This warm and pretty day

SAMSUNG

Well I’m out here
I could tell you
bout a thousand from my home
I could tell you I’ve been troubled
and I’m out here on my own
where the miles keep
the bottles empty
and the worry washed away
but the truth is
what’s the use when
I’m lookin’ out on
a pretty day

and the money
ain’t what it used to
be and many
are feelin’ down
and our dreams are
down the tubes while
there isn’t anyone around
I could tell you
bout the nights
without the lights
just lie awake
but the truth is
what’s the use when
the Lord has made us
a pretty day

I’ll pretend I’m goin’ fishin’
instead of wishin’ I was gone
and my friends you’re always welcome
to pack a bag and come along
we could talk about
the good times
set beside me
wash away
with a cold one
in the sunshine
of this warm and pretty day ©

Ode to the road

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In the eyes of my mother
packed a trunk and I went
cause I heard from my dreams
there’s a road I was meant
like a song that was written
for a drifter like me
where harmonicas play
and a man can walk free

I met lovers and fighters
and people they know
talkin’ bout goin places
they weren’t supposed to go
and I asked what they meant
in the land of the free
and they told me the places
kept a secret from me

there’s a country club out there
with walls you can’t climb
and a white house with fences
they keep locked all the time
where they make all their honey
by the work of the bees
and they keep all their money
from the ones with the need

so I walked down the highway
tween night and the day
thinkin’ bout Woody Guthrie
and the songs he would play
bout a homeland with fightin’
keeping out its own blood
and the children heard cryin’
left to die in the mud

I remember big brothers
used to hold out their hand
by the fireside listenin’
to my dear uncle Sam

as he’d talk about fishin’
and he talked about times
when the same words were written
on both sides of the signs

now my big brothers watchin’
but he won’t hold my hand
and my uncle builds fences
keepin’ me from my land
and my mama she needs me
but my uncles at home
and he lives off expenses
while the poor die alone©

Rebel angel

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Rebel angel fly tonight
on pills & gasoline
lonely motel prisons
roads & bars

taste the lie
believe yourself 
and fly with broken wings 
chase the night
on highways after dark

children pack the empty boxes
mama falls asleep
dogs are barking loud
and daddy’s gone

tears are filling up a child
he never gets to weep
like busted sprinklers
dryin’ up the lawn 

outlaw keep the bible
let it rival all your dreams
love it all your life
and where you roam

tuck it deep inside your heart
don’t cry in faded jeans
don’t die on lonely hiway’s
far from home ©

चित्रकारको- The Artist

-Questlove ©2014 Artist : Edward McMillan

-Questlove ©2014
Artist : Edward McMillan

To be an artist. To create an audible or visual mark upon this world that expresses who we are. Art is sacred because it proves the existence of a God given soul. It signifies the dark roads or lost highways we’ve walked. Every voice behind a microphone and each time an artist picks up a brush , the silent hallways and empty canvases come alive with poetry that flows straight from the artist’s soul. It tells us how they feel and who they are. All that is needed is a starting point. With that, they leave their mark on this world forever. Without that starting point, the many songs of yesterday, the Mona Lisa would only exist within the souls of mortal men. Men with names easily forgotten by the hands of time. A man becomes an artist when his soul meets his canvass. Much like art, who we are to this world is a mixture of two components: what we have and what we do with it. 

Dear Jesus,
I ask that you shelter me from blindness
bless me with continual vision
let me know my own reflection
as a work of your art
please guide my actions in a way
that allows me to be your perpetual mark
In me, let the lost find proof of your work

upon this canvass of life
let my intentions paint your glory
guide my voice to a song of love
Lord, bless me with the courage
to be an exhibition of your mastery
for I care not if this world forgets my name
so long as I help them to remember yours.

