(no subject)
i'm sick, it sucks. really sucks.
here are two cool things, though.
Take the quiz: "What Kind of Music Are You? :::pics:::"
Punk
You're a classic punker. Hard headed and strongly motivated in government relations. You probably like a lot of underground bands that other people at your school don't really know about. You consider people who shop at Hot Topic to be posers and you're overly proud of who you are.
aaand
Bright Eyes: A Bowl of Oranges-
The rain, it started tapping on the window near my bed.
There was a loophole in my dreaming, so I got out of it.
And to my surprise my eyes were wide and
already open.
Just my nightstand and my dresser where those nightmares had just been.
So I dressed myself and left then, out into the gray streets.
But everything seemed different and completely new to me.
The sky, the trees, houses, buildings, even my own body.
And each person I encountered, I couldn't wait to meet.
I came up a doctor who appeared in quite poor health.
I said " there is nothing I can do for you you can't do for yourself."
He said "Oh yes you can. Just hold my hand. I think that would help."
So I sat with him a while and then I asked him how he felt. He said, "I
think I'm cured.
No, in fact, I'm sure of it. Thank you Stranger, for your
therapeutic smile."
So that is how I learned the lesson that everyone is alone.
And your eyes must do some raining if you are ever going to grow.
But when crying don't help and you can't compose yourself.
It is best to compose a poem, an honest verse of longing or simple song of hope.
That is why I'm singing...
Baby don't worry
cause now I got your back.
And every time you feel like crying, I'm gonna try and make you laugh.
And if I can't, if it just hurts too bad, then we will wait for it to pass
and I will keep you company through those days so long and black.
And we'll just keep working on the problem we know we'll never solve
of Love's uneven remainder, our lives are fractions of a whole.
But if the world could remain in a frame like a painting on a wall.
Then I think we would see the beauty.
Then we would stand staring in awe
at our still lives posed
like a bowl of oranges,
like a story told
by the fault lines and the soil.
---josh.
here are two cool things, though.
Take the quiz: "What Kind of Music Are You? :::pics:::"
Punk
You're a classic punker. Hard headed and strongly motivated in government relations. You probably like a lot of underground bands that other people at your school don't really know about. You consider people who shop at Hot Topic to be posers and you're overly proud of who you are.
aaand
Bright Eyes: A Bowl of Oranges-
The rain, it started tapping on the window near my bed.
There was a loophole in my dreaming, so I got out of it.
And to my surprise my eyes were wide and
already open.
Just my nightstand and my dresser where those nightmares had just been.
So I dressed myself and left then, out into the gray streets.
But everything seemed different and completely new to me.
The sky, the trees, houses, buildings, even my own body.
And each person I encountered, I couldn't wait to meet.
I came up a doctor who appeared in quite poor health.
I said " there is nothing I can do for you you can't do for yourself."
He said "Oh yes you can. Just hold my hand. I think that would help."
So I sat with him a while and then I asked him how he felt. He said, "I
think I'm cured.
No, in fact, I'm sure of it. Thank you Stranger, for your
therapeutic smile."
So that is how I learned the lesson that everyone is alone.
And your eyes must do some raining if you are ever going to grow.
But when crying don't help and you can't compose yourself.
It is best to compose a poem, an honest verse of longing or simple song of hope.
That is why I'm singing...
Baby don't worry
cause now I got your back.
And every time you feel like crying, I'm gonna try and make you laugh.
And if I can't, if it just hurts too bad, then we will wait for it to pass
and I will keep you company through those days so long and black.
And we'll just keep working on the problem we know we'll never solve
of Love's uneven remainder, our lives are fractions of a whole.
But if the world could remain in a frame like a painting on a wall.
Then I think we would see the beauty.
Then we would stand staring in awe
at our still lives posed
like a bowl of oranges,
like a story told
by the fault lines and the soil.
---josh.