• Others 25.07.2007

    Ah! before time runs low,
    And we all lose our minds,
    Someone describe a song
    From the goodole times.

    Now, who coin the phrase,
    And tagged the song–old!
    Prompted by a clever wit;
    Perhaps, a record of gold?

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    Ah! before time runs low,
    And we all lose our minds,
    Someone describe a song
    From the goodole times.

    Now, who coin the phrase,
    And tagged the song–old!
    Prompted by a clever wit;
    Perhaps, a record of gold?

    Same old tune is get’n old,
    ‘Til everyone has heard it.
    When they play it again,
    Would somebody hide it.

    Producers made money;
    The artist is well-known.
    Now, there’s a new song,
    To replace that old gold.

    After one week of playing,
    The Discjoc wears glasses.
    That! magnifies the labels,
    To…enhance faded passes.

    Songs go thru a weekly test;
    Only the goodole times tell.
    The public owns their copy;
    So, that tune ceases to sell.

    Bogie’s: play it again, Sam;
    Craves the memory we miss.
    We reach for our lost minds,
    Only to grasp a fainted hiss.

    Make-way for newer songs,
    Which roll from our tongues.
    Perhaps, they’ll last a week,
    While the glory-bell is rung.

    Then, time shares happiness,
    When the old ones are sung.
    The new songs are old tunes,
    Simply roll from our tongues.

    Special lyrics are treasures,
    In goodole songs of sadness.
    When we play old memories,
    They return to us–gladness.

    Alter the generation stigma,
    By singing a current thought.
    Maybe things have changed,
    Just as the old folks bought.

    Newer things finally get old,
    In a noticeable kind’a trend.
    Perhaps, there’s a little gold,
    With an old and new blend.

    Our minds are full of heart;
    We’ve mellowed a treasure.
    So, sing the golden memory,
    When time cannot measure.
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    Posted by Lee Mahana @ 6:00 PM

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