                       Amen ©                                                

 

 

I can barely hear his cry

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Hear that lonely guitar tune
it sounds so low tonight
that music man he sings so low
I can barely hear his cry

I’ve never known a sadder sound
than the one I hear tonight
like moon light on a newborn wound
in a child too young to cry

have you ever seen an empty room
where love forgets to shine
that guitar man is leaving soon
I can hear him say goodbye

the gentle weeping lonesome gloom
cuts through a moonlit night
and as he plays his final tune
I can barely hear his cry ©

Independence Day

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A long long time ago
on a July Indiana night
while the guitars played
the children made
the bottle rockets fill the sky

I was old enough to walk alone
between the songs and rows of corn
and make believing we were soldiers
roman candles shined so bright
and I saw the tears in Geno’s eyes

while the superheroes played the music
children loved to light the fuses
sending sparks that left the dark
and
lit the fires of our eyes
I smelled gun powder and the booze
 
the spirits Uncle Gino used
as clouds that hid a soldiers truth
of watching some too young to die
forgetting where he was
as bottle rockets filled the sky

My Uncle Gino played songs on his guitar
for all the boys who travelled far
beside him to a place called Hanoi
rockets blasted all around
and in his tunes he always paid
a tribute to the boys that gave
their lives like superheroes walking
home from just another day
where fire left the light of youthful eyes
of superheroes on the ground
like bottle rockets in the sky ©


  
    

Streets never seem to know her name

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You know the lonely kind
one who pretends to find
smiles in a place that looks so sad
she walks the darkest streets
for everyone she meets
why does she pay to hurt so bad

Wonder why she flies
thunder should tell the wise
one heart is burning by the flame
she finds when she falls
no one will hear her call
streets never seem to know her name

In every guy she meets
out in the city streets
why does she look for what she’s had
seems just a mystery
throughout her history
finding her good in someone bad

Wonder why she flies
thunder should tell the wise
one heart is burning by the flame
she finds when she falls
no one will hear her call
streets never seem to know her name

When the thunder is passin’ her by
and the fire quits burning
she can tell you
it never dies

Wonder why she flies
thunder should tell the wise
one heart is burning by the flame
she finds when she falls
no one will hear her call
streets never seem to know her name
©

It lets you go


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Now, here you go again
talkin’ of your dreamin’
afraid you missed the beating
from your heart…
beside you sleeping memories of
the things that seem to leave you
like a runway
vanished in the dark…

the night remembers dreams can get
forgotten by the meaning…
in the one who loves you when you’re gone…
the crystal ball finds you without
“sometimes there’s a reason”
and dreams won’t always find you

where you run…

they let you walk
and let you go…

dreams can only find you when you’re dreamin’
love will only leave you when you run…
when the night gets cold
young hearts are freezing

only make believing you’re alone
but, you’re alone…
when you’re alone…

lonely nights come only from the feeling
a well with only wishes
is in your soul…

when your love runs cold
you stop believing

a runway never finds you
if you let go…

and if you walk…
it lets you go…
and if you run…
it lets you go…

dreams can only find you when you’re dreamin’
love will only leave
when you let it go…

the nights may find you cold
two hearts are beating
only make believing you’re alone
but, you’re alone…
when you’re alone…©

Match stick of the morning

SAMSUNG

It’s a dark and lonely morning
in the beating of my heart
and I’ve run too many miles
to watch this world just fall apart
and my boots can’t walk the scene
forgotten words and reasons why
love it comes, and so it goes
like seasons change inside the mind

Lord my candles running empty
as the pockets of my jeans
and the child inside my heart’s
forgot his lullabies and dreams
I’ve been seen by all the takers
I’m a thousand miles from home
and
 this road keeps gettin’ darker
walkin’ miles and miles alone

Past the curtain they’re a callin’
while the puppet cuts the strings
and the masters, they’re a waitin’
with the movement of the kings
as I wander out the doorway
begging change to pay my mind
lookin’ for some destination
still I’m feelin’ far behind

There’s a wind I hear a callin’
blowin’ change inside the man
there’s the sin that keeps us fallin’
cross the surface of the sand
with a fire by the matches
in the pockets of my jeans
this ol’ worlds just gettin’ started
time to wake up from the dream  ©

Vacant highways dark of love

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You know I’ve melted with a touch
been resurrected from a smile
while lying dead upon your floor
just staying next to you awhile
regarding me I’m in your clutch
apart from stars so far away
I love you darlin’ oh so much
no one will ever take your place

I’m cryin’ for a lovers smile
a taste of walkin’ in her shoes
when my heart is beating red
and my tongue is singin’ blues
I’d never see you walkin’ down
so very far away from me
been forever since a smile
it’s never late to set me free

And I can’t ever see the sun
for love gone wilted in the shade
on these dark highways where I run
or the promises we’ve made
and life keeps flashing’ through the nights
just headlights passing on and on
my lovers crashing somewhere else
tonight I’m lonely cause she’s gone ©