Wreckers

No man is an island, entire of itself;
every man is a piece of the continent,
a part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less,
as well as if promontory were,
as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were.
Any man's death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind;
and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
it tolls for thee.

John Donne

so there's where that's from....

I've read it before, it's lovely.

Make his fight on the hill in the early day
Constant chill deep inside
Shouting gun, on they run throught the endless grey
On they fight, for they are right, yes, but who's to say?
For a hill, men would kill, why? They do not know
Suffered wounds test their pride
Men of five, still alive through the raging glow
Gone insane from the pain that they surely know

For whom the bell tolls
Time marches on
For whom the bell tolls

Take a look to the sky just before you die
It is the last time he will
Blackened roar massive roar fills the crumbling sky
Shattered goal fills his soul with a ruthless cry
Stranger now, are his eyes, to this mystery
He hears the silence so loud
Crack of dawn, all is gone except the will to be
Now they see, what will be, blinded eyes to see

For whom the bell tolls
Time marches on
For whom the bell tolls

Metallica

Which is why Donne is famous 500 years after he died, and Metallica will be ... uh like who?

MeloxXx

thanks for sharing miru

Melodionxxx wrote:Which is why Donne is famous 500 years after he died, and Metallica will be ... uh like who?

MeloxXx

Are you donne?

Nah, I have to bring home the Bacon

MeloxXx

And another of his masterpieces.



DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die

He led an interesting and somewhat controversial life.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Donne