I don’t think socialism, and I don’t think warmness and respect are necessarily bad words.
I fear that our true motivation is about oil and our own flailing economy; about the failure to destroy Al Qaeda and about revenge.
Being a white South African, I enjoyed the better things that that country gave to a small percentage of its population.
I don’t think everything is going to get peachy ever. But I think we have to fight for what we believe in.
I find a therapy in playing music, in many different ways.
I never went to college – I barely got out of high school.
I think some people would say that I do overwhelm the words with the music, and sometimes thank goodness I do.
The reason I play music is to touch people – for selfish reasons, as well. It feels good to make someone else feel something, whether it’s a kiss, a painting, good idea or it’s a song.
So I wonder this, as life billows smoke inside my head This little game where nothing is sure Why would you play by the rules? Who did? You did. You...
Is this not enough? This blessed sip of life Is it not enough? Staring down at the ground Then complain and pray for more from above Greedy little pig.
I walk into this room All eyes on me now But I do not know the people inside Look straight through me these eyes Seeking more wisdom Than I have to give away.
People in every direction No words exchanged No time to exchange And all the little ants are marching Red and black antennas waving They all do it the same We all do it the same way.
Sitting still as stone watching – watching People walking by you wondering why No one ever stops to talk or thinks about it – if they ever did.
So the story goes, so I’m told The people he knew were Less than golden hearted Gamblers and robbers Drinkers and jokers, all soul searchers Like you and me.
Dark clouds may hang on me sometimes, but I’ll work it out...
Because life is short but sweet for certain We’re climbing two by two To be sure these days continue These things we cannot change.
Life goes on, end of tunnel, TV set Spot in the middle Static fade, statistic bit And soon I fade away, fade away.
She feels like kicking out all the windows And setting fire to this life She could change everything about her using colors bold and bright But all the colors mix together – to grey.
You seek up an emotion and your cup is overflowing, you seek up an emotion sometimes your well is dry.
Every day should be a good day to die.