Let the love of Allah heal you. And free you.
T'was Spring, t'was Summer, all was gay Now Autumn bears a cloud brow The flowers of Spring are swept way And Summer fruits desert the bough
Ah, tell them they are men!
Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, Beneath the good how far,-but far above the great.
The still small voice of gratitude.
E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
Bright-eyed Fancy, hov'ring o'er, Scatters from her pictured urn Thoughts that breathe and words that burn.
I have never been able to let Iraq go. It is a part of me. Even under Saddam Hussein, even despite what the country went through, and despite how violent and tribal it can be, there is still a certain purity to the kindness of the population.
I don't see as it matters much how well you mean if it's harm you're doin'.
Just because I said lyrics are a sign of the inability to sing doesn't mean. . . . A) I believe that, or B) I don't think they're cool. They are cool. Words are great. I sing along with my favorite songs, but when I am drumming and singing, the words become a note that for me. In the process of playing they have more emotional impact as notes then an actual word.
This film cost $31 million. With that kind of money I could have invaded some country.