Fauré plays Fauré Pavane, op 50

Fauré - Pierre-Alain Volondat - Barcarolle No 1 in A minor, op 26

Gabriel Fauré - 2 Romances sans paroles en la bémol majeur op.17

Alkistis Protopsalti ΒΡΑΧΟΣ - ΑΛΚΗΣΤΙΣ ΠΡΩΤΟΨΑΛΤΗ

my sad captains - Thom Gunn

Vladimir Kush

One by one they appear in

the darkness: a few friends, and

a few with historical

names. How late they start to shine!

but before they fade they stand

perfectly embodied, all

the past lapping them like a

cloak of chaos. They were men

who, I thought, lived only to

renew the wasteful force they

spent with each hot convulsion.

They remind me, distant now.

True, they are not at rest yet,

but now they are indeed

apart, winnowed from failures,

they withdraw to an orbit

and turn with disinterested

hard energy, like the stars.

cat island - Thom Gunn

Cats met us at

the landing-place

reclining in the sun

to check us in

with a momentary glance,

concierges

of a grassy island.

(Attila's Throne,

the Devil's Bridge,

and "the best Byzantine

church in the world",

long saints admonitory

on kiln-like inner walls.)

And lunch in a shady court

where cats now

systematically worked

the restaurant, table

by table, gazing into eyes

pleading "I'm hungry

and I'm cute", reaching

front paws up to knees

and always getting

before zeroing in

on the next table, same

routine, same result.

Sensible bourgeois

wild-cats working

with the furred impudence

of those who don't pretend

to be other than whores,

they give you not

the semblance of love

but simply

a look at their beauty

in return for food.

Models, not escorts.

They lack, too,

the prostitute's self-pity,

being beyond shame.

And we lack

what they have.

Mozart - Linea...

Cythère - Paul Verlaine

Un pavillon à claires-voies
Abrite doucement nos joies
Qu'éventent des rosiers amis;

L'odeur des roses, faible, grâce
Au vent léger d'été qui passe,
Se mêle aux parfums qu'elle a mis ;

Comme ses yeux l'avaient promis,
Son courage est grand et sa lèvre
Communique une exquise fièvre ;

Et l'Amour comblant tout, hormis
La Faim, sorbets et confitures
Nous préservent des courbatures.

Perhaps Love - John Denver

considering the snail - Thom Gunn

The snail pushes through a green
night, for the grass is heavy
with water and meets over
the bright path he makes, where rain
has darkened the earth's dark. He
moves in a wood of desire,

pale antlers barely stirring
as he hunts. I cannot tell
what power is at work, drenched there
with purpose, knowing nothing.
What is a snail's fury? All
I think is that if later

I parted the blades above
the tunnel and saw the thin
trail of broken white across
litter, I would never have
imagined the slow passion
to that deliberate progress.

Haris Alexiou-Ximerwnei

touch - Thom Gunn

You are already
asleep. I lower
myself in next to
you, my skin slightly
numb with the restraint
of habits, the patina of
self, the black frost
of outsideness, so that even
unclothed, it is
a resilient chilly
hardness, a superficially
malleable, dead
rubbery texture.

You are a mound
of bedclothes, where the cat
in sleep braces
its paws against your
calf through the blankets,
and kneads each paw in turn.

Meanwhile and slowly
I feel a is it
my own warmth surfacing or
the ferment of your whole
body that in darkness beneath
the cover is stealing
bit by bit to break
down that chill.

You turn and
hold me tightly, do
you know who
I am or am I
your mother or
the nearest human being to
hold on to in a
dreamed pogrom.

What I, now loosened,
sink into is an old
big place, it is
there already, for
you are already
there, and the cat
got there before you,
it is hard to locate.
What is more, the place is
not found but seeps
from our touch in
continuous creation, dark
enclosing cocoon round
ourselves alone, dark
wide realm where we
walk with everyone.

Spring is like a perhaps hand - ee cummings

Spring is like a perhaps hand
(which comes carefully
out of Nowhere) arranging
a window, into which people look(while
people stare
arranging and changing placing
carefully there a strange
thing and a known thing here) and

changing everything carefully

spring is like a perhaps
Hand in a window
(carefully to
and fro moving New and
Old things,while
people stare carefully
moving a perhaps
fraction of flower here placing
an inch of air there) and

without breaking anything.

Κάπου υπάρχει η αγάπη μου

le pont Mirabeau - Apollinaire

Vladimir Kush

Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine
Et nos amours
Faut-il qu'il m'en souvienne
La joie venait toujours après la peine.

