Linux Songs Poems

They told me you had proven it          When they discovered our results
        About a month before.                   Their hair began to curl
The proof was valid, more or less       Instead of understanding it
        But rather less than more.              We'd run the thing through PRL.

He sent them word that we would try     Don't tell a soul about all this
        To pass where they had failed           For it must ever be
And after we were done, to them         A secret, kept from all the rest
        The new proof would be mailed.          Between yourself and me.

My notion was to start again
        Ignoring all they'd done
We quickly turned it into code
        To see if it would run.

They went rushing down that freeway,
Messed around and got lost.
They didn't care... they were just dying to get off,
And it was life in the fast lane.
                -- Eagles, "Life in the Fast Lane"

They wouldn't listen to the fact that I was a genius,
The man said "We got all that we can use",
So I've got those steadily-depressin', low-down, mind-messin',
Working-at-the-car-wash blues.
                -- Jim Croce

Thinks't thou existence doth depend on time?
It doth; but actions are our epochs; mine
Have made my days and nights imperishable,
Endless, and all alike, as sands on the shore,
Innumerable atoms; and one desert,
Barren and cold, on which the wild waves break,
But nothing rests, save carcasses and wrecks,
Rocks, and the salt-surf weeds of bitterness.

"Thirty days hath Septober,
April, June, and no wonder.
all the rest have peanut butter
except my father who wears red suspenders."

Thirty white horses on a red hill,
First they champ,
Then they stamp,
Then they stand still.
                -- Tolkien

This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
Everye nighte and alle,
Fire and sleet and candlelyte,
And Christe receive thy saule.
                -- The Lykewake Dirge

This here's the wattle,
The emblem of our land.
You can stick it in a bottle;
You can hold it in your hand.
Amen!
                -- Monty Python

This is for all ill-treated fellows
        Unborn and unbegot,
For them to read when they're in trouble
        And I am not.
                -- A. E. Housman

This is the story of the bee
Whose sex is very hard to see

You cannot tell the he from the she
But she can tell, and so can he

The little bee is never still
She has no time to take the pill

And that is why, in times like these
There are so many sons of bees.