Best 237 quotes in «lyrics quotes» category

Ah! Pauvre ami, comme il m'aimait!

A fruitless year, take a fearless heart One that blooms late will flourish in the dark

All in all. You have been. Redeemer. Pain Steeler. My best friend. Please hold my hand.

a foreign affair juxtaposed with a stateside and domestically approved romantic fancy is mysteriously attractive due to circumstances knowing it will only be parlayed into a memory

Am I the reason you breathe Or am I the reason you cry?

All we shared was a mattress, and a lie, and an address Baby I don't need you, well baby I don't need you Once occupied by a goddess, now it's a room full of boxes She said, "it's time to leave you" but baby I don't need you! In a perfect world... her face would not exist In a perfect world... a broken heart is fixed

And if, you don't love me now You will never love me again I can still hear you saying You would never break the chain.

All the faces on the photographs have changed, To not confuse it all, the names remain the same

And all the roads we have to walk are winding And all the lights that lead us there are blinding There are many things that I would like to say to you but I don't know how Because maybe You're gonna be the one that saves me? And after all You're my wonderwall

And it was dark So dark at night And we held on to each other Like brother to brother We promised our mothers we'd write And we would all go down together

And my hopes they are high I must keep them small

And my head told my heart "Let love grow" But my heart told my head "This time no This time no

And the Earth Becomes my Throne I adapt to the Unknown Under Wandering Stars I've grown I ask no one.

And nothing's wrong when nothing's true But I live in a hologram with you.

A place for the newly weds and nearly deads I'm counting the stones I hope you know I love you. Got a lot of friends 6 feet under us. Counting down the days till we join the party. Thoughts of your nightmare projected through mine... Breathing in these lies is no surprise These evil things are all we know Lets take these lives where we want to go. The future is our prize, when the stars align. Ghouls and ghosts will haunt my soul but they will never take me. Before I go, I want to show that we can make a difference. We've got some dumb perceptions. But I've got the death connection... All the hate that you have... Just throw it away Life is meant for more, But we're too distracted.. Too caught up in the anger and judgment.. Caught up in the web of lies I've heard these things keep our blood boiling, Keeps us alive, and moving forward... If that's the case I was born a dead man. And I'm forever a ghost. Hatred is something that we're brought up to see. Now everybody's looking at me I hope they know... They won't get their satisfaction.

Are we etched in stone or just scratched in the sand Waiting for the waves to come and reclaim the land? tightrope - stone roses

A poem shouldn't just give melody; it should give meaning.

As long as music survives, poetry will never die.

A steampunk nation Baby pollution rises up then the loving comes arraigning 'cause Our art's official and only partially artificial And our heart's in the middle of sharp hardened shards of metal but There's not where it settles Because it's beating to the steaming of God's hottest pot or kettle And now we face it, this creation we made to To save our craving for a synthetic rebelnation it's Our safeway they make into a pathetic revelation In our steampunk nation Our steampunk nation

Astray from a deep sleep chronic as I write by phonics, like insomnia I will always live the onyx night for revealing, and, upon it, still I'll steal the bright light of day right away just to keep building at speeds hypersonic.

Blood still stains when the sheets are washed Sex don't sleep when the lights are off Kids are still depressed when you dress them up And syrup is still syrup in a sippy cup He's still dead when you're done with the bottle Of course it's a corpse that you keep in the cradle Kids are still depressed when you dress them up Syrup is still syrup in a sippy cup

Autumn leaves under frozen soles, Hungry hands turning soft and old, My hero cried as we stood out their in the cold, Like these autumn leaves I don't have nothing to hold Autumn leaves how faded now, that smile that i've lost, well i've found some how, Because you still live on in my fathers eyes, These autumn leaves, oh these autumn leaves, oh these autumn leaves are yours tonight.

Bah-Bah-black sheep, have you any soul? No sir, by the way, what the hell are morals?

Because ENOUGH is TOO MUCH! And look around ...can you blame us?!

Besides this I place another equally obvious confirmation of my view that opera is based on the same principles as our Alexandrian culture. Opera is the birth of the theoretical man, the critical layman, not of the artist: one of the most surprising facts in the history of all the arts. It was the demand of throughly unmusical hearers that before everything else the words must be understood, so that according to them a rebirth of music is to be expected only when some mode of singing has been discovered in which textword lords it over counterpoint like master over servant: For the words, it is argued, are as much nobler than the accompanying harmonic system as the soul is nobler than the body.

