Common People

by Jarvis Cocker

She came from Greece, she had a thirst for knowledge
She studied sculpture at St Martin's College
That's where I caught her eye.

She told me that her dad was loaded
I said, 'In that case I'll have a rum and coca-cola.'
She said, 'Fine,' and in thirty seconds time

She said,
'I want to live like common people
'I want to do whatever common people do
'I want to sleep with common people
'I want to sleep with common people like you'
Well, what else could I do?
I said, 'I'll see what I can do'

I took her to a supermarket
I don't know why but I had to start it
Somewhere, so it started there

I said, 'Pretend you've got no money'
She just laughed and said, 'Oh, you're so funny'
I said, 'Yeah? I can't see anyone else smiling here'

Are you sure you want to live like common people?
You want to see whatever common people see
You want to sleep with common people
You want to sleep with common people like me
But she didn't understand
She just smiled and held my hand

Rent a flat above a shop
Cut your hair and get a job
Smoke some fags and play some pool
Pretend you never went to school

But still you'll never get it right
'Cause when you're laid in bed at night
Watching roaches climb the wall
If you called your dad, he could stop it all

You'll never live like common people
You'll never do whatever common people do
You'll never fail like common people
You'll never watch your life slide out of view
And then dance and drink and screw
Because there's nothing else to do

Sing along with the common people
Sing along and it might just get you through
Laugh along with the common people
Laugh along even though they're laughing at you
And the stupid things that you do
Because you think that poor is cool

Like a dog lying in a corner
They will bite you and never warn you
Look out, they'll tear your insides out

'Cause everybody hates a tourist
Especially one who thinks it's all such a laugh
Yeah and the chip stain's grease
Will come out in the bath

You will never understand
How it feels to live your life
With no meaning or control
And with nowhere left to go

You are amazed that they exist
And they burn so bright
Whilst you can only wonder why

A Living Human Girl

by Lydia Night

I've got pimples on my face and grease in my hair
And prickly legs, go 'head and stare
An ass full of stretch marks and little boobs
A nice full belly that's filled with food
Sometimes I'm pretty, and sometimes I'm not
So let's take a listen, hit me with your best shot

I don't exercise, and I don't read books
And if you want to criticize me, go ahead, take a look
I'm not being bossy, I'm saying how I feel
And I'm not a bitch for stating what is real
Sometimes I'm girly, and sometimes I'm not
So let's take a listen, hit me with your best shot

I bleed once a month
Sometimes when I shave I get little red bumps
I wear short skirts and sometimes long pants
I can dress how I want, not looking for a show of hands
Sometimes I'm moody and sometimes I'm not
Sometimes I'm lazy and sometimes I'm not
Sometimes I'm crazy and sometimes I'm not
Sometimes I'm angry and sometimes I'm not
Sometimes I'm happy and sometimes I'm not

I'm still going be here even after your best shot
Because I can be brave and I can be bold
No matter what you have to say

Oh I fall in love with people once a day
But if you ask me out, I'm still allowed to say, 'no way'

I Just Wasn't Made for These Times

by Tony Asher

I keep looking for a place to fit in
Where I can speak my mind
And I've been trying hard to find the people
That I won't leave behind

They say I got brains
But they ain't doing me no good
I wish they could

Each time things start to happen again
I think I got something good going for myself
But what goes wrong

Sometimes I feel very sad
Sometimes I feel very sad
(Ain't found the right thing I can put my heart and soul into)
Sometimes I feel very sad
(People I know don't wanna be where I'm at)
I guess I just wasn't made for these times

Every time I get the inspiration
To go change things around
No one wants to help me look for places
Where new things might be found

Where can I turn
When my fair-weathered friends cop out
What's it all about?

I guess I just wasn't made for these times

Blessed Assurance

by Fanny Crosby

Blessed assurance; Jesus is mine!
Oh, what a foretaste of glory divine!
Heir of salvation, purchase of God,
born of his Spirit, washed in his blood.

This is my story, this is my song,
praising my Savior all the day long;
this is my story, this is my song,
praising my Savior all the day long.

Perfect submission, perfect delight,
visions of rapture now burst on my sight;
angels descending bring from above
echoes of mercy, whispers of love.

Perfect submission, all is at rest,
I in my Savior am happy and blest;
watching and waiting, looking above,
filled with his goodness, lost in his love.

This is my story, this is my song,
praising my Savior all the day long;
this is my story, this is my song,
praising my Savior all the day long.

