Trajan
conscientia mille testes
stand back....
[ame]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=McI1NJ_iG24&feature=related[/ame]
[ame]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=McI1NJ_iG24&feature=related[/ame]
The New and Improved what song are you listening to now thread!
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Phoenix
fideli certa merces
[ame]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lA983t3Rdzs[/ame]
[ame]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CkTQUtx818w[/ame]
[ame]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wFHsuPBf5B8&feature=related[/ame]
Phoenix
fideli certa merces
[ame]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rzU2iJ9qfXg[/ame]
Phoenix
fideli certa merces
[ame]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GDVoajxYdWI[/ame]
[ame=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=daPpeLKdGSw]YouTube - He Was My Brother[/ame]
This song always sends chills through me, even more when I realized what it's source of inspiration was, the murder of 3 young men in Mississippi that set off a chain of events leading to a national awareness of the civil rights movement. The song was dedicated to Andrew Goodman.
Andrew Goodman, a New York born Jewish man, 20 years old, when he was shot threw the heart:
Michael Schwerner, also a New York born Jewish man, 24 years old, when he was shot through the heart.
James Earle Chaney, a 21 year old black man, born in Mississippi, beaten - arm and hand crushed, then shot to death.
It's impossible to listen to this song without feeling the intensity - the bravery, the injustice, the cruelty. You simply can't compare modern politics to this. These were real people...ordinary people, yet extraordinary. What moved them?
I saw a Normal Rockwell exhibit recently that evoked this song for me. I love Normal Rockwell - for his use of light and color and his portrayal of an idealized America. He was forbidden to by his publishers to portray blacks in anything but a subservient role. He obeyed that but it chafed and finally, when he broke free of it, he painted some surprisingly bold and brilliant pieces of art, perhaps among his best:
Murder in Mississippi, commemorating the slaying of the 3 civil rights workers: Norman rockwell mississippi image by TheAutark on Photobucket
and this one: http://www.jackandjillpolitics.com/...the20problem20we20all20live20with-491x300.jpg
of a little black girl walking to a school between U.S. Marshalls...
Powerful times, and some very brave people.
He was my brother
Five years older than I
He was my brother
Twenty-three years old the day he died
Freedom writer
They cursed my brother to his face
Go home outsider
This town's gonna be your buryin' place
He was singin' on his knees
An angry mob trailed along
They shot my brother dead
Because he hated what was wrong
He was my brother
Tears can't bring him back to me
He was my brother
And he died so his brothers could be free
He died so his brothers could be free
This song always sends chills through me, even more when I realized what it's source of inspiration was, the murder of 3 young men in Mississippi that set off a chain of events leading to a national awareness of the civil rights movement. The song was dedicated to Andrew Goodman.
Andrew Goodman, a New York born Jewish man, 20 years old, when he was shot threw the heart:
Michael Schwerner, also a New York born Jewish man, 24 years old, when he was shot through the heart.
James Earle Chaney, a 21 year old black man, born in Mississippi, beaten - arm and hand crushed, then shot to death.
It's impossible to listen to this song without feeling the intensity - the bravery, the injustice, the cruelty. You simply can't compare modern politics to this. These were real people...ordinary people, yet extraordinary. What moved them?
I saw a Normal Rockwell exhibit recently that evoked this song for me. I love Normal Rockwell - for his use of light and color and his portrayal of an idealized America. He was forbidden to by his publishers to portray blacks in anything but a subservient role. He obeyed that but it chafed and finally, when he broke free of it, he painted some surprisingly bold and brilliant pieces of art, perhaps among his best:
Murder in Mississippi, commemorating the slaying of the 3 civil rights workers: Norman rockwell mississippi image by TheAutark on Photobucket
and this one: http://www.jackandjillpolitics.com/...the20problem20we20all20live20with-491x300.jpg
of a little black girl walking to a school between U.S. Marshalls...
Powerful times, and some very brave people.
He was my brother
Five years older than I
He was my brother
Twenty-three years old the day he died
Freedom writer
They cursed my brother to his face
Go home outsider
This town's gonna be your buryin' place
He was singin' on his knees
An angry mob trailed along
They shot my brother dead
Because he hated what was wrong
He was my brother
Tears can't bring him back to me
He was my brother
And he died so his brothers could be free
He died so his brothers could be free
PixieStix
Platinum Member
- Apr 2, 2009
- 15,125
- 5,496
- 370
[ame]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h-S90Uch2as&feature=related[/ame]
Hello darkness, my old friend,
I've come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone,
'Neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence.
And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence.
"Fools" said I, "You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you,
Take my arms that I might reach you."
But my words like silent raindrops fell,
And echoed
In the wells of silence.
And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made.
And the sign flashed out its warning,
In the words that it was forming.
And the sign said, the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls.
And whisper'd in the sounds of silence."
Hello darkness, my old friend,
I've come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone,
'Neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence.
And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence.
"Fools" said I, "You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you,
Take my arms that I might reach you."
But my words like silent raindrops fell,
And echoed
In the wells of silence.
And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made.
And the sign flashed out its warning,
In the words that it was forming.
And the sign said, the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls.
And whisper'd in the sounds of silence."
[ame]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KWsq3prvKQ8&feature=related[/ame]
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