Linux Songs Poems

Little Fly,
Thy summer's play               If thought is life
My thoughtless hand             And strength & breath,
Has brush'd away.               And the want
                                Of thought is death,
Am not I
A fly like thee?                Then am I
Or art not thou                 A happy fly
A man like me?                  If I live
                                Or if I die.

For I dance
And drink & sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
                -- William Blake, "The Fly"

Lizzie Borden took an axe,
And plunged it deep into the VAX;
Don't you envy people who
Do all the things YOU want to do?

Logicians have but ill defined
As rational the human kind.
Logic, they say, belongs to man,
But let them prove it if they can.
                -- Oliver Goldsmith

Louie Louie, me gotta go
Louie Louie, me gotta go

Fine little girl she waits for me
Me catch the ship for cross the sea
Me sail the ship all alone              Three nights and days me sail the sea
Me never thinks me make it home         Me think of girl constantly
(chorus)                                On the ship I dream she there
                                        I smell the rose in her hair
Me see Jamaica moon above               (chorus, guitar solo)
It won't be long, me see my love
I take her in my arms and then
Me tell her I never leave again
                -- The real words to The Kingsmen's classic "Louie Louie"

Love in your heart wasn't put there to stay.
Love isn't love 'til you give it away.
                -- Oscar Hammerstein II

Love, which is quickly kindled in a gentle heart,
        seized this one for the fair form
        that was taken from me-and the way of it afficts me still.
Love, which absolves no loved one from loving,
        seized me so strongly with delight in him,
        that, as you see, it does not leave me even now.
Love brought us to one death.
                -- La Divina Commedia: Inferno V, vv. 100-06

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man,
You, with your fresh thoughts
Care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name
Sorrow's springs are the same:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
                -- Gerard Manley Hopkins.

Meanehwael, baccat meaddehaele, monstaer lurccen;
Fulle few too many drincce, hie luccen for fyht.
[D]en Hreorfneorht[d]hwr, son of Hrwaerow[p]heororthwl,
AEsccen aewful jeork to steop outsyd.
[P]hud!  Bashe!  Crasch!  Beoom!  [D]e bigge gye
Eallum his bon brak, byt his nose offe;
Wicced Godsylla waeld on his asse.
Monstaer moppe fleor wy[p] eallum men in haelle.
Beowulf in bacceroome fonecall bemaccen waes;
Hearen sond of ruccus saed, "Hwaet [d]e helle?"
Graben sheold strang ond swich-blaed scharp
Sond feorth to fyht [d]e grimlic foe.
"Me," Godsylla saed, "mac [d]e minsemete."
Heoro cwyc geten heold wi[p] faemed half-nelson
Ond flyng him lic frisbe bac to fen.
Beowulf belly up to meaddehaele bar,
Saed, "Ne foe beaten mie faersom cung-fu."
Eorderen cocca-colha yce-coeld, [d]e reol [p]yng.
                -- Not Chaucer, for certain

Most folks they like the daytime,
        'cause they like to see the shining sun.
They're up in the morning,
        off and a-running till they're too tired for having fun.
But when the sun goes down,
        and the bright lights shine, my daytime has just begun.

Now there are two sides to this great big world,
        and one of them is always night.
If you can take care of business in the sunshine, baby,
        I guess you're gonna be all right.
Don't come looking for me to lend you a hand.
        My eyes just can't stand the light.

'Cause I'm a night owl honey, sleep all day long.
                -- Carly Simon

Mummy dust to make me old;
To shroud my clothes, the black of night;
To age my voice, an old hag's cackle;
To whiten my hair, a scream of fright;
A blast of wind to fan my hate;
A thunderbolt to mix it well --
Now begin thy magic spell!
                -- Walter Disney, "Snow White"