ShiningKnight

"Power corrupts, PowerPoint corrupts absolutely."

said by the deen of business administration department of the university of applied sciences Northeast Lower Saxony, Lueneburg, Germany.

The Germans got their first gold medal yesterday. At least a beginning. Good Job

Notice me

Take my hand

Why are we

Strangers when

Our love is strong

Why carry on without me?

Everytime I try to fly

I fall without my wings

I feel so small

I guess I need you baby

And everytime I see you in my dreams

I see your face, it's haunting me

I guess I need you baby

I make believe

That you are here

It's the only way

I see clear

What have I done

You seem to move on easy

And everytime I try to fly

I fall without my wings

I feel so small

I guess I need you baby

And everytime I see you in my dreams

I see your face, you're haunting me

I guess I need you baby

I may have made it rain

Please forgive me

My weakness caused you pain

And this song is my sorry

Ohhhh

At night I pray

That soon your face

Will fade away

And everytime I try to fly

I fall without my wings

I feel so small

I guess I need you baby

And everytime I see you in my dreams

I see your face, you're haunting me

I guess I need you baby

Don't know what number I am, but hopefully this "playground" will turn out much better than mine did.  Don't you agree.....SK? : :

You the Man

I hope so, Brad. Although I must say I liked the hyperboards design a bit better and it's a pity LC got taken down, I had no chance to save a bit ... quite a few lyrics I posted there.

forgive me, Jan

Let's hope for the best.

... The small wonders of life.

Nothing is funnier than the truth.

Only in America....

Can a pizza get to your house faster than an ambulance.

Only in America......

are there handicap parking places in front of a skating rink.

Only in America......

do drugstores make the sick walk all the way to the back of the store to get their prescriptions while healthy people can buy cigarettes at the front.

Only in America......

do people order double cheeseburgers, large fries, and a diet coke.

Only in America......

do banks leave both doors open and then chain the pens to the counters.

Only in America......

do we leave cars worth thousands of dollars in the driveway and put our useless junk in the garage.

Only in America......

do we use answering machines to screen calls and then have call waiting so we won't miss a call from someone we didn't want to talk to in the first place.

Only in America......

do we buy hot dogs in packages of ten and buns in packages of eight.

Only in America......

do we use the word politics' to describe the process so well: 'Poli' in Latin meaning 'many' and 'tics' meaning 'bloodsucking creatures'.

Only in America...... do they have drive-up ATM machines with Braille lettering.

In case you needed further proof that the human race is doomed through stupidity, here are some actual label instructions on consumer goods:

On Sears hairdryer: "Do not use while sleeping".

[Gee, that's the only time I have to work on my hair]

On a bag of Fritos: "You could be winner! No purchase

necessary. Details inside". [Evidently, the shoplifter special]

On a bar of Dial soap:

"Directions: Use like regular soap." [And that would be how...?]

On some Swanson frozen dinners: "Serving suggestions: Defrost." [but it's *just* a suggestion]

On Tesco's Tiramisu dessert (printed on bottom of box): "Do not turn upside down". [Oops, too late!]

On Marks & Spencer Bread Pudding: "Product will be hot after heating".

[As sure as night follows the day . .. ..]

On packaging for a Rowenta iron: "Do not iron clothes on body".

[but wouldn't this save even more time?]

On Boot's Children's Cough Medicine: "Do not drive a car or operate machinery after taking this medication". We could do a lot to reduce the rate of construction accidents if we could just get those 5-year-olds with head-colds off those forklifts.]

On Nytol Sleep Aid: "Warning: May cause drowsiness" [One would hope]

On most brands of Christmas lights: "For indoor or outdoor use only".

[As opposed to what?]

On a Japanese food processor: "Not to be used for the other use".

.

On Sainsbury's peanuts: "Warning: Contains nuts". [NEWS FLASH]

On an American Airlines packet of nuts: "Instructions: open packet, eat nuts." [step 3: Fly Delta]

On a child's Superman costume: Wearing of this garment does not enable you to fly". I don't blame the company. I do blame parents for this one!

Where did you get this one from, movieguy? Sounds VERY familiar to me... Tongue Out

Weak Forces

I enjoy an accumulating

faith in weak forces –

a weak faith, of course,

easily shaken, but also

easily regained – in what

starts to drift: all the

slow untrainings of the mind,

the sift left of resolve

sustained too long, the

strange internal shift

by which there's no knowing

if this is the road taken

or untaken. There are soft

affinities, possibly electrical;

lint-like congeries; moonlit

hints; asymmetrical pink

glowy spots that are not

the defeat of something,

I don't think.

