Stolen Love Note
penncee
Posts: 16
May I adapt what Morriseey said of the New York Dolls to my feeling of Pearl Jam: "Some bands grab you and they never let you go and, no matter what they do, they can never let you down ... [Pearl Jam is] that for me."
It gets old,
It gets new,
Mostly, it stays the same.
Someplace to be.
Not familiar, but the same,
For awhile.
Children,
They tumble into your life,
They drift out,
You give them everything you can,
You give them everything that they think they want,
You give them everything you think you wanted,
You miss giving them what they need,
When they need it most.
Guilt grows
On
You love them anyway.
Will they ever love you?
If you're lucky.
I'm lucky to have Pearl Jam to love.
Thank you, Pearl Jam, for the soul massage and excellent running music, in the face of duty.
It gets old,
It gets new,
Mostly, it stays the same.
Someplace to be.
Not familiar, but the same,
For awhile.
Children,
They tumble into your life,
They drift out,
You give them everything you can,
You give them everything that they think they want,
You give them everything you think you wanted,
You miss giving them what they need,
When they need it most.
Guilt grows
On
You love them anyway.
Will they ever love you?
If you're lucky.
I'm lucky to have Pearl Jam to love.
Thank you, Pearl Jam, for the soul massage and excellent running music, in the face of duty.
I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing......Only I will remain—Dune, George Herbert
In every cloud, in every tree—filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object by day—I am surrounded with her image! The most ordinary faces of men and women—my own features—mock me with a resemblance. The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her!—Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte
In every cloud, in every tree—filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object by day—I am surrounded with her image! The most ordinary faces of men and women—my own features—mock me with a resemblance. The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her!—Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte
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"what a long, strange trip it's been"