Pie in the Fluffy Sky with Diamonds
A kaleidoscope car appears at your door
Waiting to take you away
Climb in the back, with your head in the clouds
And you are gone.
Follow her down to a lake by a mountain
Where cellophane people cook marshmallow pies
The girls laugh, as you pass their towers
So incredibly high.
Picture yourself in a boat with a mirror
With newspaper paddles singing Feminist lies
Someone calls you, but you’re sinking quite slowly
It’s the girl with tricks in her eyes.
Remnant towers of black and white touched the fluffy sky
As the water flowed over your head
And you looked for the girl, with tricks in her eyes
And she was gone.
John didn’t always see things clearly…
Woman is the nigger of the world
Yes she is…think about it
Woman is the nigger of the world
Think about it…do something about it
We make her paint her face and dance
If she won’t be slave, we say that she don’t love us
If she’s real, we say she’s trying to be a man
While putting her down we pretend that she is above us
Woman is the nigger of the world…yes she is
If you don’t belive me take a look to the one you’re with
Woman is the slaves of the slaves
Ah yeah…better screem about it
We make her bear and raise our children
And then we leave her flat for being a fat old mother hen
We tell her home is the only place she would be
Then we complain that she’s too unworldly to be our friend
Woman is the nigger of the world…yes she is
If you don’t belive me take a look to the one you’re with
Woman is the slaves of the slaves
Yeah (think about it)
We insult her everyday on TV
And wonder why she has no guts or confidence
When she’s young we kill her will to be free
While telling her not to be so smart we put her down for being so dumb
Woman is the nigger of the world…yes she is
If you don’t belive me take a look to the one you’re with
Woman is the slaves of the slaves
Yes she is…if you belive me, you better screem about it.
[Repeat:]
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance
Comment by Man X Norton — Sun 21st May 2017 @ 11:26 pm
‘The Wooden bowl’
A frail old man went to live with his son, daughter-in-law, and four-year-old grandson. The old man’s hands trembled, his eyesight was blurred, and his step faltered. The family ate together at the table. But the elderly grandfather’s shaky hands and failing sight made eating difficult. Peas rolled off his spoon onto the floor. When he grasped the glass, milk spilled on the tablecloth.
The son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess. “We must do something about father,” said the son. “I’ve had enough of his spilled milk, noisy eating, and food on the floor.” So the husband and wife set a small table in the corner. There, Grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed dinner. Since Grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in a wooden bowl! When the family glanced in Grandfather’s direction, sometimes he had a tear in his eye as he sat alone. Still, the only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled food.
The four-year-old watched it all in silence.
One evening before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps on the floor. He asked the child sweetly, “What are you making?” Just as sweetly, the boy responded, “Oh, I am making a little bowl for you and Mama to eat your food in when I grow up.” The four-year-old smiled and went back to work.
The words so struck the parents so that they were speechless. Then tears started to stream down their cheeks. Though no word was spoken, both knew what must be done.
That evening the husband took Grandfather’s hand and gently led him back to the family table. For the remainder of his day, he ate every meal with the family. And for some reason, neither husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk spilled, or the tablecloth soiled.
Comment by Voices back from the bush — Mon 22nd May 2017 @ 6:09 am
@1 although Lenon was involved I would suggest the writer was Yoko Ono.
It wasn’t a Beatles song, but that wasn’t the intended direction of any debate.
Comment by Downunder — Mon 22nd May 2017 @ 7:50 am
@2 Cold Steel Bed
The story of a recently separated father:
An immigrant family from a different society quickly became the target of feminist intervention, to educate the woman about her rights in New Zealand.
His wife and children were removed from their rented house to whereabouts unknown and within days an IRD demand was in the letter box.
The trauma tipped him over the edge and the letter the final straw. That night he went down to the nearby railway line and lay on the tracks waiting for a train.
In the dark and cold of the Winter’s night, he heard gentle footsteps and then the voice of a child,
“Hey Mr, you should come back in the morning, the next train is not til 6 o’clock.”
Comment by Downunder — Mon 22nd May 2017 @ 8:11 am
Imagine there’s no heaven, it’s easy if you try,
No hell below us, above us only sky,
Imagine all the people,
living life in peace.
Comment by Voices back from the bush — Thu 25th May 2017 @ 10:08 am
You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope some day you’ll join us
And the world will live as one.
Comment by Downunder — Thu 25th May 2017 @ 10:56 am
never gonna happen guys thats why Yoko still livin the dream
Comment by Buster — Sat 27th May 2017 @ 7:42 am