[Esmeralda]

@sword wrote:

Poor substitute for;

http://youtube.com/watch?v=tTzs9G-VOZ4

lOVE IT!

[Esmeralda]

Prefab Sprout
CARS AND GIRLS

[Esmeralda]

But Shazza, would you sell a kidney, to an anonymous recipient, as a purely financial transaction without any philanthropical intent?

[Esmeralda]

@sword wrote:

Well, my old man was quite cool for a 1940’s child, so if I have to dedicate a song to him, it’ll be Don’t you want me – Human League, he loved that track (and album).

I reckon I’d have got on with your old man, Sword, that’s one of my all time favourite tracks.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=arUqoKjU3D4

[Esmeralda]

@pats wrote:

@dead_on_arrvial wrote:

There are a “few” people using the site who are dieing or near the end of their lives.

They use the site and make friends, and I am sure none of them would like all this fussy being made about them. They put up with the abuse in the rooms, cyber a bit and pass judgment on people like we all do.

And that’s the point, they came here for a chat and a laugh, and to get a break of all those “suffocating people who care”. Its obvious the people who use the site know what its like and the kind of reaction they can expect then they “die”.

Now do any of you believe “page” would have like a page of “fake sincerely” and “we miss you” posts or sick jokes and general banter ?

i/d be most offended if anyone was sickly sentimental about me. why change the habits of a lifetime???i’m known as a complete biatch here lol….i’d haunt anyone who was nice after i ad departed. :wink:

:lol: Pats!
I know of at least one person on JC who’ll want to dance on my grave when I’ve gone..

..so I plan to get buried at sea!
:twisted:

[Esmeralda]

Nice one, Sword. 8)

[Esmeralda]

I’m breaking my heart here, playing this song and remembering my dad.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NqQM-HoFeEk&feature=related

Every generation
Blames the one before
And all of their frustrations
Come beating on your door

I know that Im a prisoner
To all my father held so dear
I know that Im a hostage
To all his hopes and fears
I just wish I could have told him in the living years

Crumpled bits of paper
Filled with imperfect thought
Stilted conversations
Im afraid thats all weve got

You say you just dont see it
He says its perfect sense
You just cant get agreement
In this present tense
We all talk a different language
Talking in defence

Say it loud, say it clear
You can listen as well as you hear
Its too late when we die
To admit we dont see eye to eye

So we open up a quarrel
Between the present and the past
We only sacrifice the future
Its the bitterness that lasts

So dont yield to the fortunes
You sometimes see as fate
It may have a new perspective
On a different day
And if you dont give up, and dont give in
You may just be o.k.

Say it loud, say it clear
You can listen as well as you hear
Its too late when we die
To admit we dont see eye to eye

I wasnt there that morning
When my father passed away
I didnt get to tell him
All the things I had to say

I think I caught his spirit
Later that same year
Im sure I heard his echo
In my babys new born tears
I just wish I could have told him in the living years

Say it loud, say it clear
You can listen as well as you hear
Its too late when we die
To admit we dont see eye to eye

[Esmeralda]

Actually, I’m sure if certain members of JC WERE felled by one of Eddie Stobarts finest, then close relatives might rush to announce it so we could ALL CELEBRATE! :twisted:

[Esmeralda]

Pedantic as ever, Pebbles. :wink:

[Esmeralda]

My all time favourite poem, which never ceases to bring a tear to my eye..

The Darkling Thrush
Thomas Hardy

I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.

The land’s sharp features seemed to be
The Century’s corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware

[Author]

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