<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-905860526010894690</id><updated>2011-07-08T13:32:55.407-04:00</updated><category term='plant'/><category term='locomotive'/><category term='selfishness'/><category term='catch on fire'/><category term='path'/><category term='lonely'/><category term='acceptance'/><category term='Tennessee'/><category term='saxophone'/><category term='sing'/><category term='the thrill is gone'/><category term='betrayal'/><category term='train'/><category term='grow'/><category term='following'/><category term='center C'/><category term='hope'/><category term='lost love'/><category term='lonesome'/><category term='drown'/><category term='dead end'/><category term='minor key'/><category term='predestination'/><category term='rails'/><category term='patience'/><category term='kiss'/><category term='guitar'/><category term='creosote'/><category term='blues'/><category term='piano'/><category term='love'/><title type='text'>        BARKINGLIPSONGS</title><subtitle type='html'>        
        
                                                Can&amp;#39;t help thinking of songs</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://barkinglipsongs.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/905860526010894690/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://barkinglipsongs.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Linda Campbell Franklin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02163942205260927937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_S64uxXGq9a0/R1L48VT1sdI/AAAAAAAAAAM/8oAVyyPWOiA/S220/my+true+self1.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>4</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-905860526010894690.post-9131348981984391006</id><published>2009-10-16T17:20:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-16T17:52:19.402-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='saxophone'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='guitar'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the thrill is gone'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='piano'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lost love'/><title type='text'>Piano Man Trill</title><content type='html'>Oooo, I love dat piana music!!&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;   It trills me so!&lt;br /&gt;I just love dat piana music, &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;   cause it trills me dat way.&lt;br /&gt;I gotta find dat man&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;   Who plays the piana &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;   gotta find him today! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S64uxXGq9a0/StjqYKu5N0I/AAAAAAAAAIY/43kYPwuXunM/s1600-h/Still+from+"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S64uxXGq9a0/StjqYKu5N0I/AAAAAAAAAIY/43kYPwuXunM/s200/Still+from+" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393318254694971202" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ooooh, I gotta get outta dis box!&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    Gotta climb, push push&lt;br /&gt;I gotta find dat piana man&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    Today!  I’m in a rush!&lt;br /&gt;Gonna climb up outta dis box&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;   and find dat hot piana man! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It ain’t as easy as I thought&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    gettin’ outta dis ole heavy box&lt;br /&gt;It ain’t as easy as I thought&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    specially wid da rockin’ box&lt;br /&gt;I’m gonna have da blues&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;   If I can’t find dat man I want! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oooh, looka me now, bare legs&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    I better scramble ‘round and dress&lt;br /&gt;Oooh, nuthin’ but panties have I got on&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    better find me a dress to wear&lt;br /&gt;I’m gonna have da blues&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;   if I can’t win dat man I want!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oooh, I love dat piana music&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    don’t care if it play loud or soft&lt;br /&gt;Ooooh, I LOVE dat piana music&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    makes me feel sassy and soft&lt;br /&gt;I gotta find dat piana man soon&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;   and he better not refuse. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got some new hair, &amp;nbsp;    it was so thin -- &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    been in that box so long &lt;br /&gt;And some lipstick too, nice and red&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    Red hair and a green dress?&lt;br /&gt;How could I go wrong&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;   Gettin’ in Piana Man’s head?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oooh, how I vamped dat piana man,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    made him like me n’ awful lot.&lt;br /&gt;I danced all ‘round dat piana man,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    and he acted like he was besot.&lt;br /&gt;One time my legs ran outta juice&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;   ooh, he rubbed ‘em wid his hand&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ooh, but dat piana man was playein’ me&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    he played me for a fool.&lt;br /&gt;He played da piana for me fine&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    ‘n twirled me lakka piana stool.&lt;br /&gt;I fell for him hard, but I was soft&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;   dat man must think I’m blind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He took me out to dinner,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    It was a very ‘spensive place&lt;br /&gt;I got all dressed up in red&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    And all he did was make a face&lt;br /&gt;He made awful wid me &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;   Oh you shoulda heard the things he said!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Den when dinner was all over&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    and our napkins was all soiled&lt;br /&gt;Dat’s when he told me about his new girl&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    only she was his before. It spoiled&lt;br /&gt;The nicest thing he’s did for me!&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;   Oooh, den dat man ran off with a Belle&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I’m gettin’ over dat piana man,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    I lissen to saxaphone now,&lt;br /&gt;Or gimme a guitar to lissen to&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    I ain’t taking no 88s again&lt;br /&gt;Dat piana man played MY keys ‘n chords&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;   Da verry las’ time. Dat’s true!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;     ...