Hey you, out there in the cold Getting lonely, getting old Can you feel me? Hey you, standing in the aisles With itchy feet and fading smiles Can you feel me? Hey you, dont help them to bury the light Don't give in without a fight.
But it was only fantasy. The wall was too high, As you can see. No matter how he tried, He could not break free. And the worms ate into his brain.
Hey you, standing in the road always doing what you're told, Can you help me? Hey you, out there beyond the wall, Breaking bottles in the hall, Can you help me? Hey you, don't tell me there's no hope at all Together we stand, divided we fall.
All of these pictures were taken with my Canon between 1st - 5th Sept 2015 in
POTOS THASSOS - GREECE
I didn't take a photograph of the statue of Robert Burns. His sightless eyes were looking out over Dunedin, the most Scottish town in the southern hemisphere, and there was a seagull, not a pigeon, standing on his head. I would have called it 'Robbie Burns and Friend.'
And I didn't take a picture of the bus shelter painted all over with jungle foliage and a tiger peeping out over the simulated signature of Henri Rousseau. The title would have been 'This Bus Shelter is a Forgery.'
Neither did I photograph another painted wall, one round a cemetery full of ornate and sombre tombs, with a large and skilfully executed advertisement - Renta Sanitarios Mobiles (Hire Mobile Toilets) . It would have been called 'Is there no Respect for the Dead? '
I didn't take the photo of a Fijian policeman. A pity, for he had such a practical uniform, very smart and cool, in a tasteful shade of policeman-blue, based on the traditional sulu with a striking zigzag hem. The title would have been 'A Policeman in a Skirt? ! '
I couldn't take a photograph of sunset over Popocatépetl - although the sun was setting in a red and golden haze, and the most romantically named mountain is just what you imagine a perfect volcano should be, even to the wisp of steam at the peak – because the sun was actually setting over Ixtaccíhuatl and 'Sunset over Ixtaccíhuatl' doesn't have quite the right ring The shape of the mountain is not very picturesque either. Yes, I would have called that one 'Sunset over Popocatépetl' – if I could have taken it.
My camera wouldn't focus on the crescent moon hanging over the Egyptian skyline, horns pointing up, so close to the Equator, and the evening star (Venus or some more ancient goddess) just above and almost between the points. If that one had worked it would have been called 'Islamic Moon.'
I couldn't possibly have taken a photograph that would do any justice to the young piano student in a Hungarian castle hammering out Liszt as if the hounds of hell were after her, but if I could, I would have had to call it 'Apassionata.'
And I didn't even have time to get my camera out to take a picture of the wild humming bird darting green and unconcerned among dilapidated tenements in the heart of Mexico City. But that living jewel shines bright in my memory, even without a photo. I don't know what I would have called that one, and I'm sure it doesn't matter.
You said ya lights, ya left me blind
But I could never turn away
Rather ya black, rather ya white
You always left me in the green
And my shadow's groom
But I never know
Now I'm chasing blue
Are you changing you
You bring the rain, you bring the night
I never get the time of day
I wanna cry, you wanna fight
All this loving goes in vain
Wish you wore my shoes
Cause I torn them through
But what would that prove
I'm so confused
I'm not feeling too well, cause I just can't tell
If I'm entering the gates of, heaven or hell
And I'm trust you, cause I just can't tell
I know you so well
Remember when we fell, remember when we fell
I'm attracted to the ocean, just because I feel it
Can I walk upon the water
If I'm attracted to the ocean, just because I feel it
Can I walk upon the water
And I'm drowning in emotion
You quickly suffocating, wished I was a little taller
If I'm attracted to the ocean, just because I feel it
Can I walk upon the water
You said ya lights, ya left me blind
But I could never turn away
Rather ya black, rather ya white
You always left me in the green
And ya shadow's groom
But I never know
Now I'm chasing blue
Are you changing you
You bring the rain, you bring the night
I never get the time of day
I wanna cry, you wanna fight
All this loving goes in vain
Wish you wore my shoes
Cause I've torn them through
Wish you wore my shoes
Cause I've torn them through
I'm not feeling too well, cause I just can't tell
If I'm entering the gates of heaven or hell
Can I trust you, cause I just can't tell
I know you so well
Remember when we fell, remember when we fell
I'm attracted to the ocean, just because I feel it
Can I walk upon the water
If I'm attracted to the ocean, just because I feel it
Can I walk upon the water
And now I'm drowning in emotion
You quickly suffocating, wished I was a little taller
If I'm attracted to the ocean, but just because I feel it
Can I walk upon the water
It's a storm a brewing, on my horizon
No matter what I'm choosing, baby I ain't deciding
So we shine, so we shine
A cat told me catch a knife. I'll trade ya promise for my life
I'm attracted to the ocean
But just because I feel it, I cant walk upon the water
If I'm attracted to the ocean
But just because I feel it, I can't upon the water
And now I'm drowning in emotion
You quickly suffocating, wish I was a little taller
If I'm attracted to the ocean
But just because I feel it, I cant walk upon the water
I can't walk upon the water, no
I'm attracted to the ocean
But I slipped right through, I slipped right through
I drown for you
Baby I slipped right through, I slipped right through
I drown for you
Richard David Bach was born June 23, 1936, Oak Park, Illinois. He is an American writer. He is widely known as the author of the hugely popular 1970s best-sellers Jonathan Livingston Seagull, Illusions, The Adventures Of A Reluctant Messiah and others
His books espouse his philosophy that our apparent physical limits and mortality are merely appearance. He claims to be a direct descendant of Johann Sebastian Bach. He is noted for his love of flying and for his books related to air flight and flying in a metaphorical context. He has pursued flying as a hobby since the age of 17.
The story is about Jonathan Livingston Seagull , an ordinary seagull who is more interested to know about flying then just eating fish.
Jonathan Livingston Seagull is a 1973 American film directed by Hall Bartlett, adapted from the novella by Richard Bach. The film, which has no human actors on screen, tells the story of a young seabird who, after being outcast by his stern flock, goes on an odyssey to discover how to break the limits of his own flying speed.
Once you start reading you understand that the story can be , or is, related to human beings. We mostly live for the sake of living and do not seek the purpose of life and do not travels beyond ordinary and remains ordinary.
I am sure many of you have read this but please read if you haven’t, and re-read if you have already.
the movie Jonathan Livingston Seagull / 1973 /full:
