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@pete wrote:
:D i’d forgot Lady Eleanor Esme so had a listen to that as well :D If only Gazza hadnt murdered Fog on the Tyne :lol:
Excellent choice, Cath.
Here’s a personal favourite:From ‘Showboat’ Paul Robeson sings
The Torture Never Stops
Flies all green and buzzin’,
in this dungeon of despair.
Prisoners grumble and pis.s their clothes,
and scratch their matted hair.
A tiny light, from a window hole,
a hundred yards away,
is all they ever gets to know
about the regular light in the day.And it stinks so bad, the stones been chokin’,
and weepin’ greenish drops.
In the room where the giant fire puffer works,
and the torture never stops.The torture never stops.
Slime and rot, rats and snot,
and vomit on the floor.
Fifty yoogly soldiers, man,
holdin’ spears by the iron door.
Knives and spikes, and guns and the likes
of every tool of pain.
And a sinister midget, with a bucket and a mop,
where the blood goes down the drain.And it stinks so bad, the stones been chokin’,
and weepin’ greenish drops.
In the room where the giant fire puffer works,
and the torture never stops.The torture never stops.
The torture.. the torture..
The torture never stops.Flies all green and buzzin’,
in this dungeon of despair.
An evil prince eats a steaming pig,
in a chamber right near there.
He eats the snouts and the trotters first.
The loins and the groins is soon dispersed.
His carvin’ style is well rehearsed.
He stands and shouts:All men be cursed!
All men be cursed!
All men be cursed!
All men be cursed!And disagree?
Well, no one durst.He’s the best, of course, of all the worst.
Some wrong been done, he done it first.And it stinks so bad, his bones been chokin’,
and weepin’ greenish drops.
In the night of the iron sausage,
where the torture never stops.The torture never stops.
The torture.. the torture..
The torture never stops.Flies all green and buzzin’,
in this dungeon of despair.
Who are all those people,
that he’s locked away down there?
Are they crazy?
Are they sainted?
Are they zeroes,
someone painted?And it’s never been explained,
since it first it was created.
But a dungeon, like a sin,
requires naught but lockin’ in,
of everything that’s ever been.
Look at her.
Look at him.That’s what’s the deal we’re dealin’ in.
That’s what’s the deal we’re dealin’ in.
That’s what’s the deal we’re dealin’ in.
That’s what’s the deal we’re dealin’ in.(Frank Zappa)
Kevin got it right in a few words. There is much political blethering about the removal of knives from ‘the street’ and indeed we have seen not only knife amnesty but gun amnesty pass without any sizeable reduction in levels of brutality and slaughter.
What is the point in taking the knife away when the wielder is illiterate with regard to moral decency and respect for human life? Where the intent is born in ignorance and borne in anger the weapon could be fashioned from a plastic spoon or – as Kevin stated – a lollipop stick.
As relevant now, as then..
The March of the Dead
by Robert W. ServiceThe cruel war was over — oh, the triumph was so sweet!
We watched the troops returning, through our tears;
There was triumph, triumph, triumph down the scarlet glittering street,
And you scarce could hear the music for the cheers.
And you scarce could see the house-tops for the flags that flew between;
The bells were pealing madly to the sky;
And everyone was shouting for the Soldiers of the Queen,
And the glory of an age was passing by.And then there came a shadow, swift and sudden, dark and drear;
The bells were silent, not an echo stirred.
The flags were drooping sullenly, the men forgot to cheer;
We waited, and we never spoke a word.
The sky grew darker, darker, till from out the gloomy rack
There came a voice that checked the heart with dread:
“Tear down, tear down your bunting now, and hang up sable black;
They are coming — it’s the Army of the Dead.”They were coming, they were coming, gaunt and ghastly, sad and slow;
They were coming, all the crimson wrecks of pride;
With faces seared, and cheeks red smeared, and haunting eyes of woe,
And clotted holes the khaki couldn’t hide.
Oh, the clammy brow of anguish! the livid, foam-flecked lips!
The reeling ranks of ruin swept along!
The limb that trailed, the hand that failed, the bloody finger tips!
And oh, the dreary rhythm of their song!“They left us on the veldt-side, but we felt we couldn’t stop
On this, our England’s crowning festal day;
We’re the men of Magersfontein, we’re the men of Spion Kop,
Colenso — we’re the men who had to pay.
We’re the men who paid the blood-price. Shall the grave be all our gain?
You owe us. Long and heavy is the score.
Then cheer us for our glory now, and cheer us for our pain,
And cheer us as ye never cheered before.”The folks were white and stricken, and each tongue seemed weighted with lead;
Each heart was clutched in hollow hand of ice;
And every eye was staring at the horror of the dead,
The pity of the men who paid the price.
They were come, were come to mock us, in the first flush of our peace;
Through writhing lips their teeth were all agleam;
They were coming in their thousands — oh, would they never cease!
I closed my eyes, and then — it was a dream.There was triumph, triumph, triumph down the scarlet gleaming street;
The town was mad; a man was like a boy.
A thousand flags were flaming where the sky and city meet;
A thousand bells were thundering the joy.
There was music, mirth and sunshine; but some eyes shone with regret;
And while we stun with cheers our homing braves,
O God, in Thy great mercy, let us nevermore forget
The graves they left behind, the bitter graves.
As your bestest bestest friend, Cath, I demand you give the baileys cheesecake to me…or i’ll pull yer hair! :P
@toybulldog wrote:
oh per-leeease……do forgive me !
There’s little ol’ me thinking I got a nice lil’ old cheesecake thread going, then you start talking carrot-cake !
try and stay on topic (if you can)…………..I Thank You.