&lt;br /&gt;Oh, I gotta admit da real truf,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    I still got a high note for dat man,&lt;br /&gt;But I’m learnin’ to get along widdout him&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;    Just see if I don’t!   Oooh,&lt;br /&gt;But I love dat piana music&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;    &amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;   an’ it still trills me like it did.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/905860526010894690-9131348981984391006?l=barkinglipsongs.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://barkinglipsongs.blogspot.com/feeds/9131348981984391006/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://barkinglipsongs.blogspot.com/2009/10/piano-man-trill.html#comment-form' title='37 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/905860526010894690/posts/default/9131348981984391006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/905860526010894690/posts/default/9131348981984391006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://barkinglipsongs.blogspot.com/2009/10/piano-man-trill.html' title='Piano Man Trill'/><author><name>Linda Campbell Franklin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02163942205260927937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_S64uxXGq9a0/R1L48VT1sdI/AAAAAAAAAAM/8oAVyyPWOiA/S220/my+true+self1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S64uxXGq9a0/StjqYKu5N0I/AAAAAAAAAIY/43kYPwuXunM/s72-c/Still+from+' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>37</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-905860526010894690.post-3249189374373415068</id><published>2009-05-05T23:02:00.009-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T15:51:01.137-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='center C'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='minor key'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lonesome'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hope'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='catch on fire'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='blues'/><title type='text'>            No Blood Left</title><content type='html'>&amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;   &lt;br /&gt;My life's blood is all drained out;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;   Bones of my experience been bleached white;&lt;br /&gt;My soul may never catch on fire again,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;   so where shall I go, Honey, and when?&lt;br /&gt;Trying to sing the blues in a minor key,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;   but my voice is corrupted with that damn center C.&lt;br /&gt;Show me how to sing blues, Honey, and tell me when. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spring is here but the sap won't rise, &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;   Dead tree in the morning, can't open my eyes.&lt;br /&gt;My heart needs to find a forest fire,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;   but where shall I go for a light, and why?&lt;br /&gt;I wish I weren't singing blues in a lonesome tone,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;   and my voice deceives me with a note of hope,&lt;br /&gt;But how can I sing happy, Honey, ever again? &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/905860526010894690-3249189374373415068?l=barkinglipsongs.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://barkinglipsongs.blogspot.com/feeds/3249189374373415068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://barkinglipsongs.blogspot.com/2009/05/no-blood-left.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/905860526010894690/posts/default/3249189374373415068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/905860526010894690/posts/default/3249189374373415068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://barkinglipsongs.blogspot.com/2009/05/no-blood-left.html' title='&amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;   No Blood Left'/><author><name>Linda Campbell Franklin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02163942205260927937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_S64uxXGq9a0/R1L48VT1sdI/AAAAAAAAAAM/8oAVyyPWOiA/S220/my+true+self1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-905860526010894690.post-6680057155772408416</id><published>2009-04-29T17:32:00.016-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-16T17:17:12.968-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='following'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='creosote'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Tennessee'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='rails'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='train'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='locomotive'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lonely'/><title type='text'>        Loco Motive Past Relay</title><content type='html'>&amp;nbsp;   &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;   &lt;br /&gt;Rocks tumbling, rails streaming far ahead&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;    'round the bend, and over a trestle;&lt;br /&gt;I'm walkin' the ties to Tennessee&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;    'just seven hundred eighty-two miles.&lt;br /&gt;Rails rumblin', better jump off the tracks. Quick!&lt;br /&gt;Feet stumblin' on those chunky rocks; but...&lt;br /&gt;Got to walk the ties to Tennessee.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spikes broken, rails gleaming, I'm leanin' forward &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;   'round another bend, past the high trestle;&lt;br /&gt;Been walkin long miles to Tennessee. &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;    What I &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;thought&lt;/span&gt; he said don't mean nothin' now. &lt;br /&gt;Whistle blowin', better turn 'round and look.&lt;br /&gt;Feet slowin' on these dang'rous rocks; I just &lt;br /&gt;Gotta keep walkin' toward Tennessee. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Creosote smellin', rails stayin' apart; &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;   looks like they will meet a mile ahead,&lt;br /&gt;But get there and they're still separated.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;   Don't know what the hell I'm doin'.&lt;br /&gt;Cold rails polished hot by turnin' wheels; &lt;br /&gt;I can't turn around so I just keep goin'--&lt;br /&gt;Gotta try to get to Tennessee. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fox barkin', rails trailin' behind like anchors --&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;    no bends, and no trestles anymore, &lt;br /&gt;Chasin' footsteps long gone to Tennessee.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;   Don't know why I'm going. Naw, I don't. &lt;br /&gt;Moon hidden, wind rising, can't hear worth a damn.&lt;br /&gt;Rails been ridden a hundred times over &lt;br /&gt;Since he said "I'm walkin' out, back to Tennessee."&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;  &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/905860526010894690-6680057155772408416?l=barkinglipsongs.