The Ballad of Lucy Jordan The morning sun touched lightly on the eyes of Lucy Jordan In a white suburban bedroom in a white suburban town As she lay there 'neath the covers dreaming of a thousand lovers Till the world turned to orange and the room went spinning round. At the age of thirty-seven she realised she'd never Ride through Paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hair. So she let the phone keep ringing and she sat there softly singing Little nursery rhymes she'd memorised in her daddy's easy chair. Her husband, he's off to work and the kids are off to school, And there are, oh, so many ways for her to spend the day. She could clean the house for hours or rearrange the flowers Or run naked through the shady street screaming all the way. At the age of thirty-seven she realised she'd never Ride through Paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hair So she let the phone keep ringing as she sat there softly singing Pretty nursery rhymes she'd memorised in her daddy's easy chair. The evening sun touched gently on the eyes of Lucy Jordan On the roof top where she climbed when all the laughter grew too loud And she bowed and curtsied to the man who reached and offered her his hand, And he led her down to the long white car that waited past the crowd. At the age of thirty-seven she knew she'd found forever As she rode along through Paris with the warm wind in her hair

But I know just what it feels like to have a voice in the back of my head, like a face that I hold inside, face that awakes when I close my eyes, face that watches everytime I lie, face that laughs everytime I fall. (It watches EVERYTHING) ... But the face inside is hearing me, right beneath my skin.

But l’m good at being uncomfortable So I can’t stop changing all the time.

But when ye come, and all the flowers are dying, If I am dead, as dead I well may be, You'll come and find the place where I am lying, And kneel and say Ave there for me, And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me, And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be, For you will bend and tell me that you love me, And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me

But these clouds won’t leave Walk away Barely breathing As I’m lying on the floor Take my heart As you’re leaving I don’t need it anymore

By(e) pen, I've tried my hand at poetry; only to see how boring it is to me. That is, unless I get a chance to destroy each and every piece while doing it as I please.

Catch me I'm falling. Please hear me calling. Catch me before it's too late!

Chance is your god Though you're falling free you will land hard

Cause when I hear your name I can not stop cheesing I love you so much that my heart stops beating when you're leaving And I'm grieving and my heart starts bleeding Life without you has no goddamn meaning

Cuz even a gangsta rapper can find redemption For the sins committed before revelation.

Concert pianists get to be quite chummy with dead composers. They can't help it. Classical music isn't just music. It's a personal diary. An uncensored confession in the dead of night. A baring of the soul. Take a modern example. Florence and the Machine? In the song 'Cosmic Love,' she catalogs the way in which the world has gone dark, distorting her, when she, a rather intense young woman, was left bereft by a love affair. 'The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out.

Don't be afraid of the dark Look inside Grab your heart Let it shine If it's dark outside Shine your light

Delicate in every way but one God knows we like archaic kinds of fun Chance is the only game I play with, baby We let our battles choose us.

Don't care what people say Just follow your own way Don't give up and use the chance To return to innocence. That's not the beginning of the end That's the return to yourself The return to innocence.

Don't let them break you... don't let them tell you who you are

Do you remember when we learned how to fly? We'd play make-believe, we were young and had time on our side

Do you really enjoy living a life that's so hateful? 'Cause there's a hole where your soul should be, you're losing control of it, and it's really distasteful.

From attraction and affection Cover of perfection Failure beyond texture to a painful lesson Everything that was from the start wasn't from the heart

For that is the curious quality of the discotheque after you have gone there a long time: in the midst of all the lights, and music, the bodies, the dancing, the drugs, you are stiller than still within, and though you go through the motions of dancing you are thinking a thousand disparate things. You find yourself listening to the lyrics, and you wonder what these people around you are doing. They seemed crazed to you. You stand there on a floor moving your hips, wondering if there is such a thing as love, and conscious for the very first time that it is three-twenty-five and the night only half-over. You put the popper to your nostril, you put a hand out to lightly touch the sweaty, rigid stomach of the man dancing next to you, your own chest is streaming with sweat in that hot room, and you are thinking, as grave as a judge: What will I do with my life? What can any man do with his life? And you finally don’t know where to rest your eyes. You don’t know where to look, as you dance. You have been expelled from the communion of the saints.

From time to time I once wondered how one wanders from time to time And think up the paradox line Speak of Epoch's crime Oh I lied, it hasn't happened yet But bet you better believe it's such a habit that I just said that in a past mindset

Drink up my honey eyes, Kiss them shut every night, And be my 'one' all my life.

Easy come, easy go, That's just how you live, oh, Take, take, take it all, But you never give. Should've known you was trouble From the first kiss, Had your eyes wide open. Why were they open? Gave you all I had and you tossed it in the trash, You tossed it in the trash, you did. To give me all your love is all I ever asked, 'cause What you don't understand is I'd catch a grenade for ya Throw my hand on a blade for ya I'd jump in front of a train for ya You know I'd do anything for ya Oh, oh, I would go through all of this pain, Take a bullet straight through my brain! Yes, I would die for ya, baby, But you won't do the same.

[ELIZA] You and your words flooded my senses, your sentences left me defenseless. You built me palaces out of paragraphs, you built cathedrals.

Every finger in the room Is pointing at me I wanna spit in their faces Then I get afraid of what that could bring I got a bowling ball in my stomach I got a desert in my mouth Figures that my courage would choose to sell out now I've been looking for a savior in these dirty streets Looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets I've been raising up my hands Drive another nail in Just what God needs One more victim

Every night I used to pray that I’d find my people, and finally I did on the open road. We had nothing to lose, nothing to gain, nothing we desired anymore, except to make our lives into a work of art.