Under a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thoughtThe Village Blacksmith, Longfellow
I was born in a crossfire hurricane
And I howled at my Ma in the driving rain
But it’s alright now
In fact it’s a gas
It’s alright now
I’m Jumping Jack Flash
And it’s a gas, gas, gasJumping Jack Flash, Rolling Stones
Here comes Speed Racer
He’s a demon on wheels
He’s a demon and he’s gonna be chasing after someone
He’s gaining on you so you better look aliveSpeed Racer, Theme Song
Imagine a world without any trees,
without any grass growing on the ground,
no green above or below to be found.
Gray clouds. Gray wood. Gray dust in a gray breeze.
Gray rain falls to gray puddles, sidewalk seas
reflecting gray birds flying, somewhere bound.
Gray squirrels scraping gray dead wood, gray dead sound.
This gray world the gray iron sewer grate receives.
Red, yellow, the last refuge of bright green,
traffic lights will flash while power grids hold.
Above the sewer grates cars will pass, pass, pass.
When US paper currency is clean
it’s green and will buy things until banks fold.
The last thing I’ll buy will be gas, gas, gas.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Like A Bright Green Fantasy
Adventure’s Waiting Just Ahead
*
Homeopathy And The Groupie Hierarchy
Sharks In Shoes
All That’s Left Of The Atlantic Ocean
These Are The New Days
The Flat Night
Shanghai In The Epipelagic Layer
A Shadow Too Dark For Atlantis
“Perfect In His Generations”
Modern Romance In The Noir
Is This A Junkyard Church
Industrial Landscape, Industrial Decay, Jazz
Fire Maidens From Atlantis Via Russia
The Built World Before The Wrecking Crew
The Occult Technology Of Lost Songs
Ancient Cities Of The Moon
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