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

Les mains dans les mains restons face à face
Tandis que sous
Le pont de nos bras passe
Des éternels regards l'onde si lasse

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

L'amour s'en va comme cette eau courante
L'amour s'en va
Comme la vie est lente
Et comme l'Espérance est violente

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

Passent les jours et passent les semaines
Ni temps passé
Ni les amours reviennent
Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine

Lovesong-The Cure

Γιώτα Νέγκα - Με τα μάτια κλειστά

“If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry.”

Emily Dickinson

Ένα καλοκαίρι Αφροδίτη Μάνου

Sail Away

Evanescence - Bring Me To Life

how can you see into my eyes like open doors
leading you down into my core
where I’ve become so numb without a soul my spirit sleeping somewhere cold
until you find it there and lead it back home

L'equilibrista - Eros Ramazzotti

μου το έστειλε η Αννα ΙΙ

Ειλικρίνεια

Οι άνθρωποι πιστεύουν ότι όταν μιλάνε ανοικτά για τις κακές προθέσεις, τα συναισθήματα, ή τις πράξεις τους, αυτό είναι πράξη ειλικρίνειας. Αλλά η ειλικρίνεια είναι αρετή. Πώς μπορείς να είσαι κλέφτης και συγχρόνως ένα έντιμο πρόσωπο; Η ειλικρίνεια σχετίζεται με την έκφραση της εσωτερικής ομορφιάς σας, και όχι με την απόκρυψη των απαντήσεων ή αντιδράσεών σας στις σκέψεις, τις δράσεις ή τα συναισθήματα των άλλων ανθρώπων. Ένα ειλικρινές πρόσωπο είναι αυτό που εκπέμπει το φως του, χωρίς να το εμποδίζει ή να το κρύβει.

Aura, Shield of Protection & Glory
Torkom Saraydarian

Pachelbel Canon in D major - Violin (eXquisite version)

OH WINDS, OH WAVES!

μου το έστειλε η Αννα

O βαθύτερος φόβος μας δεν είναι ότι είμαστε ανεπαρκείς. Ο βαθύτερος φόβος μας είναι ότι είμαστε ισχυροί πέραν του μέτρου. Είναι το φως μας, όχι το σκοτάδι μας, που οι περισσότεροι φοβούνται. Αναρωτιόμαστε, ποιος είμαι εγώ για να είμαι λαμπρός, υπέροχος, ταλαντούχος, καταπληκτικός; Στην πραγματικότητα, ποιος είσαι για να μην είσαι; Είσαι παιδί του Θεού. Το μικρό σου παιχνίδι δεν εξυπηρετεί τον κόσμο. Δεν βοηθάει καθόλου να συρρικνώνεσαι τόσο, ώστε οι άλλοι άνθρωποι να μην αισθάνονται ανασφαλείς γύρω σου. Σκοπός όλων μας είναι να λάμπουμε, όπως κάνουν τα παιδιά. Γεννιόμαστε για να κάνουμε πρόδηλη τη δόξα του Θεού που βρίσκεται μέσα μας. Δεν βρίσκεται μόνο σε μερικούς από εμάς, βρίσκεται σε όλους μας. Και καθώς αφήνουμε το φως μας να λάμπει, επιτρέπουμε ασυνείδητα στους άλλους ανθρώπους να κάνουν το ίδιο. Καθώς ελευθερωνόμαστε από το φόβο μας, η παρουσία μας απελευθερώνει αυτόματα τους άλλους.

Nelson Mandela

Saint-Saens : The Swan ( Le Cygne ) - Carnival of the Animals

Tchaikovsky - None But The Lonely Hearts

NONE BUT THE LONELY HEART
Pyotr Tchaikovsky
(based on a poem by J.W. von Goethe)

None but the lonely heart
Can know my sadness
Alone and parted
Far from joy and gladness
Heaven's boundless arch I see
Spread about above me
O what a distance dear to one
Who loves me
None but the lonely heart
Can know my sadness
Alone and parted
Far from joy and gladness
Alone and parted far
From joy and gladness
My senses fail
A burning fire
Devours me
None but the lonely heart
Can know my sadness

Jason Mraz - Life is wonderful (with lyrics)

and it takes no time to fall in love but it takes you years to know what love is - -Life is wonderful

Xoris Pnoh - Χωρίς Πνοή (Breathless-Dan Wilson)

Locomondo- Me Wanna Dance

Depeche Mode - Enjoy The Silence original (not live)

