Wednesday, 4 April 2012

Lyric Poetry

I was asked to talk about the difference between poetry and lyrics.
This was my response.

I met a traveller from a land Down Under, who said:
“What passing-bells for those who die
With the lights out? It’s less dangerous
Where Angels fear to tread.
I grow old, I grow old, O sweet child o’ mine!
I want a Hero; an uncommon want:
He’s gotta be strong, and he’s gotta be bold,
And he’s gotta be Tyger Tyger burning bright.
Hail to thee, blithe Poker Face painted on the wall
Looking as if she were alive, yeah I’m still alive.
Whoa, I’m still alive! If I should die, think only this of me:
I get knocked down, but I get up again –
You’re never gonna keep
The pockets of our greatcoats full of barley.
We all stand together, killing in the name
Of the finest minds of my generation.
Shanti Shanti Chantilly lace, and a pretty face
And look on my works, ye mighty, and jump around.”

No comments:

Post a Comment