Kay Ryan

The Yale Review

Volume 92, Number 3

July 2004

The New Intelligence

After knowledge extinguished the last of the beautiful

fires our worship had failed to prolong, we walked

back home through pedestrian daylight, to a residence

humbler than the one left behind. A door without mystery,

a room without theme. For the hour that we spend

complacent at the window overlooking the garden,

we observe an arrangement in rust and gray-green,

a vagueness at the center whose slow, persistent

movements some sentence might explain if we had time

or strength for sentences. To admit that what falls

falls solitarily, lost in the permanent dusk of the particular.

That the mind that fear and disenchantment fattens

comes to boss the world around it, ugly as the damp-

fingered guest who rearranges the cheeses the minute the host

turns to fix her a cocktail. A disease of the will, the way

the false birch branches arch and interlace from which

hands dangle the last leaf-parchments and a very large array

of primitive bird-shapes. Their pasted feathers shake

in the aftermath of the nothing we will ever be content

to leave the way we found it. I love that about you.

I love that when I call you on the long drab days practicality

keeps one of us away from the other that I am calling

a person so beautiful to me that she has seen my awkwardness

on the actual sidewalk but she still answers anyway.

I say that when I fell you fell beside me and the concrete

refused to apologize. That a sparrow sat for a spell

on the windowsill today to communicate the new intelligence.

That the goal of objectivity depends upon one's faith

in the accuracy of one's perceptions, which is to say

a confidence in the purity of the perceiving instrument.

I won't be dying after all, not now, but will keep on living dizzily

hereafter in reality, half-deaf to reality, in the room

perfumed by the fire that our inextinguishable will begins.

Timothy Donnelly

CROWD

Volume 4, Issue 2

2004

First Night Welcome Circle

Cave Canem, Summer 2002

I fear this circle – beauty, warmth,

comfort – that it will end before

I've filled myself.

– a member of Group A

It will not end.

Your body is a living tree of fire:

coal in your belly, flint and steel below,

wildfires spark then flare inside your mind,

while your eyes recall the light of vanished stars;

woodsmoke lends its richness to your throat;

and bright foliage bearing every kind of fruit

branches to and from your glowing heart.

How could you imagine yourself cold?

Close your eyes, summon those tender ones

who chewed for you the first words of this world,

one by one, placed them on your tongue.

They have never left, will never leave you.

Be in the comfort of your strong, clean bones.

It will not end.

This circle is a magic bowl,

formed from the richest clay that could be culled

from the seven ancient rivers turtle dreamed.

Care and fierce devotion wedged this clay.

Justice found dead center on the wheel.

The turning hand pulsed love for you

and me, for her and her and him . . .

Come into this circle,

Shoulder your way in.

Without hesitation, take what's yours.

Open your hand, dip it down and down. Eat;

there is nourishment for all and ample time.

One and the same,

our fullness and our hunger;

do not be afraid,

it will not end.

Constance Merritt

Prairie Schooner

Volume 78, Number 2

Summer 2004

He Paves the Road with Iron Bars

"Get into the railroad car,"

wrote Waldo Emerson in 1832,

"and the Ideal Philosophy

takes place at once.

Matter seems compromised."

Emerson was a bel inconnu

who "snickered at embarrassing moments."

He had "the mouse in his chest." It was TB.

The doctor was called Dr. Frisbie.

Waldo "had no taste for comedy,"

wrote Gay Wilson Allen in the biography,

and disliked complex trope.

In Rome, he thought Pope

Gregory XVI was "millinery

and imbecility."

Nature grew slowly out

of letter

and ser-

mon and jour-

nal, as when he saw "a trail of glowing cinder

beside the track;

the hissing steam made the traveler

stand back."

Passing freight cars full of timber

"darted by like trout."

Current history,

art history,

and historiography

address material culture and see

lies and myths, "objects and stories" in a thing

such as a tea-kettle, which

by contrast is also

for Waldo Emerson a loco-

motive. Where he wrote, "Hitch

your wagon to a star,"

"wagon" may have meant "railway car"

(OED

5b),

while "trees and men whiz by

you as fast as the leaves of a dictionary."

