Simon & Garfunkel - Live From New York City 1967 [compilation, live] (2002) by Simon & Garfunkel (보컬) on maniadb.com

He was my brother
Five years older than I
He was my brother
Twenty three years old
the day he died

Freedom writer
They cursed my brother
to his face
Go home outsider
This town's gonna be your
buryin place

He was singing on his knees
An angry mob trailed along
They shot my brother dead
Because he hated what was wrong

He was my brother
Tears can't bring him back to me
He he was my brother
And he died so his brothers
could be free
He died so his brothers
could be free

I was twenty-one years when I wrote this song
I'm twenty-two now but I won't be for long
Time hurries on
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither in the wind
And they crumble in your hand

Once my heart was filled with the love of a girl
I held her close but she faded in the night
Like a poem I meant to write
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither in the wind
And they crumble in your hand

I threw a pebble in a brook
And watched the ripple run away
And they never made a sound
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither in the wind
And they crumble in your hand

Hello, hello, hello, hello
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
That's all there is
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither in the wind
And they crumble in your hand

Who will love a little sparrow
Who's traveled far and cries for rest?
"Not I," said the Oak Tree
"I won't share my branches with no sparrow's nest
And my blanket of leaves won't warm her cold breast"

Who will love a little sparrow
And who will speak a kindly word?
"Not I," said the Swan
"The entire idea is utterly absurd
I'd be laughed at and scorned if the other swans heard."

Who will take pity in his heart
And who will feed a starving sparrow?
"Not I," said the Golden Wheat
"I would if I could but I cannot I know
I need all my grain to prosper and grow"

Who will love a little sparrow?
Will no one write her eulogy?
"I will," said the Earth
"For all I've created returns unto me
From dust were ye made and dust ye shall be"

I'm sitting in the railway station.
Got a ticket to my destination.
On a tour of one-night stands my suitcase and guitar in hand.
And ev'ry stop is neatly planned for a poet and a one-man band.
Homeward bound,
I wish I was,
Homeward bound,
Home where my thought's escaping,
Home where my music's playing,
Home where my love lies waiting
Silently for me.

Ev'ry day's an endless stream
Of cigarettes and magazines.
And each town looks the same to me, the movies and the factories
And ev'ry stranger's face I see reminds me that I long to be,
Homeward bound,
I wish I was,
Homeward bound,
Home where my thought's escaping,
Home where my music's playing,
Home where my love lies waiting
Silently for me.

Tonight I'll sing my songs again,
I'll play the game and pretend.
But all my words come back to me in shades of mediocrity
Like emptiness in harmony I need someone to comfort me.
Homeward bound,
I wish I was,
Homeward bound,
Home where my thought's escaping,
Home where my music's playing,
Home where my love lies waiting
Silently for me.
Silently for me.

You don't know that you love me
You don't know but I know that you do
You may think that you're above me, yeah
What you think isn't always true

Don't try to debate me,
You should know that I'm womanly wise
Still you try to manipulate me
You don't know where your interest lies

No, you don't know where your interest lies
You don't begin to comprehend

You're just a game I like to play
You may think that we're friends all right
But I won't let friendship get in my way,
No, I won't let friendship get in my way,

Indications indicate running the same riff will turn you around
Obviously you're going to blow it,
But you don't know it

You don't know that you love me
You don't know but I know that you do
You may think that you're above me, yeah
What you think isn't always true

Don't try to debate me,
You should know that I'm womanly wise
Still you try to manipulate me
You don't know where your interest lies

No, you don't know where your interest

He was a most peculiar man
That's what Mrs. Riordan says and she should know
She lived upstairs from him
She said he was a most peculiar man

He was a most peculiar man
He lived all alone within a house
Within a room, within himself
A most peculiar man

He had no friends, he seldom spoke
And no one in turn ever spoke to him
'Cause he wasn't friendly and he didn't care
And he wasn't like them
Oh no! He was a most peculiar man

He died last Saturday
He turned on the gas and he went to sleep
With the windows closed so he'd never wake up
To his silent world and his tiny room
And Mrs. Riordan says he has a brother somewhere
Who should be notified soon
And all the people said,
"What a shame that he's dead
But wasn't he a most peculiar man?"

