RedWolf23

Male
from Harriman, TN

  • Activity

    • For Michael Collins, Jeffrey, and Me

      12 years ago

      RedWolf23

      For Michael Collins, Jeffrey And Me

      Watery eyes of the last sighing seconds,
      blue reflections mute and dim
      beckon tearful child of wonder
      to repentance of the sin.
      And the blind and lusty lovers
      of the great eternal lie
      go on believing nothing
      since something has to die.
      And the ape's curiosity --
      money power wins,
      and the yellow soft mountains move under him.

      I'm with you L.E.M.
      though it's a shame that it had to be you.
      The mother ship is just a blip
      from your trip made for two.
      I'm with you boys, so please employ just a little extra care.
      It's on my mind I'm left behind
      when I should have been there.
      Walking with you.

      And the limp face hungry viewers
      fight to fasten with their eyes
      like the man hung from the trapeze --
      whose fall will satisfy.
      And congratulate each other
      on their rare and wondrous deed
      That their begrudged money bought
      to sow the monkey's seed.
      And the yellow soft mountains
      they grow very still
      witness as intrusion the humanoid thrill.

    • Nights In White Satin by The Moody Blues

      12 years ago

      RedWolf23

      Nights in white satin,
      Never reaching the end,
      Letters Ive written,
      Never meaning to send.

      Beauty Id always missed
      With these eyes before,
      Just what the truth is
      I cant say anymore.

      cause I love you,
      Yes, I love you,
      Oh, how, I love you.

      Gazing at people,
      Some hand in hand,
      Just what Im going thru
      They can understand.

      Some try to tell me
      Thoughts they cannot defend,
      Just what you want to be
      You will be in the end,

      And I love you,
      Yes, I love you,
      Oh, how, I love you.
      Oh, how, I love you.

      Nights in white satin,
      Never reaching the end,
      Letters Ive written,
      Never meaning to send.

      Beauty Id always missed
      With these eyes before,
      Just what the truth is
      I cant say anymore.

      cause I love you,
      Yes, I love you,
      Oh, how, I love you.
      Oh, how, I love you.

      cause I love you,
      Yes, I love you,
      Oh, how, I love you.
      Oh, how, I love you.

    • Baker Street Muse by Jethro Tull

      13 years ago

      RedWolf23

      Baker Street Muse

      Baker Street Muse

      Windy bus-stop. Click. Shop-window. Heel.
      Shady gentleman. Fly-button. Feel.
      In the underpass, the blind man stands.
      With cold flute hands.
      Symphony match-seller, breath out of time.
      You can call me on another line.
      Indian restaurants that curry my brain.
      Newspaper warriors changing the names they advertise from the station stand.
      With cold print hands.
      Symphony word-player, I'll be your headline.
      If you catch me another time.

      Didn't make her
      with my Baker Street Ruse.
      Couldn't shake her
      with my Baker Street Bruise.
      Like to take her
      but I'm just a Baker Street Muse.

      Ale-spew, puddle-brew
      boys, throw it up clean.
      Coke and Bacardi colours them green.
      From the typing pool goes the mini-skirted princess with great finesse.
      Fertile earth-mother, your burial mound is fifty feet down in the Baker Street underground. (What the hell!)
      Walking down the gutter thinking,
      ``How the hell am I today?''
      Well, I didn't really ask you but thanks all the same.

      Pig-Me And The Whore

      ``Big bottled Fraulein, put your weight on me,'' said the pig-me to the whore,
      desperate for more in his assault upon the mountain.
      Little man, his youth a fountain.
      Overdrafted and still counting.
      Vernacular, verbose; an attempt at getting close to where he came from.
      In the doorway of the stars, between Blandford Street and Mars;
      Proposition, deal. Flying button feel. Testicle testing.
      Wallet ever-bulging. Dressed to the left, divulging the wrinkles of his years.
      Wedding-bell induced fears.
      Shedding bell-end tears in the pocket of her resistance.
      International assistance flowing generous and full to his never-ready tool.
      Pulls his eyes over her wool.
      And he shudders as he comes.
      And my rudder slowly turns me into the Marylebone Road.

      Crash-Barrier Waltzer

      And here slip I
      dragging one foot in the gutter
      in the midnight echo of the shop that sells cheap radios.
      And there sits she
      no bed, no bread, no butter
      on a double yellow line
      where she can park anytime.
      Old Lady Grey; crash-barrier waltzer
      some only son's mother. Baker Street casualty.
      Oh, Mr. Policeman
      blue shirt ballet master.
      Feet in sticking plaster
      move the old lady on.
      Strange pas-de-deux
      his Romeo to her Juliet.
      Her sleeping draught, his poisoned regret.
      No drunken bums allowed to sleep here in the crowded emptiness.
      Oh officer, let me send her to a cheap hotel
      I'll pay the bill and make her well - like hell you bloody will!
      No do-good over kill. We must teach them to be still more independent.

      Mother England Reverie

      I have no time for Time Magazine or Rolling Stone.
      I have no wish for wishing wells or wishing bones.
      I have no house in the country I have no motor car.
      And if you think I'm joking, then I'm just a one-line joker in a public bar.
      And it seems there's no-body left for tennis; and I'm a one-band-man.
      And I want no Top Twenty funeral or a hundred grand.
      There was a little boy stood on a burning log,
      rubbing his hands with glee. He said, ``Oh Mother England,
      did you light my smile; or did you light this fire under me?
      One day I'll be a minstrel in the gallery.
      And paint you a picture of the queen.
      And if sometimes I sing to a cynical degree
      it's just the nonsense that it seems.''

      So I drift down through the Baker Street valley,
      in my steep-sided un-reality.
      And when all is said and all is done
      I couldn't wish for a better one.
      It's a real-life ripe dead certainty
      that I'm just a Baker Street Muse.

      Talking to the gutter-stinking, winking in the same old way.
      I tried to catch my eye but I looked the other way.

      Indian restaurants that curry my brain
      newspaper warriors changing the names they advertise from the station stand.
      Circumcised with cold print hands.

      Windy bus-stop. Click. Shop-window. Heel.
      Shady gentleman. Fly-button. Feel.
      In the underpass, the blind man stands.
      With cold flute hands.
      Symphony match-seller, breath out of time
      you can call me on another line.

      Didn't make her
      with my Baker Street Ruse.
      Couldn't shake her
      with my Baker Street Bruise.
      Like to take her
      but I'm just a Baker Street Muse.

      (I can't get out!)

    • A little note

      13 years ago

      RedWolf23

      I am listening to Humble Pie: Rockin The Fillmore Performance. It is really good so I would like to recommend it to anyone who looks at my journal. At least download a few of the songs.

    • A Passion Play Part 2

      13 years ago

      RedWolf23

      Jethro Tull - A Passion Play (Part 2) Lyrics
      [The Story Of The Hare Who Lost His Spectacles]

      This is the story of the hare who lost his spectacles.

      Owl loved to rest quietly whilst no one was watching. Sitting on
      a fence one day,
      he was surprised when suddenly a kangaroo ran close by. Now
      this may not
      seem strange, but when Owl overheard Kangaroo whisper to no one
      in
      particular, "The hare has lost his spectacles," well, he began
      to wonder.
      Presently, the moon appeared from behind a cloud and there,
      lying on the grass
      was hare. In the stream that flowed by the grass a newt. And
      sitting astride a
      twig of a bush a bee. Ostensibly motionless, the hare was
      trembling with
      excitement, for without his spectacles he was completely
      helpless. Where were
      his spectacles? Could someone have stolen them? Had he mislaid
      them? What
      was he to do? Bee wanted to help, and thinking he had the answer
      began:
      "You probably ate them thinking they were a carrot." "No!"
      interrupted Owl,
      who was wise. "I have good eye-sight, insight, and foresight.
      How could an
      intelligent hare make such a silly mistake?" But all this time,
      Owl had been
      sitting on the fence, scowling! Kangaroo were hopping mad at
      this sort of talk.
      She thought herself far superior in intelligence to the others.
      She was their leader,
      their guru. She had the answer: "Hare, you must go in search of
      the optician."
      But then she realized that Hare was completely helpless without
      his spectacles.
      And so, Kangaroo loudly proclaimed, "I can't send Hare in search
      of anything!"
      "You can guru, you can!" shouted Newt. "You can send him with
      Owl." But Owl
      had gone to sleep. Newt knew too much to be stopped by so small
      a problem
      "You can take him in your pouch." But alas, Hare was much too
      big to fit into
      Kangaroo's pouch. All this time, it had been quite plain to hare
      that the others
      knew nothing about spectacles.
      [Sung:] As for all their tempting ideas, well Hare didn't
      care. The lost spectacles were
      his own affair. And after all, Hare did have a spare a-pair.
      A-pair.

      We sleep by the ever-bright hole in the door,
      eat in the corner, talk to the floor,
      cheating the spiders who come to say "Please",
      (politely). They bend at the knees.
      Well, I'll go to the foot of our stairs.
      Old gentlemen talk of when they were young
      of ladies lost and erring sons.
      Lace-covered dandies revel (with friends)
      pure as the truth, tied at both ends.
      Well I'll go to the foot of our stairs.
      Scented cathedral spire pointed down.
      We pray for souls in Kentish Town.
      A delicate hush the gods, floating by
      wishing us well, pie in the sky.
      God of ages, Lord of Time, mine is the right to be wrong.
      Well I'll go to the foot of our stairs.
      Jack rabbit mister spawn a new breed
      of love-hungry pilgrims (no bodies to feed).
      Show me a good man and I'll show you the door.
      The last hymn is sung and the devil cries "More."

      Well, I'm all for leaving and that being done,
      I've put in a request to take up my turn
      in that forsaken paradise that calls itself "Hell"
      where no-one has nothing and nothing is well meaning fool,
      pick up thy bed and rise up from your gloom smiling.
      Give me your hate and do as the loving heathen do.

      Colours I've none, dark or light, red, white or blue.
      Cold is my touch (freezing).

      Summoned by name - I am the overseer over you.
      Given this command to watch o'er our miserable sphere.
      Fallen from grace, called on to bring sun or rain.
      Occasional corn from my oversight grew.
      Fell with mine angels from a far better place,
      offering services for the saving of face.
      Now you're here, you may as well admire
      all whom living has retired from the benign reconciliation.
      Legends were born surrounding mysterious lights
      seen in the sky (flashing).
      I just lit a fag then took my leave in the blink of an eye.
      Passionate play join round the maypole in dance
      (primitive rite) (wrongly).
      Summoned by name I am the overseer over you.

      Flee the icy Lucifer. Oh he's an awful fellow!
      What a mistake! I didn't take a feather from his pillow.
      Here's the everlasting rub... neither am I good or bad.
      I'd give up my halo for a horn and the horn for the hat I once
      had.
      I'm only breathing. There's life on my ceiling.
      The flies there are sleeping quietly.
      Twist my right arm in the dark.
      I would give two or three for
      one of those days that never made
      impressions on the old score.
      I would gladly be a dog barking up the wrong tree.
      Everyone's saved we're in the grave.
      See you there for afternoon tea.
      Time for awaking the tea lady's making
      a brew-up and baking new bread.
      Pick me up at half past none
      there's not a moment to lose.
      There is the train on which I came.
      On the platform are my old shoes.
      Station master rings his bell.
      Whistles blow and flags wave.
      A little of what you fancy does you good (Or so it should).
      I thank everybody
      for making me welcome.
      I'd stay but my wings have just dropped off.

