Lyrics

The lunatic is on the grass
The lunatic is on the grass
Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs
Got to keep the loonies on the path
The lunatic is in the hall
The lunatics are in my hall
The paper holds their folded faces to the floor
And every day the paper boy brings more
And if the dam breaks open many years too soon
And if there is no room upon the hill
And if your head explodes with dark forbodings too
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon
The lunatic is in my head
The lunatic is in my head
You raise the blade, you make the change
You re-arrange me 'till I'm sane
You lock the door
And throw away the key
There's someone in my head but it's not me.
And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
You shout and no one seems to hear
And if the band you're in starts playing different tunes
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon



Pink Floyd

Spirits of the Dead

Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.

Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness- for then
The spirits of the dead, who stood
In life before thee, are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee; be still.

The night, though clear, shall frown,
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven
With light like hope to mortals given,
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne'er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more, like dew-drop from the grass.

The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token.
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!


~ Edgar Allen Poe

Alone

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And that cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.



~Edgar Allen Poe

When I heard the learn'd astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were arranged in columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide and measure them,
When I, sitting, heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in his lecture room
How soon unaccountable, I became tired and sick
Till rising and gliding out I wander'd out by my self,
In the mystical moist night air, and from time to time,
Looked up in perfect silence at the stars.



Walt Whitman

I sit and look out upon all the sorrows of the world,
and upon all oppression and shame,
I hear secret convulsive sobs from young men at anguish with themselves,
remorseful after deeds done,
I see in low life the mother misused by her children,
dying, neglected, gaunt, desperate.
I see the wife misused by her husband,
I see the treacherous seducer of young women.
I mark the ranklings of jealousy and unrequited love attempted to be hid,
I see these sights on the earth
I see the workings of battle, pestilence tyranny,
I see martyrs and prisoners,
I observe famine at sea,
I observe the sailors casting lots who shall be killed to preserve the lives of the rest.
I observe the slights and degradations cast by arrogant persons upon laborers,
The poor, and upon negroes, and the like;
All these, all the meanness and agony without end
I, sitting back, look out upon,
See, hear, and am silent.



~Walt Whitman

A dream within a dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

Edgar Allen Poe