Words like violence
Break the silence
Come crashing in
Into my little world

How to Meditate - Jack Kerouac

-lights out-
fall, hands a-clasped, into instantaneous
ecstasy like a shot of heroin or morphine,
the gland inside of my brain discharging
the good glad fluid (Holy Fluid) as
i hap-down and hold all my body parts
down to a deadstop trance-Healing
all my sicknesses-erasing all-not
even the shred of a 'I-hope-you' or a
Loony Balloon left in it, but the mind
blank, serene, thoughtless. When a thought
comes a-springing from afar with its held-
forth figure of image, you spoof it out,
you spuff it off, you fake it, and
it fades, and thought never comes-and
with joy you realize for the first time
'thinking's just like not thinking-
So I don't have to think
any
more'

sometimes i am alive because with - e.e cummings

sometimes i am alive because with
me her alert treelike body sleeps
which i will feel slowly sharpening
becoming distinct with love slowly,
who in my shoulder sinks sweetly teeth
until we shall attain the Springsmelling
intense large togethercoloured instant

the moment pleasantly frightful

when, her mouth suddenly rising, wholly
begins with mine fiercely to fool
(and from my thighs which shrug and pant
a murdering rain leapingly reaches the upward singular deepest flower which she
carries in a gesture of her hips)

in time of daffodils - e. e. cummings

in time of daffodils(who know
the goal of living is to grow)
forgetting why,remember how

in time of lilacs who proclaim
the aim of waking is to dream,
remember so(forgetting seem)

in time of roses(who amaze
our now and here with paradise)
forgetting if,remember yes

in time of all sweet things beyond
whatever mind may comprehend,
remember seek(forgetting find)

and in a mystery to be
(when time from time shall set us free)
forgetting me,remember me

now is a ship - ee cummings

now is a ship

which captain am
sails out of sleep

steering for dream

Eros Ramazzotti - Un Emozione Per Sempre (lyrics)

Dire Straits & Eric Clapton - I Think I Love You Too Much

love is a place - ee cummings

love is a place
& through this place of
love move
(with brightness of peace)
all places

yes is a world
& in this world of
yes live
(skilfully curled)
all worlds

i carry your heart with me - ee cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Ocean Gypsy - Blackmore's Night

Whatever

The Beatles - Dont Let Me Down

Knock on the sky and listen to the sound

Aimer, c' est bien, savoir aimer, c'est tout.

Francois Rene de Chateaubriand.

Goldenrod - Elaine Goodale Eastman

When the wayside tangles blaze
In the low September sun,
When the flowers of Summer days
Droop and wither, one by one,
Reaching up through bush and brier,
Sumptuous brow and heart of fire,
Flaunting high its wind-rocked plume,
Brave with wealth of native bloom, -
Goldenrod!

When the meadow, lately shorn,
Parched and languid, swoons with pain,
When her life-blood, night and morn,
Shrinks in every throbbing vein,
Round her fallen, tarnished urn
Leaping watch-fires brighter burn;
Royal arch o'er Autumn's gate,
Bending low with lustrous weight, -
Goldenrod!

In the pasture's rude embrace,
All o'errun with tangled vines,
Where the thistle claims its place,
And the straggling hedge confines,
Bearing still the sweet impress
Of unfettered loveliness,
In the field and by the wall,
Binding, clasping, crowning all, -
Goldenrod!

Nature lies disheveled pale,
With her feverish lips apart, -
Day by day the pulses fail,
Nearer to her bounding heart;
Yet that slackened grasp doth hold
Store of pure and genuine gold;
Quick thou comest, strong and free,
Type of all the wealth to be, -
Goldenrod!

Use/physical:
For confidence and decision making, strength in oneself. Energy booster energises us when we are low in energy.

Effect:
A positive attitude. Able to make decisions confidently. Improves self-esteem

Ashes of roses - Elaine Goodale Eastman

Soft on the sunset sky
Bright daylight closes,
Leaving, when light doth die,
Pale hues that mingling lie,--
Ashes of roses.

When love's warm sun is set,
Love's brightness closes;
Eyes with hot tears are wet,
In hearts there linger yet
Ashes of roses.

Jack Kerouac- American Haiku

Whitney Houston - I Will Always Love You

I have Nothing - Whitney Houston (The Bodyguard)

Whitney Houston - Where Do Broken Hearts Go

Eric Clapton - Cocaine

Vladimir Kush

How to Make a Dadaist Poem
(method of Tristan Tzara)

To make a Dadaist poem:

* Take a newspaper.
* Take a pair of scissors.
* Choose an article as long as you are planning to make your poem.
* Cut out the article.
* Then cut out each of the words that make up this article and put them in a bag.
* Shake it gently.
* Then take out the scraps one after the other in the order in which they left the bag.
* Copy conscientiously.
* The poem will be like you.
* And here are you a writer, infinitely original and endowed with a sensibility that is charming though beyond the understanding of the vulgar.

