Roses, wood violets & dew

Roses are red and wood violets are blue
I love you, Babe, like the dawn loves the dew
Oh, I love you, Babe, like the dawn loves the dew
I’m bringing home roses and violets too
I’m bringing home roses and violets for you

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I’m sorry I left, that I never came through
I’m bringing you flowers— Seems all that I do
I just had to walk. I just had to think
I just had to find my way back from the brink
And now I’m coming home with the smell of fresh dew
And rosebuds I’ve stolen, like I once stole you

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These roses are red and sweet violets are blue
I love you, Babe, like the dawn loves the dew
Oh, I love you, Babe, like the dawn and the dew
I’m bringing home roses and violets for you
I’m bringing home roses, wood violets and dew

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A country song or an Irish one.

Dismal Mountain

Summon Me! From Dismal Mountain
Where fallen prayers drift slowly down
Where ash of fallen prayer lies mounting
From the privy of the Beast!

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Take Me!  Shake each Gilded Logic
From dreaded Death!  From dung deposits!
From the liars’ breath of thieves!
From Serpentes, friend of Eve!

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Spill Me!  Spill my ancient grief!
My faith that God once had in beasts!
Spill the essence of my clay
Across the Day!  Across the Day!

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O Hear!  Echoic from this ashen fell
Where idols leant and fallen dwell—
My Lords-in-waiting!  Seneschals!
Summon Me!

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A few words:  

Serpentes (sir-pent-eze): a name in biology for the snakes— used here as the given name of the serpent in the Garden of Eden.

Fell: a hill or highland.

Leant is leaned.  Rhymes with lent.

Seneschal: an officer or steward in a medieval noble household, in charge of servants and their duties, ceremonies and administration of justice.  Reminds me of a lieutenant in an old crime family. 

The premise here is that The Beast has no power of his own; it is first begged or stolen.

This lyric comes off as heavy metal in my head. With operatic overtones.

Christians Everywhere Sing Joyful

Prayer and Glory! [a single voice, calling]

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Jesus! [more voices, tumultuous, joyful]

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Leading each of us to heaven
He with neither sin nor hating
Christians everywhere sing joyful
Loving each of God’s creations
Praise Him! Praise Him! Every nation!
Praise the King this Christmas morning!
Prayer and Glory!
Christ, Our Savior, Christmas born!

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Christians everywhere sing joyful!
Prophesy has come to pass
Jesus sent for our salvation
God, Our Father, gathers us
Praise Him! Praise Him! Every nation!
Praise the King this Christmas morning!
Prayer and Glory!
Christ, Our Savior, Christmas born!

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At Least Until This Fairy Tale is Over

Her bags are packed, left by the door. She looks away waiting for her ride to come. Waiting.

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You met her on a holiday. You can’t recall who else was there. She’s moved along and left you holding empty air. Empty rooms and empty halls fill the days you’ve lost count of and left an empty bed alone beside you.

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You met her one late-summer day, or was it autumn, who can say? Like falling leaves you fell one for the other. The mornings were the best of all. The evenings melted into dawn and dawn again.

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And then one day she said goodbye. Without a word, she said goodbye. Her eyes had someone else inside. You asked yourself when this all started.

Now every girl you see instead, and every time you turn your head, and all the names on every street, the colors of the sky at night, your bed at dawn, days pass you by, whatever tells you you’re alive tells you that you’re dead inside.

You keep her pillow by your own, wake up late each afternoon but still you wake up as alone. And then one day you’ve cleared your mind, you bring her back and let her slide away again.

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Now mornings fade from grey to green, and somewhere in the days between you catch an eye, she catches you and spends a night or maybe two. The hallway and the living room, the shower and the kitchen floor—what else had they existed for?

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Now every smell of every flower, every early morning shower and all the songs on every street, the colors of the sky at night, her kiss at dawn, the rising light, whatever tells you you’re a man tells you you’re alive again. Yet stories like this never end like fairy tales.

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And every smell of every flower, every early morning shower, and all the songs on every street, the colors of the sky at night, her kiss at dawn, the rising light, whatever tells you you’re a man tells you you’re alive again, at least until this fairy tale is over.

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LOGIC STICKS

Don’t beat me with your logic sticks
It ain’t that I can’t take the licks
My skin is thick, as thick as bricks
It’s just I’ve had my fill of it

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Chorus
          We’ll beat you when you’re up
          No, we’ll beat you when you’re down
          No, we’ll beat you when you’re up again
          And beat you when you’re down

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René Descartes rests headless in his tomb
Cogito ergo—ergo whom?
Don’t beat me with your logic sticks
Fidem! ergo sum

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Chorus

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Don’t care what makes your logic tick
It ain’t that I can’t take the licks
Don’t know where your logic’s been
Logic gets around

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Chorus

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Don’t beat me with your logic sticks
My skin is thick, as thick as bricks
It ain’t that I can’t take the licks
IT’S JUST I’VE HAD MY FILL OF IT

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Might be heavy rock. What kind of vibe do you see?