Sunset Lyrics Quotes

I gaze out at the glittering sea, the breathtaking sky above it, and think of birds and the moment before the fall, and how my sister as a child had been strong enough for the both of us, and I wonder when exactly that changed. I don't know when, but it did. Jake was right - I'm strong in a way June never was. Because I know that I want to be here. Even with the pain. Even with the ugliness. I've seen the other side - marching side by side down city streets with people who all believe they can change the world and the view of the sunset from Fridgehenge and Tom Waits lyrics and doing the waltz and kisses so hot they melt into each other and best friends who hold your hand and stretching out underneath a sky draped with stars and everything else. There is so much beauty in just existing. In being alive. I don't want to miss a second.

Poets who write mostly about love, roses and moonlight, sunsets and snow, must lead a very quiet life. Seldom, I imagine, does their poetry get them into difficulties. Beauty and lyricism are really related to another world, to ivory towers, to your head in the clouds, feet floating off the earth. Unfortunately, having been born poor--and also colored--in Missouri, I was stuck in the mud from the beginning. Try as I might to float off into the clouds, poverty and Jim Crow would grab me by the heels, and right back on earth I would land.

Jake was right--I'm strong in a way June never was. Because I know that I want to be here. Even with the pain. Even with the ugliness. I've seen the other side--marching side by side down city streets with people who all believe they can change the world and the view of the sunset from Fridgehenge and Tom Waits lyrics and doing the waltz and kisses so hot they melt into each other and best friends who hold your hand and stretching out underneath a sky draped with stars and everything else. There is so much beauty in just existing. In being alive. I don't want to miss a second.

Whispering Pines, Palmetto Groves, Majestic Manor, Golden Gables, Century Village, Martin Downs, Sunburn Acres, Twin Beavers, or Sunset Farts. Who gives a shit? It’s the same old Florida crap. However these places get named, rest assured, the more lyrical the moniker, the more of a sunblasted, cookie-cutter nightmare the place will be.

Yet when, one day, standing on the outskirts of Yokohama town, bristling with its display of modern miscellanies, I watched the sunset in your southern sea, and saw its peace and majesty among your pine-clad hills,—with the great Fujiyama growing faint against the golden horizon, like a god overcome with his own radiance,—the music of eternity welled up through the evening silence, and I felt that the sky and the earth and the lyrics of the dawn and the dayfall are with the poets and idealists, and not with the marketmen robustly contemptuous of all sentiment,—that, after the forgetfulness of his own divinity, man will remember again that heaven is always in touch with his world, which can never be abandoned for good to the hounding wolves of the modern era, scenting human blood and howling to the skies.

Sit down and have a cup of coffee With your firm conviction that they're out to get you Sit down and have a cigarette with your awful fear of death I saw Milarepa at the all-night diner sharing a table with his personal demons He said You've got to invite them in with compassion on your breath Stop running away, 'cause nobody runs as fast as pain and sorrow Stop pushing away, you're just making it hard Stop putting it off, 'cause it'll be back to kick your ass tomorrow Breathe in, breathe out, let down your guard Sit down and start shooting the shit With the fear that you'll never measure up to your ideals Sit down and have a bottle of beer with the ache of all you've lost I saw Milarepa at the coffee house having a Danish with his hurts and hatreds He said You've got to invite them in, or you pay ten times the cost. Stop running away, 'cause nobody runs as fast as fear and loathing Stop pushing away, you're just making it worse Stop putting it off, cause it'll be back again in different clothing Just pop the clutch and go into reverse Invite them in and let them be there while you learn to stand it Invite them in and give them room to stomp and shout When they can come and go They won't be always pounding on your door If you let them in you can let them out. Sit down and have a conversation With the loneliness that's eating you alive Sit down and watch a sunset with your overwhelming rage I saw Milarepa at the corner bar buying a round for the monsters in his heart He said They're really not so bad when they're let out of their cage Stop running away, 'cause nobody runs as fast as pain and sorrow Stop pushing away, you're just making it hard Stop putting it off, 'cause it'll be back to kick your ass tomorrow Breathe in, breathe out, let down your guard

As of old Phoenician men, to the Tin Isles sailing Straight against the sunset and the edges of the earth, Chaunted loud above the storm and the strange sea's wailing, Legends of their people and the land that gave them birth- Sang aloud to Baal-Peor, sang unto the horned maiden, Sang how they should come again with the Brethon treasure laden, Sang of all the pride and glory of their hardy enterprise, How they found the outer islands, where the unknown stars arise; And the rowers down below, rowing hard as they could row, Toiling at the stroke and feather through the wet and weary weather, Even they forgot their burden in the measure of a song, And the merchants and the masters and the bondsmen all together, Dreaming of the wondrous islands, brought the gallant ship along; So in mighty deeps alone on the chainless breezes blown In my coracle of verses I will sing of lands unknown, Flying from the scarlet city where a Lord that knows no pity, Mocks the broken people praying round his iron throne, -Sing about the Hidden Country fresh and full of quiet green. Sailing over seas uncharted to a port that none has seen.

