I cannot sing the old songs
Though well I know the tune,
Familiar as a cradle-song
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I cannot sing the old songs
Though well I know the tune,
Familiar as a cradle-song
With sleep-compelling croon;
Yet though I'm filled with music,
As choirs of summer birds,
"I cannot sing the old songs"--
I do not know the words.

Builders, raise the ceiling high,
Raise the dome into the sky,
Hear the wedding song!
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Builders, raise the ceiling high,
Raise the dome into the sky,
Hear the wedding song!
For the happy groom is near,
Tall as Mars, and statelier,
Hear the wedding song!

Men, even when alone, lighten their labors by song, however rude
it may be.
[Lat., Etiam singulorum fatigatio read more

Men, even when alone, lighten their labors by song, however rude
it may be.
[Lat., Etiam singulorum fatigatio quamlibet se rudi modulatione
solatur.]

And grant that when I face the grisly Thing,
My song may trumptet down the gray Perhaps
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And grant that when I face the grisly Thing,
My song may trumptet down the gray Perhaps
Let me be as a tune-swept fiddlestring
That feels the Master Melody--and snaps.

Song forbids victorious deeds to die.

Song forbids victorious deeds to die.

That song, for me, is about drugs and alcohol and loss and love. It's about being proud of who you read more

That song, for me, is about drugs and alcohol and loss and love. It's about being proud of who you are, being proud of your situation and just being stoked that things are always going to get better or always gonna get worse and that's such a great thing. Every day is a new surprise.

You must pass your days in song. Let your whole life be a song.

You must pass your days in song. Let your whole life be a song.

A song of hate is a song of Hell;
Some there be who sing it well.
Let read more

A song of hate is a song of Hell;
Some there be who sing it well.
Let them sing it loud and long,
We lift our hearts in a loftier song:
We life our hearts to Heaven above,
Singing the glory of her we love,
England.

Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song, A medley of extemporanea; And love is a thing that can never read more

Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song, A medley of extemporanea; And love is a thing that can never go wrong; And I am Marie of Rumania