Archive for lyrics

Another song by ‘Smoke

Posted in love, Mysticism, Poetry, The Arts, Ultimate Reality, Wizard Quotes with tags , , , on May 14, 2008 by wizardsmoke

The amateur poetics continue here at WS central! If I keep this up I’ll alienate the three readers I have…

From the moon to the cosmos
here is my little poem:

Once I was down
but now I flow like water–
into every stream that gives life,
the endless gushing of dreams
and loves for the seamless presence

At the end of our days
there is nothing more pleasant
but the splendour of being found
in all things

The sound of conclusion
and the end of the day
it’s such a powerful colour
whether bright, dark, faded or sharp

The greatest art one knows
gives sentiments of finality
which are naturally cloaked
in the beauty of eternity

WS

A Song by ‘Smoke

Posted in Beauty, Mysticism, Poetry, The Arts, Ultimate Reality, Uncategorized, Wizard Quotes with tags , , , , , on May 14, 2008 by wizardsmoke

Sometimes the wave you ride
is spiraling deep toward a horizon
you long not to meet

So frozen in your terror
you cling to its appearance
as proof of your existence

And while seizing this proof
you fall into the hell that this world provides
free of charge, for all to gorge upon

Thus the world dreams of the day it disappears
whether by divine justice or sinister ordeal
as such who knows what fortune chaos provides?
whose mouth opens with the tyger’s eye?

I fight the world without falling sick
without a charm around my neck
nor a demon in my step

No matter how much blood flows from the vajra sword
its luster always shines
stainless sword, stainless mind

WS

More Wizard Quotes

Posted in Beauty, Mysticism, Poetry, Reality Bites, The Arts, Wizard Quotes with tags , , , on April 20, 2008 by wizardsmoke

**Special Music Edition!**

Emperor — “The Source of Icon E”:

The land was created, in the name of the chosen, the waves thrown for men to see. The one who made men to be, prevailed from the source of Icon E.

The waves of fury — prevailed from the source of Icon E, were mine to be. Ordered to destroy and bury… No remorse!

The destiny of the wave was not to be found. Nor was I traveling the deadly sea alone. The sun never rose, and my rose was not to be.

For what purpose I gave my return, is still standing alone. And as the raven dropped its feather on me, I was again to be the chosen one. — IX Equilibrium (1999)

Amorphis — “My Kantele”:

Truly they lie, they talk utter nonsense;
Who say of music reckon that the kantele,
Was fashioned by a god
Out of a great pike’s shoulders
From a water-dog’s hooked bones:
It was made from the grief,
Moulded from sorrow.

Its belly out of hard days,
Its soundboard from endless woes,
Its strings gathered from torments,
And its pegs from other ills.

So it will not play, will not rejoice at all.
Music will not play to please,
Give off the right sort of joy,
For it was fashioned from cares,
Moulded from sorrow. — Elegy (1997)

Leonard Cohen — “Teachers”:

I met a woman long ago
her hair the black that black can go,
Are you a teacher of the heart?
Soft she answered no.
I met a girl across the sea,
her hair the gold that gold can be,
Are you a teacher of the heart?
Yes, but not for thee.

I met a man who lost his mind
in some lost place I had to find,
follow me the wise man said,
but he walked behind.

I walked into a hospital
where none was sick and none was well,
when at night the nurses left
I could not walk at all.

Morning came and then came noon,
dinner time a scalpel blade
lay beside my silver spoon.

Some girls wander by mistake
into the mess that scalpels make.
Are you the teachers of my heart?
We teach old hearts to break.

One morning I woke up alone,
the hospital and the nurses gone.
Have I carved enough my Lord?
Child, you are a bone.

I ate and ate and ate,
no I did not miss a plate, well
How much do these suppers cost?
We’ll take it out in hate.

I spent my hatred everyplace,
on every work on every face,
someone gave me wishes
and I wished for an embrace.

Several girls embraced me, then
I was embraced by men,
Is my passion perfect?
No, do it once again.

I was handsome I was strong,
I knew the words of every song.
Did my singing please you?
No, the words you sang were wrong.

Who is it whom I address,
who takes down what I confess?
Are you the teachers of my heart?
We teach old hearts to rest.

Oh teachers are my lessons done?
I cannot do another one.
They laughed and laughed and said, Well child,
are your lessons done?
are your lessons done?
are your lessons done? — Songs of Leonard Cohen (1967)