Harriet Martineau

wrote of Waldo,

"In coaches or steamboats or

any where else that

he saw people of colour

ill-used, he did what

he could and said what he thought."

Yet Duane

Coltharp calls Emerson's train

"a celebration of capitalist power."

This detail

can be found through

libarts.wsu

.edu

/English/ Archive/Journals/ESQ

/Index.hotmail.

I sat in my auditor's seat listening

to Laurel Thatcher

Ulrich, Cather-

ine Corman, and Jennifer

Roberts holding

forth on background to all this. I did the reading.

("Objects and stories" above is Ulrich's coining.)

Waldo had a

"bias toward the concrete,"

wrote Robert D. Richardson, Jr., in the biography;

in the subject's words, the

"din and craft of the street."

In Liverpool, he "went

to the railroad and saw

Rocket and Goliath and Pluto

and Firefly,

the vulcanian generation,"

he said in Journal Q

(1832).

In this nation,

where whistles soon blew

twice a day for Waltham and for

Boston, the first engine names were Best

Friend, West

Point, and E. L. Miller,

although the cowcatcher patent,

#8996, wasn't until 1852.

As it were a house, a canal, a statue, a picture,

here in America, the railroad creates

"an

American

sentiment,"

Waldo wrote; the solid

enough

ground of Nature

— we can't get out

of it — is stuff:

"He paves the road with iron bars";

but this material, or Commodity,

alone is "mean and squalid";

while "the mind is a steam-shop where power

is generated no matter for what uses."

And, wrote Lee

Rust Brown, "The transparency

can see

through

the object to

a whole of which the thing

is a fragment,"

as Carlyle was shown the railway cars:

rolling stock: flatbeds, passengers, cabooses —

flanged vehicles along

a stream of worker song

all day "for the sugar in my tay"

by the destitute. "These are our poems," Carlyle said.

Indeed by 1849 Waldo

under duress

of writing lecture and essay

himself surmised

he had on the terrain

of Nature become a train:

"I am a literary runner and Lyceum Express."

Caroline Knox

He Paves the Road With Iron Bars

Verse Press

In line 29, the phrase, "objects and stories" is part of the subtitle of Laurel Thatcher Ulrich's book The Age of Homespun (New York, 2001). Sam Knox provided a midrash on Commodity.

His Heart

His heart keeps him awake while he's asleep.

He listens to his heart while he falls asleep in bed.

His artificial heart gives him insomnia.

As long as I can hear the sound, I know I'm here.

His heart keeps him alive while he's asleep.

My heart helps me to sleep while I'm alive.

Oh, patient, this Valentine is for you.

I had no choice, I knew that I was dying.

We are trying to survive. We are standing on the shoulders

of the makers of the heart while we lie on our back in bed.

They walk with their hearts on their sleeves and their noses to the grindstone.

He listens to his heart while he falls asleep at night.

Oh, Valentine, this contraption is for you,

device of the scared, the sacred heart.

It feels heavy to me — it makes a constant whir

which keeps me awake when I'm trying to get to sleep.

It has no heartbeat, only this constant whir.

Several lines are quoted from an interview with Robert Tools, first recipient of the AbioCor artificial heart (Lawrence K. Altman, New York Times, August 22, 2001; A1, A16)

Returning Home Late Sunday Night

Pale bulb. High sun. At Friday noon

The porch lamp seemed a minor waste,

But in the intervening days

A darkness has replaced

My bright backyard. The weed-cracked drive

Advances into nothingness.

It's queer, perhaps too simple, how,

Returning home on Sunday night,

That light burns like a stroke of genius now,

Elucidating moths, a wicker chair,

The gate that bears a jaw of shadowed fangs,

And a spider's needlework in which

The small, shriveled skeletons of flies

Decay. Like props abandoned from a play,

Two unread papers languish in the grass.

Gravel. Latch. Hinge and lock. Each noise

Grows amplified. And suddenly it seems

Not just a weekend but a decade lost.

There is the flavor of frost, a cloud-scrubbed moon,

The rush of something dreadful yet to come,

Not sleet nor snowflake on the mounting wind,

But soon.

Daniel Anderson

The Yale Review

Volume 92, Number 3

July 2004

Trilobite in the Wenlock Shales

When the kingfisher flitted

Under the hazels I entered again into boyhood

Over a hurrying water.