--Tristan Tzara

Vladimir Kush

I am a part of all that I have met.
Alfred Lord Tennyson

Eric Clapton-Layla

Eric Clapton/Tears in heaven

Sonnet - Charles North

The tone poem left the door open.
Well, close it.
It doesn't stay. It reminds me of
Elizabethan plays where eyes,
especially the tragically blinded ones, are "jelly."
It has a center with a circumference loosely attached.
The ideas about social wastefulness
smeared over individual needs.

Since the ideas about wastefulness
are smeared over their objects,
the tone is everywhere.
It expresses its reluctance as virtue.
It is reluctant to intrude, like minds into
the fleetingness they concede.

Sylvia Plath Reads 'Daddy'

Anne Sexton reads "The Truth The Dead Know"

The Truth the Dead Know


For my Mother, born March 1902, died March 1959
and my Father, born February 1900, died June 1959

Gone, I say and walk from church,
refusing the stiff procession to the grave,
letting the dead ride alone in the hearse.
It is June. I am tired of being brave.

We drive to the Cape. I cultivate
myself where the sun gutters from the sky,
where the sea swings in like an iron gate
and we touch. In another country people die.

My darling, the wind falls in like stones
from the whitehearted water and when we touch
we enter touch entirely. No one's alone.
Men kill for this, or for as much.

And what of the dead? They lie without shoes
in the stone boats. They are more like stone
than the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse
to be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone.

I have nothing to say
and I am saying it
and that is poetry
as I needed it

John Cage

Κική Δημουλά: Τα πάθη της βροχής

Allen Ginsberg - haiku

Drinking my tea
Without sugar-
No difference.

The sparrow shits
upside down
--ah! my brain & eggs

Mayan head in a
Pacific driftwood bole
--Someday I'll live in N.Y.

Looking over my shoulder
my behind was covered
with cherry blossoms.

Winter Haiku
I didn't know the names
of the flowers--now
my garden is gone.

I slapped the mosquito
and missed.
What made me do that?

Reading haiku
I am unhappy,
longing for the Nameless.

A frog floating
in the drugstore jar:
summer rain on grey pavements.
(after Shiki)

On the porch
in my shorts;
auto lights in the rain.

Another year
has past-the world
is no different.

The first thing I looked for
in my old garden was
The Cherry Tree.

My old desk:
the first thing I looked for
in my house.

My early journal:
the first thing I found
in my old desk.

My mother's ghost:
the first thing I found
in the living room.

I quit shaving
but the eyes that glanced at me
remained in the mirror.

The madman
emerges from the movies:
the street at lunchtime.

Cities of boys
are in their graves,
and in this town...

Lying on my side
in the void:
the breath in my nose.

On the fifteenth floor
the dog chews a bone-
Screech of taxicabs.

A hardon in New York,
a boy
in San Fransisco.

The moon over the roof,
worms in the garden.
I rent this house.

Διονύσης Σαββόπουλος - Μη μιλάς άλλο γι' αγάπη

BE HERE NOW

Claudio Baglioni-Strada facendo(1981)

strada facendo troverai
un gancio in mezzo al cielo

Οι φίλοι υποστηρίζουν ότι είναι ειλικρινείς, αλλά στην πραγματικότητα ειλικρινείς είναι οι εχθροί.

Αρθούρος Σοπενχάουερ

Η έκσταση στην πράξη του ζευγαρώματος. Αυτό είναι! Αυτή είναι η αληθινή ουσία και ο πυρήνας των πάντων, ο στόχος κι ο σκοπός κάθε ύπαρξης.

Αρθούρος Σοπενχάουερ

Simple Minds - Don't You (Forget About Me) (HQ Video & HQ Audio)

America - Lonely people

America - I Need You original w/ lyrics

Όταν, στο τέλος της ζωής τους, οι περισσότεροι άνθρωποι κοιτάζουν προς τα πίσω, ανακαλύπτουν ότι έζησαν όλη τους τη ζωή εν αναμονή. Με έκπληξη θα συνειδητοποιήσουν ότι αυτό που άφησαν να τους διαφύγει χωρίς να το εκτιμήσουν και να το απολαύσουν, δεν ήταν άλλο από τη ζωή τους. Έτσι λοιπόν ο άνθρωπος, ξεγελασμένος από την ελπίδα, χορεύει προς την αγκαλιά του θανάτου