      Hail! Son of kings make the ever-dying sign
      cross your fingers in the sky for those about to BE.
      There am I waiting along the sand.
      Cast your sweet spell upon the land and sea.
      Magus Perde, take your hand from off the chain.
      Loose a wish to still, the rain, the storm about to BE.
      Here am I (voyager into life).
      Tough are the soles that tread the knife's edge.
      Break the circle,stretch the line, call upon the devil.
      Bring the gods, the gods' own fire
      In the conflict revel.
      The passengers upon the ferry crossing, waiting to be born,
      renew the pledge of life's long song rise to the reveille horn.
      Animals queueing at the gate that stands upon the shore
      breathe the ever-burning fire that guards the ever-door.

      Man - son of man - buy the flame of ever-life
      (yours to breathe and breath the pain of living)... living BE!
      Here am I! Roll the stone away
      from the dark into ever-day.

    • Some stuff about me

      13 years ago

      RedWolf23

      I never put anything on here about me but today I will. I am about 6 feet 3 inches. I have long black hair and really dark brown eyes nearly black. I am white. I play Saxophone and like doing math in my head. I don't like to talk because I figure you can learn more from listening. Music is extremely important to me. I like Harley Davidsons. One of my best friends has an account on here he is chickenhwk if you are wondering. Jethro Tull is my favorite band. Neil Young is my favorite solo artist. My favorite movie is The Shawshank Redemption. My favorite game is KotOR. My favorite TV show is That 70's Show. My favorite book is The Hobbit. I don't like rap.

    • The Minstrel In The Gallery

      13 years ago

      RedWolf23

      Minstrel In The Gallery

      The minstrel in the gallery
      looked down upon the smiling faces.
      He met the gazes observed the spaces
      between the old men's cackle.
      He brewed a song of love and hatred,
      oblique suggestions and he waited.
      He polarized the pumpkin-eaters,
      static-humming panel-beaters,
      freshly day-glow'd factory cheaters
      (salaried and collar-scrubbing.)
      He titillated men-of-action
      belly warming, hands still rubbing
      on the parts they never mention.
      He pacified the nappy-suffering, infant-bleating,
      one-line jokers, TV documentary makers
      (overfed and undertakers.)
      Sunday paper backgammon players
      family-scarred and women-haters.
      Then he called the band down to the stage
      and he looked at all the friends he'd made.

      The minstrel in the gallery
      looked down upon the smiling faces.
      He met the gazes observed the spaces
      in between the old men's cackle.

      He brewed a song of love and hatred,
      oblique suggestions and he waited.
      He polarized the pumpkin-eaters,
      static-humming panel-beaters,

      The minstrel in the gallery
      looked down on the rabbit-run.
      And threw away his looking-glass -
      saw his face in everyone.

      He titillated men-of-action
      belly warming, hands still rubbing
      on the parts they never mention.
      (salaried and collar-scrubbing.)

      He pacified the nappy-suffering, infant-bleating,
      one-line jokers, TV documentary makers
      (overfed and undertakers.)

      Sunday paper backgammon players
      family-scarred and women-haters.
      Then he called the band down to the stage
      and he looked at all the friends he'd made.

      The minstrel in the gallery
      looked down on the rabbit-run.
      And threw away his looking-glass -
      and saw his face in everyone.

      The minstrel in the gallery
      looked down upon the smiling faces.
      He met the gazes...
      The minstrel in the gallery

      Too Old to Rock 'n' Roll: Too Young to Die

      The old Rocker wore his hair too long,
      wore his trouser cuffs too tight.
      Unfashionable to the end --- drank his ale too light.
      Death's head belt buckle --- yesterday's dreams ---
      the transport caf' prophet of doom.
      Ringing no change in his double-sewn seams
      in his post-war-babe gloom.

      Now he's too old to Rock'n'Roll but he's too young to die.

      He once owned a Harley Davidson and a Triumph Bonneville.
      Counted his friends in burned-out spark plugs
      and prays that he always will.
      But he's the last of the blue blood greaser boys
      all of his mates are doing time:
      married with three kids up by the ring road
      sold their souls straight down the line.
      And some of them own little sports cars
      and meet at the tennis club do's.
      For drinks on a Sunday --- work on Monday.
      They've thrown away their blue suede shoes.

