From: lordyumyum@gmail.com   
      
   ELP - "Pictures at an Exhibition"   
      
   Lead me from tortured dreams   
   Childhood themes of nights alone,   
   Wipe away endless years,   
   Childhood tears as dry as stone.   
      
   From seeds of confusion,   
   Illusions darks blossoms have grown.   
   Even now in furrows of sorrow   
   The dance still is sung.   
      
   My life's course is guided   
   Decided by limits drawn   
   On charts of my past days   
   And pathways since I was born.   
      
   I carry the dust of a journey   
   That cannot be shaken away   
   It lives deep within me   
   For I breathe it every day.   
      
   You and I are yesterday's answers,   
   The earth of the past came to flesh,   
   Eroded by Time's rivers   
   To the shapes we now possess.   
      
   Come share of my breath and my substance,   
   And mingle our stream and our times.   
   In bright, infinite moments,   
   Our reasons are lost in our rhymes.   
      
   Doubles faces dark defense   
   Talk too loud but talk no sense   
   Yeah I see those smiling eyes   
   Butter us up with smiling lies   
      
   Talk to creatures raise the dead   
   Fate you know sure got fed   
   Trained apart from houses of stone   
   Hour of horses pick the bone   
      
   Come forth, from love spire   
   Born in life's fire,   
   Born in life's fire.   
   Come forth, from love's spire   
      
   In the burning, all are yearning,   
   For life to be.   
   And the pain will (must) be gain,   
   New life!   
      
   Stirring in, salty streams   
   And dark hidden seams   
   Where the fossil sun gleams.   
      
   They were, sent from (to) the gates   
   Ride the tides of fate,   
   Ride the tides of fate.   
   They were, sent from (to) the gates   
      
   In the burning of our yearning,   
   For life to be.   
      
   There's no end to my life,   
   No beginning to my death   
   Death is life!   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)