1. |
18
02:52
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Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.
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2. |
Stewball
04:01
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Stewball was a race horse and I wish he were mine
He never drank water he always drank wine.
His bridle was silver, his mane it was gold
And the worth of his saddle has never been told.
The fairgrounds were crowded and Stewball was there
but the betting was heavy on the bay and the mare.
As they were approaching about halfway round
the gray mare she stumbled, and fell to the ground.
and way up yonder, ahead of them all
came a prancin' and a dancin' my noble Stewball.
I bet on he gray mare. I bet on the bay.
If i'd have bet on old Stewball I'd be a rich man today.
Stewball was a race horse and I wish he were mine
He ne'er did drink water he always drank wine.
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3. |
The Djrunk
02:21
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4. |
World of Woe
04:37
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I'm just a poor, wayfaring stranger
travelling through this world of woe,
there ain't no toil, there ain't no trouble
in that bright land to which I go
I'm going there to see my father
I'm going there no more to roam
I'm just going over the river
I'm just going over home.
I see dark clouds gatherin round
I know my road is rough and steep
but beauteous fields arise before me
where love is redeemed, their vigils keep
I'm going there to see my father
He said he'll meet me when I come
I'm just going over the river
I'm just going over home.
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5. |
81
04:36
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Or I shall live your epitaph to make,
Or you survive when I in earth am rotten,
From hence your memory death cannot take,
Although in me each part will be forgotten.
Your name from hence immortal life shall have,
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die:
The earth can yield me but a common grave,
When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie.
Your monument shall be my gentle verse,
Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read;
And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse,
When all the breathers of this world are dead;
You still shall live, such virtue hath my pen,
Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.
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Zak Ward Buffalo, New York
Buffalo, NY based musician
Zak Ward recommends:
Almost Not There
by Son of the Sun
Psychedelic, melodic rock and roll.
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