Tonight, Tonight

by Billy Corgan

Time is never time at all
You can never ever leave
Without leaving a piece of youth
And our lives are forever changed
We will never be the same
The more you change, the less you feel

Believe, believe in me
Believe that life can change
That you're not stuck in vain
We're not the same
We're different tonight

And you know you're never sure
But you're sure you could be right
If you held yourself up to the light
And the embers never fade
In your city by the lake
The place where you were born

Believe, believe in me
Believe in the resolute urgency of now
And if you believe
There's not a chance tonight

We'll crucify the insincere tonight
We'll make things right, we'll feel it all tonight
We'll find a way to offer up the night tonight
The indescribable moments of your life tonight
The impossible is possible tonight
Believe in me as I believe in you tonight

Colin Zeal

by Damon Albarn

Colin Zeal knows the value of mass appeal
He's a pedestrian walker, he's a civil talker
He's an affable man with a plausible plan
Keeps his eye on the news, keeps his future in hand

And then he looks at his watch
He's on time yet again
He's pleased with himself
He's so pleased with himself

While sitting in traffic, Colin thinks in automatic
He's an immaculate dresser, he's your common aggressor
He's a modern retard with a love of bombast
Keeps his eye on the news, doesn't dwell on the past

He's a modern retard, he's a terminal lard
He's an affable man with a carotene tan
Because Colin Zeal is ill

Back

by Wilfrid Wilson Gibson

They ask me where I've been,
And what I've done and seen.
But what can I reply
Who know it wasn't I,
But someone just like me,
Who went across the sea
And with my head and hands
Killed men in foreign lands...
Though I must bear the blame,
Because he bore my name.

In Christ Alone

by Stuart Townend

In Christ alone my hope is found;
He is my light, my strength, my song;
This cornerstone, this solid ground,
Firm through the fiercest drought and storm.
What heights of love, what depths of peace,
When fears are stilled, when strivings cease!
My comforter, my all in all—
Here in the love of Christ I stand.

In Christ alone, who took on flesh,
Fullness of God in helpless babe!
This gift of love and righteousness,
Scorned by the ones he came to save.
Till on that cross as Jesus died,
The wrath of God was satisfied;
For ev'ry sin on him was laid—
Here in the death of Christ I live.

There in the ground his body lay,
Light of the world by darkness slain;
Then bursting forth in glorious day,
Up from the grave he rose again!
And as he stands in victory,
Sin's curse has lost its grip on me;
For I am his and he is mine—
Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

No guilt in life, no fear in death—
This is the pow'r of Christ in me;
From life's first cry to final breath,
Jesus commands my destiny.
No pow'r of hell, no scheme of man,
Can ever pluck me from his hand;
Till he returns or calls me home—
Here in the pow'r of Christ I'll stand.

Everything Changes

by Eytan Oren

How do you stand up straight
In a world that puts you down?
And how much longer will this ship
Stay on the ground?
Look at the mirror and you're starting to fear
That the best of years have gone by
That you're never climbing higher

If you're tired of being yourself
Go on and be somebody else
As long as the stars are burning
The world keeps turning
You know that everything changes

How do you know what's of this earth
And what's divine?
And if the point of life is creation
Then why are we wasting our time?
Looking around to discover ourselves
Like it's some fixed point you can find
You can start to lose your mind

Are you ready to quit?
Are you out? Is this it?
We all take a hit
But we keep on fighting

How did you end up in this place
For so long?
And what ever made you think that this
Is where you belong?
Walking the streets like a dog that's been beat
'Cause you just can't sleep tonight
Will you ever get it right?

If you're tired of being yourself
Go on and be somebody else
Take all the rules and break them
Your plans, remake them
'Cause you know that everything changes

My Back Pages

by Bob Dylan

Crimson flames tied through my ears
Rolling high and mighty traps
Pounced with fire on flaming roads
Using ideas as my maps
'We'll meet on edges, soon,' said I
Proud 'neath heated brow
Ah, but I was so much older then
I'm younger than that now

Half-cracked prejudice leaped forth
'Rip down all hate,' I screamed
Lies that life is black and white
Spoke from my skull, I dreamed
Romantic facts of musketeers
Foundationed deep, somehow
Ah, but I was so much older then
I'm younger than that now

Girls' faces formed the forward path
From phony jealousy
To memorizing politics
Of ancient history
Flung down by corpse evangelists
Unthought of, thought, somehow
Ah, but I was so much older then
I'm younger than that now

A self-ordained professor's tongue
Too serious to fool
Spouted out that liberty
Is just equality in school
'Equality,' I spoke the word
As if a wedding vow
Ah, but I was so much older then
I'm younger than that now

In a soldier's stance, I aimed my hand
At the mongrel dogs who teach
Fearing not that I'd become my enemy
In the instant that I preach
My existence led by confusion boats
Mutiny from stern to bow
Ah, but I was so much older then
I'm younger than that now

Yes, my guard stood hard when abstract threats
Too noble to neglect
Deceived me into thinking
I had something to protect
'Good and bad', I define these terms
Quite clear, no doubt, somehow
Ah, but I was so much older then
I'm younger than that now

The Hollow Men

by T.S. Eliot

Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

                A penny for the Old Guy

I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
                                Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

Wesley Covenant Prayer

by John Wesley

I am no longer my own, but thine.
Put me to what thou wilt, rank me with whom thou wilt.
Put me to doing, put me to suffering.
Let me be employed for thee or laid aside for thee,
exalted for thee or brought low for thee.
Let me be full, let me be empty.
Let me have all things, let me have nothing.
I freely and heartily yield all things to thy pleasure and disposal.
And now, O glorious and blessed God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit,
thou art mine, and I am thine.
So be it.
And the covenant which I have made on earth,
let it be ratified in heaven.
Amen.

