Everything you thought you had,
Has gone from worse to bad.
Lean to the side, whisper it quiet,
The end is sight,
Workin', all night around the clock.
Everything you thought you had,
Has gone from worse to bad.
Powderfinger, My Kinda Scene
----------------------------------------Fingers groggily moving to show
This world the thoughts that keep us low
In endearing moments of doubt and pain
Which shall be back tomorrow again
To bring back epiphanies that stain
Consciousness but bring no gain
To the hopes and dreams which refrain
From being reality; my constant bane.
Despair mounts in this witching hour -
The sun fights through to soon tower
Burning all that lies beneath,
Destroying the cool night's shadowy sheath
While the mark upon my head as a wreath
Of thorns that do constantly keep
Me from reaching the arms of slumber
To the hopes and dreams torn asunder
From being reality; a victim of plunder.
The bandits march and think of victory
Mindful of what is soon to be history
The vain stand vanguards defending
Stupidity and ignorance unrelenting
In their attempt to keep preventing
The birthing of hope in minds thinking
That seek to cross thresholds blinking
Watching with eyes unbelieving
The hopes and dreams that need freeing
To become reality; no more deceiving.
On the threshold of love one must always despair
Of the twists and turns that always do wear
Down the resolve that you seek to hold true -
With life and hope, to begin anew
The dreams of being, and hopes of serenity
That, in this life, is the only true divinity.
This world the thoughts that keep us low
In endearing moments of doubt and pain
Which shall be back tomorrow again
To bring back epiphanies that stain
Consciousness but bring no gain
To the hopes and dreams which refrain
From being reality; my constant bane.
Despair mounts in this witching hour -
The sun fights through to soon tower
Burning all that lies beneath,
Destroying the cool night's shadowy sheath
While the mark upon my head as a wreath
Of thorns that do constantly keep
Me from reaching the arms of slumber
To the hopes and dreams torn asunder
From being reality; a victim of plunder.
The bandits march and think of victory
Mindful of what is soon to be history
The vain stand vanguards defending
Stupidity and ignorance unrelenting
In their attempt to keep preventing
The birthing of hope in minds thinking
That seek to cross thresholds blinking
Watching with eyes unbelieving
The hopes and dreams that need freeing
To become reality; no more deceiving.
On the threshold of love one must always despair
Of the twists and turns that always do wear
Down the resolve that you seek to hold true -
With life and hope, to begin anew
The dreams of being, and hopes of serenity
That, in this life, is the only true divinity.
------------------------------------
Saying yes to life even in its strangest and hardest problems; the will to life rejoicing over its own inexhaustibility even in the very sacrifice of its highest types - this is what I call Dionysian, that is what I understood as the bridge to the psychology of the tragic poet. Not in order to get rid of terror and pity, not in order to purge oneself of a dangerous effect by its vehement discharge, but in order to be oneself the eternal joy of becoming, beyond all terror and pity.
Nietzsche
2 comments:
"On the threshold of love one must always despair
Of the twists and turns that always do wear
Down the resolve that you seek to hold true -
With life and hope, to begin anew."
Very powerful stuff & very true.
I guess as they say,"Gam zeh ya'avor" -"This too shall pass."
Awesome's...
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