| Sounds Of Silence |
| The Sound Of Silence Hello darkness, my old friend. I've come to talk with you again. Because a vision softly creeping left its seeds while I was sleeping and the vision that was planted in my brain still remains within the sound of silence. In restless dreams I walked alone, narrow streets of cobblestone ‘neath the halo of a street lamp, I turned my collar to the cold and damp when my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light that split the night and touched the sound of silence. And in the naked light I saw ten thousand people, maybe more. People talking without speaking, people hearing without listening. People writing songs that voices never shared, no one dared disturb the sound of silence. "Fools," said I, "you do not know, silence like a cancer grows. Hear my words that I might teach you, take my arms that I might reach you." But my words like silent raindrops fell and echoed in the wells of silence. And the people bowed and prayed to the neon god they made and the sign flashed out its warning in the words that it was forming. And the sign said "The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls and tenement halls and whispered in the sound of silence." Leaves That Are Green I was twenty-one years when I wrote this song. I'm twenty-two now but I won't be for long. Time hurries on and the leaves that are green turn to brown and they wither in the wind and they crumble in your hand. Once my heart was filled with the love of a girl. I held her close but she faded in the night like a poem I meant to write and the leaves that are green turn to brown and they wither in the wind and they crumble in your hand. I threw a pebble in a brook and watched the ripple run away and they never made a sound and the leaves that are green turn to brown and they wither in the wind and they crumble in your hand. Hello, hello, hello, hello. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. That's all there is and the leaves that are green turn to brown and they wither in the wind and they crumble in your hand. Blessed Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit. Blessed is the lamb whose blood flows. Blessed are the sat upon, spat upon, ratted on. O Lord, why have you forsaken me? I got no place to go. I've walked around Soho for the last night or so, ah, but it doesn't matter, no. Blessed is the land and the kingdom. Blessed is the man whose soul belongs to. Blessed are the meth drinkers, pot sellers, illusion dwellers, O Lord, why have you forsaken me? My words trickle down from a wound that I have no intention to heal. Blessed are the stained glass, windowpane glass. Blessed is the church service, makes me nervous. Blessed are the penny rookers, cheap hookers, groovy lookers. O Lord, why have you forsaken me? I have tended my own garden much too long. Kathy's Song I hear the drizzle of the rain, like a memory it falls soft and warm continuing, tapping on my roof and walls. And from the shelter of my mind through the window of my eyes, I gaze beyond the rain-drenched streets to England where my heart lies. My mind's distracted and diffused, my thoughts are many miles away. They lie with you when you're asleep and kiss you when you start your day. And a song I was writing is left undone. I don't know why I spend my time writing songs I can't believe with words that tear and strain to rhyme. And so you see I have come to doubt all that I once held as true. I stand alone without beliefs, the only truth I know is you. And as I watch the drops of rain weave their weary paths and die. I know that I am like the rain, there but for the grace of you go I. Somewhere They Can't Find Me I can hear the soft breathing of the girl that I love as she lies here beside me, asleep with the night and her hair in a fine mist floats on my pillow reflecting the glow of the winter moonlight but I've got to creep down the alley way, fly down the highway. Before they come to catch me I'll be gone somewhere, they can't find me. Oh baby, you don't know what I've done. I've committed a crime, I've broken the law. While you were here sleeping and just dreaming of me I held up and robbed a liquor store but I've got to creep down the alley way, fly down the highway. Before they come to catch me I'll be gone somewhere, they can't find me. Oh, my life seems unreal, my crime an illusion, a scene badly written in which I must play. And though it puts me uptight to leave you, I know it's not right to leave you, the morning is just a few hours away but I've got to creep down the alley way, fly down the highway. Before they come to catch me I'll be gone somewhere, they can't find me. Richard Cory They say that Richard Cory owns one half of this whole town with political connections to spread his wealth around. Born into society, a banker's only child, he had everything a man could want: power, grace, and style. But I work in his factory and I curse the life I'm living and I curse my poverty And I wish that I could be, oh, I wish that I could be, oh, I wish that I could be Richard Cory. The papers print his picture almost everywhere he goes, Richard Cory at the opera, Richard Cory at a show and the rumor of his parties and the orgies on his yacht, oh, he surely must be happy with everything he's got. But I, I work in his factory and I curse the life I'm living and I curse my poverty And I wish that I could be, oh, I wish that I could be, oh, I wish that I could be Richard Cory. He freely gave to charity, he had the common touch and they were grateful for his patronage and they thanked him very much. So my mind was filled with wonder when the evening headlines read: "Richard Cory went home last night and put a bullet through his head" But I, I work in his factory and I curse the life I'm living and I curse my poverty And I wish that I could be, oh, I wish that I could be, oh, I wish that I could be Richard Cory. A Most Peculiar Man He was a most peculiar man. That's what Mrs. Reardan says and she should know- she lived upstairs from him. She said he was a most peculiar man. He was a most peculiar man. He lived all alone within a house, within a room, within himself. A most peculiar man. He had no friends, he seldom spoke and no one in turn ever spoke to him cause he wasn't friendly and he didn't care and he wasn't like them, oh no. He was a most peculiar man. He died last Saturday. He turned on the gas and he went to sleep with the windows closed so he'd never wake up to his silent world and his tiny room and Mrs. Reardan says he has a brother somewhere who should be notified soon. And all the people said, "What a shame that he's dead but wasn't he a most peculiar man?" April Come She Will April come she will when streams are ripe and swelled with rain. May, she will stay resting in my arms again. June, she'll change her tune, in restless walks she'll prowl the night. July, she will fly and give no warning to her flight. August, die she must. The autumn winds blow chilly and cold. September I'll remember, a love once new has now grown old. We've Got A Groovy Thing Goin' Bad news, bad news, I heard you're packing to leave. I come running right over, I just couldn't believe it, I just couldn't believe it. Oh, baby, baby, you must be out of your mind. Do you know what you're kicking away? We've got a groovy thing goin', baby, we've got a groovy thing. I never done you no wrong, I never hit you when you're down. I always gave you good loving, I never ran around, I never ran around. Oh, baby, baby, you must be out of your mind. Do you know what you're kicking away? We've got a groovy thing goin', baby, we've got a groovy thing. There's something you ought to know if you're fixing to go. I can't make it without you, no no no no, no no. No no, no no no no no. Oh, baby, baby, you must be out of your mind. Do you know what you're kicking away? We've got a groovy thing goin', baby, we've got a groovy thing. We've got a groovy thing goin', baby, we've got a groovy thing. We've got a groovy thing goin', baby, we've got a groovy thing. I Am A Rock A winter's day in a deep and dark December- I am alone, gazing from my window to the streets below on a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow, I am a rock, I am an island. I've built walls, a fortress deep and mighty that none may penetrate. I have no need of friendship, friendship causes pain. It's laughter and it's loving I disdain, I am a rock, I am an island. Don't talk of love- well, I've heard the word before, it's sleeping in my memory. I won't disturb the slumber of feelings that have died, if I never loved I never would have cried, I am a rock, I am an island. I have my books and my poetry to protect me. I am shielded in my armor. Hiding in my room, safe within my womb, I touch no one and no one touches me. I am a rock, I am an island. And a rock feels no pain and an island never cries. |