tomb's dark portal,
Nor the watchers, nor the seal hold thee as a mortal:
But today amidst the twelve thou didst stand, bestowing
That thy peace, which evermore passeth human knowing.

Alleluia! now we cry to our King immortal,
Who, triumphant, burst the bars of the tomb’s dark portal;
Alleluia! with the Son, God the Father praising,
Alleluia! yet again to the Spirit raising.

O Sacred Head, Now Wounded

Attrib. to Arnulf of Leuven
Trans. J.W. Alexander

O sacred Head, now wounded, with grief and shame weighed down,
Now scornfully surrounded with thorns, Thine only crown;
How pale Thou art with anguish, with sore abuse and scorn!
How does that visage languish, which once was bright as morn!

What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered, was all for sinners' gain;
Mine, mine was the transgression, but Thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Savior! 'Tis I deserve Thy place;
Look on me with Thy favor, vouchsafe to me Thy grace.

Men mock and taunt and jeer Thee, Thou noble countenance,
Though mighty worlds shall fear Thee and flee before Thy glance.
How art thou pale with anguish, with sore abuse and scorn!
How doth Thy visage languish that once was bright as morn!

Now from Thy cheeks has vanished their color once so fair;
From Thy red lips is banished the splendor that was there.
Grim death, with cruel rigor, hath robbed Thee of Thy life;
Thus Thou hast lost Thy vigor, Thy strength in this sad strife.

My burden in Thy Passion, Lord, Thou hast borne for me,
For it was my transgression which brought this woe on Thee.
I cast me down before Thee, wrath were my rightful lot;
Have mercy, I implore Thee; Redeemer, spurn me not!

What language shall I borrow to thank Thee, dearest friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?
O make me Thine forever, and should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never outlive my love to Thee.

My Shepherd, now receive me; my Guardian, own me Thine.
Great blessings Thou didst give me, O source of gifts divine.
Thy lips have often fed me with words of truth and love;
Thy Spirit oft hath led me to heavenly joys above.

Here I will stand beside Thee, from Thee I will not part;
O Savior, do not chide me! When breaks Thy loving heart,
When soul and body languish in death's cold, cruel grasp,
Then, in Thy deepest anguish, Thee in mine arms I'll clasp.

The joy can never be spoken, above all joys beside,
When in Thy body broken I thus with safety hide.
O Lord of Life, desiring Thy glory now to see,
Beside Thy cross expiring, I'd breathe my soul to Thee.

My Savior, be Thou near me when death is at my door;
Then let Thy presence cheer me, forsake me nevermore!
When soul and body languish, oh, leave me not alone,
But take away mine anguish by virtue of Thine own!

Be Thou my consolation, my shield when I must die;
Remind me of Thy passion when my last hour draws nigh.
Mine eyes shall then behold Thee, upon Thy cross shall dwell,
My heart by faith enfolds Thee. Who dieth thus dies well.

I'm Against It

by Groucho Marx

I don't know what they have to say
It makes no difference anyway
Whatever it is, I'm against it
No matter what it is or who commenced it
I'm against it

Your proposition may be good
But let's have one thing understood
Whatever it is, I'm against it
And even when you've changed it or condensed it
I'm against it

I'm opposed to it
On general principle, I'm opposed to it

For months before my son was born
I used to yell from night to morn
'Whatever it is, I'm against it!'
And I've kept yelling since I first commenced it
'I'm against it!'