      Now they're too old to Rock'n'Roll and they're too young to die.

      So the old Rocker gets out his bike
      to make a ton before he takes his leave.
      Up on the A1 by Scotch Corner
      just like it used to be.
      And as he flies --- tears in his eyes ---
      his wind-whipped words echo the final take
      and he hits the trunk road doing around 120
      with no room left to brake.

      And he was too old to Rock'n'Roll but he was too young to die.
      No, you're never too old to Rock'n'Roll if you're too young to die.

    • They will never teach us in school

      13 years ago

      RedWolf23

      When Martin Luther King Jr. gave his "I Had a Dream" speech there was a big crowd turn out.
      Something schools will never teach us is that the crowd turn out was really for the man that came after him. It was a young man by the name of Bob Dylan. Go tell your history teachers.

      Bob Dylan really played after the speech it has it on the Bob Dylan DVD No Direction Home. Now I am not sure if that is why everyone went or not, but if I were alive then that would have been why I would have gone.

    • White Rabbit: Jefferson Airplane

      13 years ago

      RedWolf23

      One pill makes you larger
      And one pill makes you small
      And the ones that mother gives you
      Don't do anything at all
      Go ask Alice
      When she's ten feet tall

      And if you go chasing rabbits
      And you know you're going to fall
      Tell'em a hookah smoking caterpillar
      Has given you the call
      Call Alice
      When she was just small

      When men on the chessboard
      get up and tell you where to go
      And you've just had some kind of mushroom
      And your mind is moving slow
      Go ask Alice
      I think she'll know

      When logic and proportion
      Have fallen sloppy dead
      And the White Knight is talking backwards
      And the Red Queen's off with her head
      Remember what the doormouse said:
      "Feed your Head
      Feed your Head!"

    • My God- Jethro Tull

      13 years ago

      RedWolf23


      My God

      People what have you done:
      locked Him in His golden cage.
      Made Him bend to your religion
      Him resurrected from the grave
      from the grave.
      He is the god of nothing
      if that's all that you can see.
      You are the god of everything
      He's inside you and me.

      So lean upon Him gently
      and don't call on Him to save you
      from your social graces
      and the sins you used to waive.
      The bloody Church of England
      in chains of history
      requests your earthly presence at
      the vicarage for tea.

      And the graven image you-know-who
      with His plastic crucifix
      he's got him fixed
      confuses me as to who and where and why
      as to how he gets his kicks.
      Confessing to the endless sin
      the endless whining sounds.
      You'll be praying till next Thursday to
      all the gods that you can count.

  • About Me

  • Comments (11)

    • chaosxwolf

      12 years ago

      If Orrin is your real name, it's pretty sweet.

      And no, I don't have a gamertag, for I don't have live.

    • Katarn

      13 years ago

      WOW. You actually like some bands I like. Do you know of Fastbal and the Suicide Machines?

    • Glaxton

      13 years ago

      Congratulations on being here at RvB for six months!

      I created a banner for you Here, you can download it and post it if you like.,
      OR, just delete this message and go on with your life! smiley0.gif

    • Evil_Nixon

      13 years ago

      what kind of saxaphone do you play?

    • Chickenhwk

      13 years ago

      hey man how are you brother? lol brother or the red... anyway don't foprget your rush alblum to put on befor halo tonight i want you to totally rock it out

    • Chickenhwk

      13 years ago

      don't lie lol not 15 years you ahve have a lot of kicks if i remember right like mektar and so on lol oh yeah look at my profile

    • RoboEmu

      13 years ago

      Yeah, Jethro Tull is pretty damn awesome

    • gothic_fairy

      13 years ago

      ORRIN ROCKS!

    • Anethesia

      13 years ago

      How can it be anything but Geddy Lee?

      Black '72 Fender Jazz with Badass II bridge + sunglasses = Geddy Lee

    • EnterDaMatrx

      13 years ago

      I saw Jethro Tull a few weekends ago. It was a great show.

    • roothead1

      13 years ago

      nice to meet you

  • Questions

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