The church clock dropped the quarters nearby

And from a little school

Children hallooed like enchanted animals

But I was watching a water that shipped the wild apples

With all the time in the world

Patient as a fisher bird

In the hazel light to learn to be a finder

Of life, its mark, on a black stone

Opened like a butterfly, a soul that water,

Swaling and swaling, had let be seen.

David Constantine

Poetry London

Number 47

Spriing 2004

Overlay

I was tired of the shouting and the celery,

the ignitions and navels and telephones.

I moved to a country where everything happened abstractly.

I had heard about this place in some translated poems:

a country filled with suffering and death and hope

and politics, and minds to ponder them constantly.

But I was shocked by the new place, which proved to have many actual things:

mating turtles, good cheap bread, homeless four-year-olds walking the streets,

a museum filled with gold objects worth more than all the governments of South America,

and clouds that offered fog four months per year, though never rain.

I learned that the translators were not there,

but back in my own country amid sofas and taxis and loud music

and slaughtered chickens, wishing for the misery and chance

this other country's poets might provide by turning

dusty shoes to sorrow, potatoes to faith,

loud music to notes that would lay over ours —

doubling our worlds or canceling them out.

Stephen Corey

Mid-American Review

Volume XXIV, Number 2

The Moon Speaks of the Imposition of Morals

In the beginning they were pebbles

wedged within thin shoes,

the distraction of flint to hinder

the mind from the radiance

of what men would one day call

the natural world.

At other times they came as gadflies

presiding over the salt

of human effort

and as crickets or crows

or thunder that spoke the great vowels

of the separation of man and god.

Later men began to embrace

the beauty of the whip,

the beauty of the curve

of a naked arm raised against

arced sky, fallen

slap of leather and the roselike

scent emanating each dusk

from the pale, blistered skins

and rotten backs of saints.

But in the end it was language

that mastered the soul.

The establishment of words

as truth, as tenable fact,

heard first within the soft pall of mid-night,

susurrations of a flinching heart.

Hailey Leithauser

Antioch Review

Volume 62, Number 3

Summer 2004

The Winter Visitor

There's something living underneath our floor.

We aren't sure what it is, or if it wants

to scratch its way up to where we are.

We drown it out sometimes. Sometimes we can't.

But nights, up from the floorboards, in the dark

it starts again, the rough, irregular

thump and rasp — the creature hard at work

in some crevice, god knows, of the old house.

In some dark place the mind is loathe to venture,

it comes and goes without any permit.

And that its force cannot consider us,

is wholly ignorant of who we are,

seems monstrous in its total independence.

It is not trapped: It cannot be let out.

Tess Taylor

2003 Morton Marr Poetry Prize

Southwest Review

Volume 89, Number 1

This

"Keep this," my father writes. "It's the last card

you'll get from me." I have a collection –

from Christmas, Easter, my summer birthday.

He empties his house, gives furniture to

strangers. "Take this," he says, offering me

frozen food that must keep two hundred miles.

He stuffs suits in my car, fills the front seat

with shoes. "Wear this," he says, meaning old ties

and a sweatshirt abandoned years ago.

He's proud to show two bare rooms, a garage

without tools. The newspaper passes in

the carrier's sack; magazines expire.

Behind us, the sun slides to memory.

The shadows we cast slip into our shoes.

"I'm ready for this," he says, but doesn't

follow me to the driveway. As if he

means me to see how everything will look

without him, he's vanished when I reach my car.

Gary Fincke

Prairie Schooner

Volume 78, Number 2

Summer 2004

The Eulogy

Roughly the size of a grain of rice,

the scar is barely visible now. Touching it

brings back my mother's mouth saying

nothing before I left that evening

and my sister's saying "lemon juice"

when I returned. She was up,

not waiting, watching TV.

I sliced a lemon and rubbed its juice

into the ink stamped on my hand at the first

of a string of bars. Fifteen years gone, I'd been

more guest than family tagging along with cousins —

my first time ever bar-hopping in Honolulu.

Unwilling to offend with my "good English,"

I'd mostly listened, nodded and sipped as they drank,

and we made small talk and made our money talk,

one-upping each other by flashing bills

for the next round. At the Korean bar,

when conversation flagged, we sang karaoke.

Half of me wishes I'd gotten wasted with them.

And the part of me struggling to stay awake wonders

what made me say yes in the first place.