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://barkinglipsongs.blogspot.com/feeds/6680057155772408416/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://barkinglipsongs.blogspot.com/2009/04/loco-motive-heart_29.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/905860526010894690/posts/default/6680057155772408416'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/905860526010894690/posts/default/6680057155772408416'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://barkinglipsongs.blogspot.com/2009/04/loco-motive-heart_29.html' title='&amp;nbsp;   &amp;nbsp;   Loco Motive Past Relay'/><author><name>Linda Campbell Franklin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02163942205260927937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_S64uxXGq9a0/R1L48VT1sdI/AAAAAAAAAAM/8oAVyyPWOiA/S220/my+true+self1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-905860526010894690.post-2347831826940021638</id><published>2009-04-19T21:37:00.025-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T16:18:36.041-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='patience'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='drown'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grow'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='selfishness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kiss'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='acceptance'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dead end'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='predestination'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='plant'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='path'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='betrayal'/><title type='text'>      Converge</title><content type='html'>&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;I thought a garden had been planted,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; that the bed of seedlings would grow strong.&lt;br /&gt;I thought the path we traveled artless and by nature,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; that we could find our way blindfolded.&lt;br /&gt;I knew the road was rocky,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; But I thought it could be paved, and lead somewhere.&lt;br /&gt;When I felt that I was drowning, &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; I thought I could be saved by just breathing air with you. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Should you live your life supposing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;That things will always go your own way?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Can’t you try to have some patience,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;To live the way you feel you must?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;I thought that garden was well planted; but&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; Then seedlings sprouted, and seemed dead.&lt;br /&gt;Hah! I thought the path was marked; but then a storm came --&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; A tree fell over and blocked the way.&lt;br /&gt;I even thought the concrete paving of the rocky road was ready --&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; I started driving -- then, without a sign, it ended. Dead.&lt;br /&gt;I was sure I couldn’t drown, so I splashed in happy shallows, &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; Then a hidden wave pulled me under to the deep. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;So should you live your life supposing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Things always are disintegrating?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Can’t you try to have some patience,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;While living in a way that you can trust?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That garden that I thought was dead or dying,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; came alive with just our laughter;&lt;br /&gt;The path, with dragging limbs obstructing, &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; seemed better hidden -- with its secrets;&lt;br /&gt;That unsettling violent road just wanted us to map it;&lt;br /&gt;And when I thought that I was drowning, and&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; floundered in unaccustomed depths,&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; You threw me a kiss that saved me, spoke kind words that pulled me out. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;From now on I'll not live my life supposing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;That things will always go along the way I plan;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;That’s why I bid Impatience to allow Adventure&lt;/span&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;So I can live the way I know I must. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;(14 days later...)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That garden that died then came alive? &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; Well it was killed at last by an early frost; &lt;br /&gt;Smudge pots and glass frames and sunshine&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; couldn't bring it back to life. Frost kills.&lt;br /&gt;The path has been obliterated, its secrets&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; turned out to be pitfalls and traps;&lt;br /&gt;That violent road &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;couldn't&lt;/span&gt; be mapped, it buckled, too weak; &lt;br /&gt;At last I knew I was drowning when I couldn't draw a breath. &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; This time there were no heartfelt words, no blown kisses. &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; All I could hear was wailing from my own grey ghost.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;From now on I'll stop supposing, stop hoping.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Things go the way they will, you can't interfere.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Oh I can&lt;/span&gt; tell &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;impatience to allow Adventure,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;But I will live like I used to from now on, and&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;I'll cross another desert, then another, 'til the end.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/905860526010894690-2347831826940021638?l=barkinglipsongs.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://barkinglipsongs.blogspot.com/feeds/2347831826940021638/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://barkinglipsongs.blogspot.com/2009/04/converge.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/905860526010894690/posts/default/2347831826940021638'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/905860526010894690/posts/default/2347831826940021638'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://barkinglipsongs.blogspot.com/2009/04/converge.html' title='      Converge'/><author><name>Linda Campbell Franklin</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02163942205260927937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_S64uxXGq9a0/R1L48VT1sdI/AAAAAAAAAAM/8oAVyyPWOiA/S220/my+true+self1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
