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Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song, A medley of extemporanea; And love is a thing that can never read more
Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song, A medley of extemporanea; And love is a thing that can never go wrong; And I am Marie of Rumania
Always keep a song in your heart - it's like karaoke for the voices in your head
Always keep a song in your heart - it's like karaoke for the voices in your head
I learned very early in life that: "Without a song, the day would never end; without a friend, a man read more
I learned very early in life that: "Without a song, the day would never end; without a friend, a man ain't got a friend; without a song, the road would never bend- without a song" So I keep singing a song.
That song, for me, is about drugs and alcohol and loss and love. It's about being proud of who you read more
That song, for me, is about drugs and alcohol and loss and love. It's about being proud of who you are, being proud of your situation and just being stoked that things are always going to get better or always gonna get worse and that's such a great thing. Every day is a new surprise.
California sunlight - sweet Calcutta rain - Honolulu starbright - the song remains the same.
California sunlight - sweet Calcutta rain - Honolulu starbright - the song remains the same.
And grant that when I face the grisly Thing,
My song may trumptet down the gray Perhaps
read more
And grant that when I face the grisly Thing,
My song may trumptet down the gray Perhaps
Let me be as a tune-swept fiddlestring
That feels the Master Melody--and snaps.
And heaven had wanted one immortal song.
And heaven had wanted one immortal song.
Men, even when alone, lighten their labors by song, however rude
it may be.
[Lat., Etiam singulorum fatigatio read more
Men, even when alone, lighten their labors by song, however rude
it may be.
[Lat., Etiam singulorum fatigatio quamlibet se rudi modulatione
solatur.]
She makes her hand hard with labour, and her heart soft with
pity: and when winter evenings fall early read more
She makes her hand hard with labour, and her heart soft with
pity: and when winter evenings fall early (sitting at her merry
wheel), she sings a defiance to the giddy wheel of
fortune . . . and fears no manner of ill because she means none.