At the kitchen sink, I'd traded lemon juice first for soap,

then for soap and the light scraping of my thumbnail,

then thumbnail and running water, then soap

and a nylon scouring pad. Afterwards,

with my sister, I sat in the dark till the movie ended.

The next morning I dressed for the funeral, where

because not one among the 500 gathered could speak

as a friend, on behalf of the family, my mother

had asked me to speak. And simply because I could

I spoke of my grandmother's life and read a few poems.

The spot I'd rubbed raw glistened and stung

like flesh under a freshly broken blister.

Debra Kang Dean

Precipitates

BOA Editions, Ltd.

Living Cloisters

They raise themselves around us,

sudden shelters

within the larger outpour,

courtyards sprung

from currents of a brighter

force, palmful

of another's hand, voice

rung down the spine,

stringing archways

within a space that shapes

nothing but its own dimensions,

a rhythm without song,

a corrugated darkness

hewn to colonnades and bells

by our names, meals,

momentary vows, sanctums

opening around a fountain,

its waters illuminated

like figurated calligraphy

in a root, arterial language.

Megan Harlan

Beloit Poetry Journal

Volume 54, Number 4

Summer 2004

Y'all ready?

Can't hear you!

(ooh) What you want

(ooh) Baby, I got

(ooh) What you need

(ooh) Do you know I got it?

(ooh) All I'm asking for

(ooh) Is respect

(Just a little bit)

Hey

(Just a little bit)

Respect

(Just a little bit)

(Just a little bit)

(ooh) I ain't gonna do you wrong

(ooh) While you're gone

(ooh) I ain't gonna do you wrong

(ooh) 'Cause I don't wanna

(ooh) All I'm asking for

(ooh) Is respect

(Just a little bit)

Baby

(Just a little bit)

Respect

(Just a little bit)

(Just a little bit)

(ooh) I'm about to give you

(ooh) All my money

(ooh) But all I'm asking

(ooh) In return, honey

(ooh) Is to give me

(ooh) My propers

When you get home

(re re re re re re re 'spect)

Baby

When you get home

(Just a little bit)

Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah

(Just a little bit)

instrumental

(ooh) Ooh, your kisses

(ooh) Sweeter than honey

(ooh) But guess what

(ooh) So is my money

(ooh) All I want you to do (ooh) for me

Is give it to me when you get home

Yeah

(re re re re re re re 'spect)

When you get home

When you get home

(Just a little bit)

Yeah Eh

(Just a little bit)

I said R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Find out what it means to me

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Take care, TCB

Oh

(sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me)

Respect

(sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me)

I said: Show me

(just a little bit)

A little respect

(just a little bit)

I ain't lyin'

(re re re re re re re 'spect)

I ain't cryin'

(just a little bit)

You're runnin' out of foolin'

(just a little bit)

And I ain't lyin'

(just a little bit)

Oh

(sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me respect)

When you come home

(just a little bit)

Or you might walk in

(respect, just a little bit)

And find out I'm gone

(re re re re re re re 'spect)

I got to have

(just a little bit)

A little respect

(just a little bit)

I got to have

(just a little bit)

A little respect

(just a little bit)

It's your turn

(Just a little bit)

I said R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Your turn here we go with me

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Alright now come on party

Sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me,

Sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me, respect

Just a little bit

Just a little bit

re, re, re, re, re, re, re, 'spect

Just a little bit

Just a little bit

Sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me,

Sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me, respect

Just a little bit

Just a little bit

re, re, re, re, re, re, re,re 'spect

Just a little bit

Just a little bit

RESPECT

Come on girls

All my life I've been waiting

For you to bring a fairy tale my way

Been living in a fantasy without meaning

It's not okay I don't feel safe

Left broken empty in despair

Wanna breath can't find air

Thought you were sent from up above

But you and me never had love

So much more I have to say

Help me find a way

And I wonder if you know

How it really feels

To be left outside alone

When it's cold out here

Well maybe you should know

Just how it feels

To be left outside alone

To be left outside alone

All my life I've been waiting

For you to bring a fairytale my way

Been living in a fantasy without meaning

It's not okay I don't feel safe

I need to pray

Why do you play me like a game?

