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Post by Lori on Jul 7, 2003 21:53:29 GMT
As the light hits you As you shift along the floor I find it hard to place my face How did I come to be here, anyway? It's terribly vague, what's gone before
I could have been anyone You could have been anyone's dream Why did you have to choose our moment? Why did you have to make me feel that? Why did you make it so unreal?
Oh! To be in love And never get out again Oh! To be in love And never get out again Oh! To be in love And never get out again
All the colours look brighter now Everything they say seems to sound new Slipping into tomorrow too quick Yesterday always too good to forget Stop the swing of the pendulum! Let us through!
Oh! To be in love And never get out again Oh! To be in love And never get out again Oh! To be in love And never get out again
Oh! To be in love And never get out again Oh! To be in love And never get out again Oh! To be in love And never get out again
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stev0
Moving
He's an utter creep and he drives me 'round the bend
Posts: 517
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Post by stev0 on Jun 24, 2005 13:42:18 GMT
With a lot of Kate's earlier work, I prefer the stripped-down minimal sound of the demo over the polished studio version. However, with this one I much prefer the final version over the demo. It's the "Oh-oh-oh" vs "Ohhh" that does it for me.
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Scott
Reaching Out
Get out of my house
Posts: 266
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Post by Scott on Jul 3, 2005 2:19:50 GMT
0, Where can I hear that demo? S
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Paul
Reaching Out
Posts: 478
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Post by Paul on Jul 3, 2005 3:01:17 GMT
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Post by Al Truest on Jul 3, 2005 3:35:27 GMT
I go there often - great site!
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Post by tannis on Nov 19, 2008 16:38:09 GMT
Date: Sat, 13 May 1995 Subject: Kate in the Toronto Star
In this morning's paper, there is an excellent poem by a Montreal poet, Jan Conn. The poem, Love As A Moving Object, uses Kate's song,'O To Be In Love', as its base. Love As A Moving Object
Listening to Kate Bush on the slow early morning drive to work past the huge oaks and bright pink houses on 6th. street, past a disgruntled man in black leather pushing his dysfunctional Harley along the sidewalk, it's going to be at least 90 degrees in the shade, and Kate is singing in her passionate, articulate way about being in love and never getting out of it...
We all know what that means It means to be stalled, trapped, stuck-because love is a moving object, like a duck to a duck hunter who wakes up at 3 a.m. and dresses in prickly long underwear and hip waders shivers in the pre-dawn light, the clouds racing, scattered and eerie overhead, who gets cramps in his legs, who needs desparately to sneeze, who strains to see that fine line dividing water from air, but listens acutely for their telltale calls,
keeps concentrating out there, focused on the weather, the duck's weather, he is like a man who is very attendant to women, who gives the illusion of intimacy, the way the duck hunter takes such good care of his beautiful hand-painted decoys and guns, the way he savours every sweet mouthful of roast duck, later, after he has carried the handfuls of warm dead bodies by the necks and flung them into the back of his pick-up truck and called it a day.
Jan ConnThis poem was taken from "What Dante Did With Loss", published by Vehicule Press, Montreal. The author is Jan Conn, who has three other collections of poetry. She grew up in Asbestos Quebec. gaffa.org/dreaming/E2_insp.html
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