Just before she passes the harbor the sun begins to swoop down the sky, piercing holes in the clouds and forming columns of light. "Our Lord's fingers"- she suddenly recalls her mother's name for the slender rays that pierced through gray skies and reinvigorated the earth after soggy afternoons of rain. The columns melt as they reach the water, dissolving into a quivering glitter. It grows dark around her as the light is sucked into the sea; patches of pink and orange dance a few last, passionate steps across the sky. Maya remains standing as the dance keeps twirling inside her. How lovely just to stand here and let herself be overwhelmed, to let the lyrics fade and surrender to the melody.

Let’s take this out just a little bit further passed the breakers into some really deep water. Let’s talk about love. Yeah. The love for another, a father, a mother, a sister, a brother, a stranger. Danger. A self centered ship sinker is just up ahead. It surfaced once that love a stranger line was said. It’s a cold heart warmer that’s thawing out the beat. It’s reviving the rhythm that the mainstream system tried to deplete. It’s restoring the lyrics that wickedness tried to delete. It’s setting the tempo free from the obsolete oubliette that the darkness tried to keep discrete. Whew!

I’m afraid I don’t sympathize with your appeal for compromise. So instead I’m going to emphasize some lyrics that you can melodize with percussions that you can harmonize with revelations that you “can’t” metricize due to the immeasurable length of their importance. However, the verbal is something I specialize in. So I will optimize the verbalization during the exportation of the word formation to make for a clear interpretation so no thought obstruction will cause a disruption in the finalization of your rationalization.

Does it have lyrics?” He asked, humming the melody under his breath, his brain clearly already whirling with the possibilities. “Nah, no, nope.” She said completely unconvincingly. Luckily Luke was too caught up in songwriting mode to catch her blatant lie. “Should we write some? It’s not really Sunset Curve’s style but it’s got a good vibe.” “No!” Julie protested, instantly regretting how forceful she had been. Luke’s eyebrows shot up to the top of his forehead before a smirk settled on his face. “So you do have words for it. Why can’t I hear them?

Bright Dazzle their eyes with your florescent smile, pitch tent with the waking sunset.

We walk on waters but it’s not a miracle we skim life’s surface so lightly our sleepwalking is literal We miss out on sunsets though their poetry is lyrical we are trapped in distractions their net often digital Contentment abounds not in the minds who ponder but in the eyes of those who look at the world in a state of perpetual wonder

AWARE The great sigh of things. To be aware of aware (pronounced ah-WAH-ray) is to be able to name the previously ineffable sigh of impermanence, the whisper of life flitting by, of time itself, the realization of evanescence. Aware is the shortened version of the crucial Japanese phrase mono-no-aware, which suggested sensitivity or sadness during the Heian period, but with a hint of actually relishing the melancholy of it all. Originally, it was an interjection of surprise, as in the English “Oh!” The reference calls up bittersweet poetic feelings around sunset, long train journeys, looking out at the driving rain, birdsong, the falling of autumn leaves. A held-breath word, it points like a finger to the moon to suggest an unutterable moment, too deep for words to reach. If it can be captured at all, it is by haiku poetry, the brushstroke of calligraphy, the burbling water of the tea ceremony, the slow pull of the bow from the oe. The great 16th-century wandering poet Matsuo Basho caught the sense of aware in his haiku: “By the roadside grew / A rose of Sharon. / My horse / Has just eaten it.” A recent Western equivalent would be the soughing lyric of English poet Henry Shukman, who writes, “This is a day that decides by itself to be beautiful.

Over the city, under the Hollywood sign City lights are flickering, like a million fireflies He turns up the radio and says to me Remember this old melody? Hot Cali sunshine, radiating late June Driving up the coastline, top down, me and you Seashells, sand angels, taking in the sunset Baby I’m dreaming of when we first met