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SEPTEMBER 11TH REMEMBERED IN POETRY AND SONG

(Please click on the arrow above to play song).

THE GRIM CATHEDRAL

The grim cathedral arch alone
Towers over dust and stone
Monument to flesh and bone
Twisted, stark and bare.

And the floodlights’ sharp relief
Magnifies the weight of grief
In the ruins that lie beneath
That emptiness of air.

The papers from the building flew
Hung in the air in a sky of blue
Souls of the newly dead and gone
Shone so bright, on a Tuesday morn.

In the canyon streets, the towering cloud
Tumbles on the running crowd
Falling like a funeral shroud
Darkening the sun.

Staggered statues, concrete grey
Man as ashes, dust and clay
Desolation of the day
Falls on everyone.

The papers from the building flew
Hung in the air in a sky of blue
Souls of the newly dead and gone
Shone so bright in the morning sun.

I watched it on my TV screen 
Devolution of the dream
Images a nightmare scream
To wake the likes of me.

A charnel house of sight and sound
Familiar streets, a killing ground
The day they brought the buildings down 
Down for all to see.

Ann says: This is one of the best and most understated 9/11 memorials I have found.  Singer-songwriter David Francey is such a good poet that he is able to tell the story using only images of citiscapes and the people within them. Our minds fill in the details.

I saw David Francey perform, and I requested this song.  He became visibly shaken and said that he only performed it in September due to the horrific nature of 9/11.

Written and performed by David Francey.  All rights reserved. (Nov. 8, 2001)

Images:  1. YouTube.com   2. BusinessInsiders.au    3. Peter Morton for Reuters

Snitches and Talkers Get Stitches and Walkers
  • Snitches and Talkers Get Stitches and Walkers
  • Fall Out Boy
  • From Under The Cork Tree
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SNITCHES AND TALKERS GET STITCHES AND WALKERS - FALL OUT BOY

This story’s getting old

The home wrecker with the heart of gold

Keep you locked up in the trunk of my mind

Keep, keep talking

Keep this alive

This story’s getting old

The home wrecker with the heart of gold

Keep you locked up in the trunk of my mind now

“There’s a certain assumption that when a man tells the truth it’s the truth,” she says. “But when I go before the jury to tell the truth, I have to negotiate how I’m going to be perceived. There’s a suspicion around a woman’s truth.”

“My story,” says Hanna in one of the last scenes of the film, “it’s so big, it sounded like too big a can of worms, and I was like, who would believe me? But then I realized, other women would believe me.”

— 

Kathleen Hanna, in the documentary The Punk Singer