: Women wear a calming air of grace Stones scrawled with countless birth dates Those moments nothing could replace Not time nor change Small birds perched
: (The Sun find Margery alone, but in a strange house.) Stranded in his bedroom The only sound a constant beat As her heart keeps time With the melody
: (The two young lovers arrive at Clive's modest home.) Just in the door I see you shake to shed the cold I take your hand to calm you down And take
: (Margery and Clive happen upon the same tavern. Sitting on adjacent stools, consumed by their thoughts, they have yet to notice each other.) Take
: (Across town, Clive and William's mother, Sophie, sits staring out a window in an all but empty apartment) You're locked up in your house Your pictures
: (Owen lays sprawled across a bed, awaiting Margery's return. The position is familiar, but on this particular night the sound of her soft footsteps
: (In a distant city, far across the sea, William is in the thick of battle. Separated from his unit, he has taken refuge in a bombed out building. He
: (In the soft light of a new day, Clive walks slowly in the direction of the neighborhood he knew as a child.) Mother How have you been getting by
: (William and his younger brother Clive walk together down a dark city street. William wears the standardized dress of the military. He has been called
rhythm as she's stamping those delicate feet. Sounding loud on the hard wooden planks, sending aches through her knees. ANd the strings sound with a band
: Women wearing dresses in the rain Stones line these narrow walkways And black cars still waiting at the gates Peacefully displayed Flowers perched
you?ll be packing the stands Find a few good buddies, start a band No need to study, start a band Call up some buddies man, start a band
Here come the sidewalk boss again telling me how i can't cave in that i'm a study in black need a pat on the back i looked up and smile a picture of dissatisfaction
FZ: The story of the . . . the music of the Mothers is the story of, uh . . . a combination of what I knew about music from . . . from my studies plus
do that to me, I'll fix you. Art: Go ahead. Motorhead: I'll get into your band. I'll get into your band. Bunk: Okay Motorhead, just get out of the way
make you scream papa the fat shit, the bad team u need / Baby don?t be worried about the way we proceed Maybe young in the factory but I study / For
his corset, Jane is her vest And me, I'm in a rock'n'roll band Ridin'a Stutz Bearcat, Jim You know, those were different times Oh, all the poets, they studied
Remember the girl Abused with forks ,knoves and razorblades She finally left him, she had enogh of her man's rage Band-aids cover her scars, she left