Rilo Kiley – It’ll Get You There

Lyrics:

All the trips that you take, they will get you there
All the little white pills you take, they will get you there
All the compliments that you take, they will get you there
All the hearts that you break, they will get you there

It’ll get you there
It’ll get you there
It’ll get you there
It’ll get you there

All the hostages that you take, they will get you there
All the hands that you shake, they will get you there
All the conman that you fake, it’ll will get you there
All the hearts that you break, they will get you there

It’ll get you there (x7)
I will get you there

All the pennies that you save, they will get you there
All the hearts that you break, they will get you there

It’ll get you there (x7)
I will get you there

At Savage River Lodge by Laure-Anne Bosselaar

At Savage River Lodge    

Only the trees 
            are raining now—

the storm passed 
            through the forest 

like a night shiver 
            and was gone. 

Out of the dark and into it, the August sizzle of crickets.

 
Wrapped in a blanket, 
            I sit on the deck

of my one-room cabin. 
            Twenty yards away, yours. 

We're wise enough to know confinement sets us apart.

 
Earlier tonight, 
            we feasted a friend 

with other friends, the evening 
            ample and kind. 

I'm pensively 
            dizzy with it, and would 

probably have slipped into vague solitary considerations,

 
had you not turned on 
            a light in your cabin

its glow barely 
            visible through the low

branches of an oak. So I 
            quietly tiptoed closer 

to your window, bare footed 
            on gravel and grass,

and watched you be alone, not four feet away from me.


Everything you did 
            was unsurprising, familiar—

you already seemed 
            distant, self-contained.  

And I suddenly felt 
            I was no longer there, 

while you went about your life without me.  

 
What else was there 
            to do for me but to look 

away, and walk
            back into the dark?

Dick Gaughan – Jock O Hazeldean

Lyrics:

Why weep ye by the tide, lady, why weep ye by the tide?
A’ll wad ye tae my youngest son an ye shall be his bride
An ye shall be his bride lady sae comely tae be seen
But aye she lout the tears dounfaa for Jock o Hazeldean

Nou let this willfu grief be dune an dry those cheeks sae pale
Young Frank is chief of Erthington an Lord o Langleydale
His step is first in peacefu haa his sword in battle keen
Bit aye she lout the tears dounfaa for Jock o Hazeldean

A coat o gowd ye sallnae lack nor kaim tae bind your hair
Nor mettled hound nor managed hawk nor palfrey fresh an fair
An you, the foremaist o them aa sall ride, our forest queen
Bit aye she lout the tears dounfaa for Jock o Hazeldean

The kirk was deckt at mornintide, the tapers glimmert fair
The priest an bridegroum wait the bride an dame an knight were there
They searcht for her in bower an haa the lady wisnae seen
She’s owre the border an awa wi Jock o Hazeldean

Digging Shelters by Neil Halstead

Lyrics:

Computer, whats the point in this?
You do all the thinking where we –
Just digging shelters in the snow –
Build a house of dream and domino

I know its fallen down
Got my headphones on and I won’t hear a sound
No its all broke down
Eyes out on the road but no-one comes along, when you want them to

Let your hair hang long
Yeah that old north wind is blowing through these cracked up ports
And you wont feel so strong
Voices on the street, yeah its closing time, again

Computer, whats the point in this?
You do all the thinking where we –
Just building shelters in the snow –
Build a house of dream and domino

I know its fallen down
Got my headphones on and I wont hear a sound
Yeah its all broke down
Eyes out on the road but no-one comes along, when you want them to

Ethics

by C.K. Williams

Much of what I wish for myself is patently unattainable,
yet it might be my most sincere and abiding desire—
that I live without contrivance, scheming or forethought.

By contrivance and scheming, I mean trying to be other
than I am; without forethought is wanting to live
impulsively, artlessly, with no intervention of will.

I want to act not because I’ve coerced myself to,
but because I’ll have responded from the part of myself
that precedes will, residing in intrinsic not projected virtue.

I have no wish to be good, or pure—inconceivable that—
but I wish not to have to consider who I am or might be
before I project myself into quandaries or conflicts.

All this that I crave, which I know my craving impedes,
this absurdity of which might diminish further who I am
and what I stand for, if that’s the term, to myself—

(can one stand for something to oneself? can one not?)—
I’ve never found a shred of evidence for in myself,
yet I observe it constantly, every day, in Catherine,

some large portion of my esteem for her surely consists
of my gratitude for her implausible generosity,
which permits someone like me to partake—(oh raptly)—

of her presence, and causes her unthinkingly to forgive
my having to struggle to evoke even a semblance
of what she so effortlessly, gorgeously, joyfully is.