I didn't want to kiss you goodbye — that was the trouble — I wanted to kiss you good night — and there's a lot of difference.
Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from falling hands we throw.
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place, and in the sky, The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard among the guns below.
Like restless birds, the breath of coming rain Creeps, lilac-laden, up the village street
In Flanders fields the poppies blow.
The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below
Don't be dumb. (don't get a tattoo)
What is sad for women of my generation is that they weren't supposed to work if they had families. What were they going to do when the children are grown - watch the raindrops coming down the window pane?
I hate playing the bass, bro. I've been playing the bass because it's there and I don't want anyone else to play it.
I was no longer, if I had ever been, afraid to die: I was now afraid not to die.