Always someone else to blame

Careless, helpless little man

Someday you might understand

There's not much more to say

But I hope you find a way

Still I wonder if you know

How it really feels

To be left outside alone

When it's cold out here

Well maybe you should know

Just how it feels

To be left outside alone

To be left outside alone

I'll tell you

All my life I've been waiting

For you to bring a fairytale my way

Been living in a fantasy without meaning

It's not okay I don't feel safe

I need to pray

And I wonder if you know

How it really feels

To be left outside alone

When it's cold out here

Well maybe you should know

Just how it feels

To be left outside alone

To be left outside alone

All my life I've been waiting

For you to bring a fairytale my way

Been living in a fantasy without meaning

It's not okay I don't feel safe

I need to pray

WHEN YOU KISS ME

Written by Twain/Lange

This could be it, I think I'm in love

It's love this time

It just seems to fit, I think I'm in love

This love is mine

I can see you with me when I'm older

All my lonely night are finally over

You took the weight of the world off my

shoulders (the world just goes away)

Chorus: Oh, when you kiss me

I know you miss me --

and when you're with me

The world just goes away

The way you hold me

The way you show me that you

adore me -- oh, when you kiss me

Oh, yeah

You are the one, I think I'm in love

Life has begun

I can see the two of us together

I know I'm gonna be with you forever

Love couldn't be any better

Repeat Chorus

[instrumental Solo]

I can see you with me when I'm older

All my lonely nights are finally over

You took the weight of the world off my

shoulders (the world just goes away)

Repeat Chorus

And when you kiss me

I know you miss me

Oh, the world just goes away

When you kiss me

: :

"Thank You Baby! (For Makin' Someday Come So Soon)"

Written by Twain/Lange

Oh, Thank You baby for

lovin' me like you do

I didn't like datin' --

and trying to find someone

I gave up waitin' -- for love to come along

There had to be someway --

I knew I'd find it someday

Chorus:

Yeah, Thank You baby!

For makin' someday come so soon

Yeah, Thank You baby!

For lovin' me the way you do

So many numbers -- so many guys to call

Is it any wonder -- I got nowhere at all

Oh, well it had to be someway (it had to be

someway) I knew I'd find it someday

Repeat Chorus

Thank You baby (check it out)

Instrumental Solo

Oh, Uh, uh, uh, yeah

There had to be someway

-- I knew I'd find it someday

Repeat Chorus

(Thank You baby) Thank You baby!

(Thank You baby) For lovin'

me the way, me the way you do

Baby someway, someday, somewhere

Yeah, yeah

Oh, Thank You baby! For lovin'

me like you do

Oh, Thank You baby

:blink:

KA-CHING!

Written by Twain/Lange

We live in a greedy little world --

that teaches every little boy and girl

To earn as much as they can possibly --

then turn around and

Spend it foolishly

We've created us a credit card mess

We spend the money that we don't possess

Our religion is to go and blow it all

So it's shoppin' every Sunday at the mall

All we ever want is more

A lot more than we had before

So take me to the nearest store

Chorus:

Can you hear it ring

It makes you wanna sing

It's such a beautiful thing -- Ka-ching!

Lots of diamond rings

The happiness it brings

You'll live like a king

With lots of money and things

When you're broke go and get a loan

Take out another mortgage on your home

Consolidate so you can afford

To go and spend some more when

you get bored

All we ever want is more

A lot more than we had before

So take me to the nearest store

Repeat Chorus

Let's swing

Dig deeper in your pocket

Oh, yeah, ha

Come on I know you've got it

Dig deeper in your wallet

Oh

All we ever want is more

A lot more than we had before

So take me to the nearest store

Repeat Chorus

Can you hear it ring

It makes you wanna sing

You'll live like a king

With lots of money and things

Ka-ching!

IT ONLY HURTS WHEN I'M BREATHING

Written by Twain/Lange

Hope life's been good to you

since you've been gone

I'm doin' fine now -- I've finally moved on

It's not so bad -- I'm not that sad

I'm not surprised just how well I survived

I'm over the worst, and I feel so alive

I can't complain -- I'm free again

Chorus:

And it only hurts when I'm breathing

My heart only breaks when it's beating

My dreams only die when I'm dreaming

So, I hold my breath -- to forget

Don't think I'm lyin' 'round cryin' at night

There's no need to worry, I'm really all right

I've never looked back -- as a matter of fact

Repeat Chorus

It only hurts when I breathe

Mmm, no, I've never looked back --

as a matter fact

Repeat Chorus

Hurts when I'm breathing

Breaks when it's beating

Die when I'm dreaming

It only hurts when I breathe

EX