I doubt it is your styleNot to get what you set out to acquireThe eyes are on fireYou are the unforecasted stormBrianstorm

I know my breasts, smallas plums, would win no blue ribbons.But in your hands they tremble and fillwith song like plump, white birds.

… because one day, maybe one day, if I learned how to write clear enough, sing loud enough, be strong enough, I could explain myself in a way that made sense and then maybe one...

In the morning, celebrate the beauty and warmth of sun light,in the evening, celebrate the song of silence and love of night.

If I die tomorrow, I’ll be alright because I believe that after we’re gone, spirit carries on…

The Bear and the Maiden FairA bear there was, a bear, a bear!All black and brown, and covered with hair!The bear! The bear!Oh, come, they said, oh come to the fair!The fair? Said he, but...

I always think of each night as a song. Or each moment as a song. But now I’m seeing we don’t live in a single song. We move from song to song, from lyric to...

I didn’t think of myself as a lead player, especially when we did live shows, because me and Keith used to switch around all the time. He’d take a lead, I’d play rhythm. Sometimes even...

Tears flood in youyour eyes burningyour heart scars with my name scratched deepMy face is gonemy heart betrayed by your lullabiesI’m a shadow of a girl insideHands are touching younothing takes the place of youHeart...

Sometimes it’s not just your favorite song. It’s your untold story.

When all that you’ve tried, leaves nothing but holes inside.

My biggest fear, is not the ending of this life, but going through it without you by my side.” He stopped playing. The room fell silent.

When you hear me, you know it’s me, regardless of the song.

You put a song on the record or on tape and you stop singing it. You just don’t sit around and sing it anymore unless you’re performing. That’s kind of sad.

God is the composer; you are the song.

There is nothing better – nothing – than knowing that the risen Christ lives right now in heaven, singing over his people – singing over me – with love.

By the time I’m in the studio recording my parody, 10,000 parodies of that song are on YouTube.

The people that only listen to one song from a record and flip around that much, if that’s the only way they listen to music, they’re probably the kind of people that like music as...

There is a song in your heart, only you can hear it. In silence, that is the song of longing and love.

If Paul McCartney tells me that so-and-so song is his favorite song, what do I care? What do I care what anybody else says?

If you drive a car, I’ll tax the street;if you try to sit, I’ll tax your seat; if you get too cold, I’ll tax the heat; if you take a walk, I’ll tax your feet.

Must I accept the barren Gift?-learn death, and lose my Mastery?Then let them know whose blood and breathwill take the Gift and set them free:whose is the voice and whose the mindto set at naught...

After my first No. 1 song back in 2006, I worried I may never have another one.

Somewhere a bird sang, its chant hanging plaintive and melancholy in the still air…I think it’s a sort of lark or something. Our tradition has it that they sing with the voices of lost lovers....

All music is folk music. I ain’t never heard a horse sing a song.

You cannot taste a song but you can feel the tune relishing your heart where strings of music belong.

Without a song, each day would be a century.

The right song can turn an emperor into a laughingstock, can bring down dynasties.

Deep in the meadow, hidden far awayA cloak of leaves, a moonbeam rayForget your woes and let your troubles layAnd when it’s morning again, they’ll wash awayHere it’s safe, here it’s warmHere the daisies guard...

Although it was only a single instrument, each note had the peculiar echoed quality of a thousand harmonics voiced together. There was a whisper behind the strongest note and a shout beneath the softest, and...

All You Need Is Love” in homage to their memory.

I want to read every book that’s writtenhear every song that was sungI want to gaze at every cloudand hold the zing of each fruit on my tongue.

Algunas cosas no duran para siempre, pero otras sí. Como una buena canción, o un buen libro, o un buen recuerdo que se puede recuperar y contemplar en los malos momentos..

Weezer’s ‘El Scorcho.’ I’m in a ’90s cover band called ‘Straight 2 Video’ with members of the crew from ‘The Vampire Diaries,’ and we played this song at our wrap party. I grin from ear...

Pure and soft, the melody is entrancing. Haunting. I’m glued to my seat, waiting, hoping for the next enthralling sound. I’d close my eyes if I weren’t afraid I’d miss a second of his performance.

I have never sung a whole song on my own before and I am not the best dancer in the world, but I would rather try and fall than not not try at all.

Loin au-delà des montagnes froides et embruméesVers des cachots profonds et d’antiques cavernesIl nous faut aller avant le lever du jourEn quête de l’or p le et enchanté.Les nains de jadis jetaient de puissants charmesQuand...

Here, also, the future was cried aloud by the wind through the rocks, so that all those who heard would shiver, and then the liquid spring song of the thrush would make all the beauty...

I want to write a song about one man’s level of commitment called, “I’d walk to the edge of the world, just to dump your body.

When I first played ‘1234’ it was on stage in San Francisco at some kind of, like, sticky-floored club. And it felt like a punk song. I mean it’s ridiculous to say that now, but...

Who are you? the band sang. I tried to remember but I really couldn’t say.

wake up who cares about little boys that talk too much

A mis cuarenta y diez, cuarenta y nueve dicen que aparento.

Right from the start, you were a thief, you stole my heart.

I will never hurt you.I will always help you.If you are hungryIll give you my food.If you are frightenedI am your friend.I love you now.And love does not end.

Displaced Person’s SongIf you see a train this evening,Far away, against the sky,Lie down in your woolen blanket,Sleep and let the train go by.Trains have called us, every midnight,From a thousand miles away,Trains that pass...

I wrote ‘She’s a Lady’ on the back of a TWA menu, flying back from London after doing Tom Jones’s TV show. Jones’s manager wanted me to write him a song. If I have an...

Life is like music on a scale, shifting up and down. When your life is over, your song has been written.

Sing, then. Sing, indeed, with shoulders back, and head up so that song might go to the roof and beyond to the sky. Mass on mass of tone, with a hard edge, and rich with...

THAT crazed girl improvising her music.Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,Her soul in division from itselfClimbing, falling She knew not where,Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declareA beautiful lofty...