The Journey of the Magi

by T.S. Eliot

'A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.'
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.

Beautiful Ride

by 'Dewey Cox'

Now that I have lived a lifetime's worth of days
Finally I see the folly of my ways
So listen when I sing of the temptations of this world
Fancy cars and needles, whisky, flesh, and pearls

And then in the end it's family and friends
Loving yourself, but not only yourself
It's about the good walk and the hard walk
And the young girls you made cry
It's about making a little music till the day that you die
It's a beautiful ride

As I stand on the precipice of death, my perspective is enormous
Every leaf, every cloud, I see the hands which have formed us
Some days all you got is a nighttime graveyard walk
You whistle some sweet melody to the ghost down at the dock

So into your hand lead the marching band
Don't you let them fade your colors grey
'Cause when all is said and done
When youth is spent and burned
You'll see that it's all about
Music, flowers, babies
Sharing the goodtimes
Traveling not just for business
Accepting your mortality
This is finally what I've learned

And then in the end it's family and friends
Loving yourself, but not only yourself
It's about the good walk and the hard walk
And the young girls you've made cry
It's about making a little music every day till you die
It's a beautiful ride

Green and Grey

by Chris Thile

I'm in a room full of people, hanging on one person's breath
We would all vote him most likely to be loved to death
I hope he still wants it, but it might remind him of when
He aimed for the bullseye and hit it nine times out of ten

That one time his hand slipped, and I saw the dart sail away
I don't know where it landed, but I'm guessing between green and gray
I thought nothing of it, but it still haunts him like a ghost
With all eyes upon him, except two that matter the most

He says, 'Green is the color that everyone sees all around me
'Gray is the color I see around her, and she's just a blur'
'The more the crowd cheers, the less I can hear
'And they don't really care what I play
'It might be for her, but for now it's between green and gray'

We paid and we cheered, now we're gone, and to us that feels right
But for him every one of those evenings turns into a night
With another hotel room where he lays awake to pretend
That he's doing fine with his notebook and Discman for friends

He says, 'Green is the color that everyone sees all around me
'Gray is the color I see around her, and she's just a blur
'Night after night, what I hear, what I write
'Fills the room, and my head starts to sway
'It might be for her, but for now it's between green and gray'

'I want you to love me,' he whispers, unable to speak
And he wonders aloud why feelings so strong make the body so weak
Then he awoke, now he's scared to death somebody heard
If it was you, and you know her, please don't say a word

Best Imitation of Myself

by Ben Folds

I feel like a quote out of context
Withholding the rest
So I can be for you what you want to see
I got the gesture and sounds
Got the timing down
It's uncanny, you'd think it was me

Do you think I should take a class
To lose my Southern accent
Did I make me up?
Or make the face till it stuck?
I do the best imitation of myself

The 'problem with you' speech
You gave me was fine
I liked the theories about my little stage
And I swore I was listening
But I started drifting
Around the part about me acting my age

Now if it's all the same
I've people to entertain
I juggle one-handed
Do some magic tricks and
The best imitation of myself

Maybe I'm thinking myself in a hole
Wondering who I am, when I ought to know
Straighten up now, time to go
Fool somebody else
Fool somebody else

Last night I was east with them
And west within
Trying to be for you what you want to see
But I can't help it with you
The good and bad comes through
Don't want you hanging out with no one but me

Now if it's all the same
It comes from the same place
And if my mind's somewhere else
You won't be able to tell
I do the best imitation of myself

Yes, it's uncanny to see
You'd really think it was me
The best imitation of myself

Who Am I

by Kyle Hollingsworth

Through my senses I'm reliving
Childhood memories from my past
But in an instant it is over
Fading quickly from my mind

In the photo with piano
I see a man whose time has gone
I knew him only for a moment
But in his spirit I live on

What I was I am
It all comes 'round again
And who he used to be
Is still a part of me

An early morning, cold December
A family gathered all around
Taken back what I was given
Open grave site, frozen ground

I see my hands, they are my father's
Time has worn my fingers thin
Humor, laughter, ever after
My heart still remembers him

All the moments seldom last
And memories they fade so fast
I turn away, and life has passed

Who am I?

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

by T. S. Eliot

S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo
Questa fiamma staria sensa piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero,
Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, 'What is it?'
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, 'Do I dare?' and, 'Do I dare?'
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say: 'How his hair is growing thin!']
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: 'But how his arms and legs are thin!']
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

. . . . .

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?...

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

. . . . .

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter
I am no prophet—and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: 'I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all'—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: 'That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.'

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
'That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant at all.'

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old . . . I grow old . . .
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.