Ever since I was a youth,
I have always been searching for the truth,
But having been told so many lies,
Life like good music never dies,
So the question is posed,
Only who in Heaven knows,
why is a man respected when he is dead ?
Should’nt that respect be paid to the living INSTEAD.
Alive a man is sufferer of no mean order,
But dead he has an estate to the value of a Million and over,
I must die one day,
You’ll all hear people say,
Yet praying for Salvation,
In corrupted meditation,
Storing up wealth, ignoring their health,
But, a tree is known by its fruits,
There is no life in lies,
It’s all in the truth.
“…every player has an equal function, there is a way in which everything you do is structural, it’s not ever that you are over the music or on top of the music, you always are the music… it’s sort of spontaneous architecture…” ~vijay iyer
Micheal Corleone: “My father is no different than any other powerful man — any man who’s responsible for other people, like a senator or president.” KAY: “You know how naive you sound… senators and presidents don’t have men killed.” MC: “Oh, who’s being naive, Kay?”