Wednesday, November 10, 2010

KBYD November 10, 2010


Auto-Destruct - Jaguar Jones
Tart Tart - Happy Mondays
This Time Of Night - New Order
L.A. Hayfever - The Black Knights
Frustration - The Whip
Astray - I Am Kloot
P.S. - James
Little Bob - Black Grape
Fools Follow Rules - Death To The Strange
Set My Baby Free - Ian Brown
Purple Aki - Suzuki/Method
It's Not What You Know - New Fast Automatic Daffodils
The Fox - A Certain Ratio
Moving Away From The Pulsebeat - The Buzzcocks

Mostly Mancunian and Salfordian sonic sublimity

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So We'll Go No More A-Roving

So, we'll go no more a roving
   So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
   And the moon be still as bright.

For the sword outwears its sheath,
   And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
   And love itself have rest.

Though the night was made for loving,
   And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a roving
   By the light of the moon.

 The Mower to the Glow-Worms
by Andrew Marvell
Ye living lamps, by whose dear light
The nightingale does sit so late,
And, studying all the summer-night,
Her matchless songs does mediate;

Ye country comets, that portend
No war, nor prince's funeral,
Shining unto no higher end
Than to presage the grasses fall;

Ye glow-worms, whose officious flame
To wandering mowers shows the way,
That in the night have lost their aim,
And after foolish fires do stray;

Your courteous lights in vain you waste,
Since Juliana here is come,
For she my mind hath so displaced
That I shall never find my home.

Sonnet 146
William Shakespeare

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
My sinful earth these rebel powers array,
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? Is this the body's end?
Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more:

So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men,
And death once dead, there's no more dying then.

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