Senor
From: golden3000997
Date: Sun Jan 25, 2004 11:01 am
Subject: Senor
SENOR
(Tales of Yankee Power)
Words and Music by Bob Dylan
1978 Special Rider Music
Senor, senor, do you know
where we're headin'?
Lincoln County Road or Armageddon?
Seems like I been down this way before.
Is there any truth in that, senor?
Senor, senor, do you know
where she is hidin'?
How long are we gonna be ridin'?
How long must I keep my eyes glued to the door?
Will there be any comfort there, senor?
There's a wicked wind still
blowin' on that upper deck,
There's an iron cross still hanging down from around her neck.
There's a marchin' band still playin' in that vacant lot
Where she held me in her arms one time and said, "Forget
me not."
Senor, senor, I can see that
painted wagon,
I can smell the tail of the dragon.
Can't stand the suspense anymore.
Can you tell me who to contact here, senor?
Well, the last thing I remember
before I stripped and kneeled
Was that trainload of fools bogged down in a magnetic field.
A gypsy with a broken flag and a flashing ring
Said, "Son, this ain't a dream no more, it's the real thing."
Senor, senor, you know their
hearts is as hard as leather.
Well, give me a minute, let me get it together.
I just gotta pick myself up off the floor.
I'm ready when you are, senor.
Senor, senor, let's disconnect
these cables,
Overturn these tables.
This place don't make sense to me no more.
Can you tell me what we're waiting for, senor?
...................................................................................................................................
From: holderlin66
Date: Sun Jan 25, 2004 11:32 am
Subject: Re: Senor/Michael Hearts
--- In [email protected],
golden3000997 wrote:
SENOR
(Tales of Yankee Power)
Words and Music by Bob
Dylan
1978 Special Rider Music
Senor, senor, I can see
that painted wagon,
I can smell the tail of the dragon.
Can't stand the suspense anymore.
Can you tell me who to contact here, senor?
Well, the last thing I
remember before I stripped and kneeled
Was that trainload of fools bogged down in a magnetic field.
A gypsy with a broken flag and a flashing ring
Said, "Son, this ain't a dream no more, it's the real thing."
Bradford comments:
AT ain't your mommas dumb ole sqawks that
like coins go to the collection box on a pale Sunday Noon.
We talk about the Dragon and they think we
make up tales. We say have you heard of TIAMUT with the sawed
off tail? No, you're makin' it up they wail.
Have you heard how "they stuck it with
the steely knives but couldn't kill the beast.?" We ask..
Oh kids tales for the autumn, I get ya. Brainwashing on this
lie you tell, about how St. Michael hovers over Waldorf Hell.
Where all the children come out zonked. Their eyeballs glazed
and repeating Anthro mantrams.. Yep..."Into the Light Children,
into the Light"
This ain't your mommas AT. We got Dylan and
Gore Vidal, Michael Moore and thousands of others who see through
this Green Vest, with scales on your wearing so proudly and primping
around. Saying, ain't my intellect grand. I got scissors in my
curled up, clawed hand. I aim to snip the Doctor with Slur and
route, to feed the monster that is in my snout. Yep.. they got
the cloudy third eye blues and they sit real high on the seats
of the thrones of the doomed. They rejected the Call when, in
the Michael Hall, The Sun Lord offered his Boon. They rejected
his Boon and the light in the room, gloomed as the souls of us
cringed. For here on the Earth, we would face you with worth,
that the choice you had made sealed your doom.
But waking can blare, like the trumphets in
air, the soul from its mystified stare. Shake yourself free,
stop attempting to flee, for Ahriman watches you run. He sees
with ten heads, of Kings Nazghouled demised and he gathers hyenas
to hunt for his prize, which is you. For scraps and raw meat,
they would gladly eat, any Gold from Michael's Crown. But it
lies in our hearts and we shall not depart from the honor his
Boon has us given. Each soul with a STING, a sleight sword of
a thing, but be wise before tempting your snarl.
Restore your whole soul, get right and get
whole and purge the icy voices you hear. Remember dear Sweet,
it is fear that you greet with his cold clammy hands and his
killer honed Crown that is drooling to to take Michael Down.
Bradford
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