Αρθούρος Σοπενχάουερ

Θάλασσα του πρωϊού - Κωνσταντίνος Καβάφης

Schiller,Sarah Brightman "I 've seen it all"art of V.Kush

Time to say goodbye Sarah Brightman Andrea Bocelli

Το να σ' αγαπάει κάποιος βαθιά σου δίνει δύναμη. Το να αγαπάς κάποιον βαθιά σου δίνει θάρρος.
Λάο Τσε

Magda Tagliaferro and Sakharoff in Cinephonie. Mompou

Magda Tagliaferro and Sakharoff in Cinephonie. Mompou

Tagliaferro-Saint-Saens I

Pasolini e Ezra Pound

Quello che veramente ami rimane,
il resto è scorie
Quello che veramente ami non ti sarà strappato
Quello che veramente ami è la tua vera eredita’
Il mondo a chi appartiene, a me, a loro
o a nessuno?
Prima venne il visibile, quindi il palpabile
Elisio, sebbene fosse nelle dimore d’inferno,
Quello che veramente ami è la tua vera eredita’
La formica è un centauro nel suo mondo di draghi.
Strappa da te la vanità, non fu l’uomo
A creare il coraggio, o l’ordine, o la grazia,
Strappa da te la vanità, ti dico strappala
Impara dal mondo verde quale sia il tuo luogo
Nella misura dell’invenzione, o nella vera abilità dell’artefice,
Strappa da te la vanità,
Paquin strappala!
Il casco verde ha vinto la tua eleganza.
“Dominati, e gli altri ti sopporteranno”
Strappa da te la vanita’
Sei un cane bastonato sotto la grandine,
Una pica rigonfia in uno spasimo di sole,
Metà nero metà bianco
Né distingui un’ala da una coda
Strappa da te la vanita’
Come son meschini i tuoi rancori
Nutriti di falsità.
Strappa da te la vanità,
Avido di distruggere, avaro di carità,
Strappa da te la vanità,
Ti dico strappala.
Ma avere fatto in luogo di non avere fatto
questa non è vanità. Avere, con discrezione, bussato
Perché un Blunt aprisse
Aver raccolto dal vento una tradizione viva
o da un bell’occhio antico la fiamma inviolata
Questa non è vanità.
Qui l’errore è in ciò che non si è fatto, nella diffidenza che fece esitare.

Magda Tagliaferro plays Albéniz Seguidillas (1932)

MAGDA TAGLIAFERRO playing Fauré Nocturne n.6 op 63

LAURA PAUSINI LA SOLITUDINE

reflections of passion - Yianni

Love bites

O Mare e Tu - Andrea Bocelli & Dulce Pontes

Edvard Grieg - Morgenstimmung

Έλα πάρε μου τη λύπη - Ελένη Τσαλιγοπούλου

Εγώ σ'αγάπησα εδώ - Ελένη Τσαλιγοπούλου

Είσαι αστέρι - Στέφανος Κορκολής

"Beware when the great God lets loose a thinker on this planet."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Oceanides Sibelius

Πες μου ένα ψέμα - De Facto

Κι' εγώ θα σου πω μιά αλήθεια.

ταξιδεύουν οι νότες στον χρόνο

"Treat a piano badly, and it will sulkily lock up its treasures of tone. Treat it lovingly and understandingly, and it is one of the most responsive of instruments; its harp of over two hundred strings, its great sounding board and frame, and its system of pedals are all susceptible to the minutest variations of sound for musical purposes, to such a degree that very slight and apparently unimportant motions at the keyboard affect the tonal mass."
(Ernest Hutcheson, 1871-1951)

νότες από το παρελθόν και όχι μόνο

Memory of the Garden at Etten (Ladies of Arles)

I don’t know if you’ll understand that one can speak poetry just by arranging colours well, just as one can say comforting things in music. In the same way the bizarre lines, sought out and multiplied, and snaking all over the painting, aren’t intended to render the garden in its vulgar resemblance but draw it for us as if seen in a dream, in character and yet at the same time stranger than the reality.

http://www.vangoghsblog.com/one-can-speak-poetry/

Evgeni Gordiets

http://www.evgenigordiets.com/art.html

Daddy - Sylvia Plath

You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time--
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend

Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene

An engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You--

Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.

If I've killed one man, I've killed two--
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.


Είμαι απόλυτα σίγουρη πως δεν το έγραψε γιά τον πατέρα της. Στην ποίηση μπορείς να κρύψεις τις πιό μεγάλες αλήθειες.

Barbara Streisand - Somewhere

clair de lune - Enigma