Slow down, you move too fast.
You got to make the morning last.
Just kicking down the cobble stones.
Looking for fun and feelin' groovy.

Hello lamppost, What cha knowing?
I've come to watch your flowers growing.
Ain't cha got no rhymes for me?
Doot-in' doo-doo, Feelin' groovy.

Got no deeds to do, No promises to keep.
I'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep.
Let the morning time drop all its petals on me.
Life, I love you, All is groovy.

It's a still life water color,
Of a now late afternoon,
As the sun shines through the curtained lace
And shadows wash the room.
And we sit and drink our coffee
Couched in our indifference,
Like shells upon the shore
You can hear the ocean roar
In The Dangling Conversation
And the superficial sighs,
The borders of our lives.

And you read your Emily Dickinson,
And I my Robert Frost,
And we note our place with bookmarkers
That measure what we've lost.
Like a poem poorly written
We are verses out of rhythm,
Couplets out of rhyme,
In syncopated time
And The Dangling Conversation
And the superficial sighs
Are the borders of our lives.

Yes we speak of things that matter,
With words that must be said,
"Can analysis be worthwhile?"
"Is the theater really dead?"
And how the room is softly faded
And I only kiss your shadow,
I cannot feel your hand,
You're a stranger now unto me
Lost in The Dangling Conversation
And the superficial sighs
In the borders of our lives.

They say that Richard Cory owns one half of this whole town
With political connections to spread his wealth around
Born into society, a banker's only child
He had everything a man could want: power, grace, and style

But I work in his factory
And I curse the life I'm living
And I curse my poverty
And I wish that I could be
Oh I wish that I could be
Oh I wish that I could be
Richard Cory

The papers print his picture almost everywhere he goes
Richard Cory at the opera, Richard Cory at a show
And the rumor of his parties and the orgies on his yacht!
Oh he surely must be happy with everything he's got

But I, I work in his factory
And I curse the life I'm living
And I curse my poverty
And I wish that I could be
Oh I wish that I could be
Oh I wish that I could be
Richard Cory

He freely gave to charity, he had the common touch
And they were grateful for his patronage and they thanked him very much
So my mind was filled with wonder when the evening headlines read:
"Richard Cory went home last night and put a bullet through his head"

But I, I work in his factory
And I curse the life I'm living
And I curse my poverty
And I wish that I could be
Oh I wish that I could be
Oh I wish that I could be
Richard Cory

Time,
Time,
Time, see what's become of me
While I looked around for my possibilities.

I was so hard to please.
Look around,
Leaves are brown,
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter.

Hear the Salvation Army band.
Down by the riverside's
Bound to be a better ride
Than what you've got planned.

Carry your cup in your hand.
And look around.
Leaves are brown.
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter.

Hang on to your hopes, my friend.
That's an easy thing to say,
But if your hopes should pass away
Simply pretend that you can build them again.
Look around,
The grass is high,
The fields are ripe,
It's the springtime of my life.

Seasons change with the scenery;
Weaving time in a tapestry.
Won't you stop and remember me
At any convenient time?
Funny how my memory skips
Looking over manuscripts
Of unpublished rhyme.

Drinking my vodka and lime,
I look around,
Leaves are brown,
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter.

Benedictus qui est venit
In nomine Domine
In nomine
In nomine
In nomine Domine
In nomine Domine
In nomine
In nomine
In nomine Domine

Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit
Blessed is the lamb whose blood flows
Blessed are the sat upon, spat upon, ratted on
O Lord, why have you forsaken me?
I got no place to go
I've walked around Soho for the last night or so
Ah, but it doesn't matter, no

Blessed is the land and the kingdom
Blessed is the man whose soul belongs to
Blessed are the meth drinkers, pot sellers, illusion dwellers
O Lord, why have you forsaken me?
My words trickle down from a wound
That I have no intention to heal

Blessed are the stained glass, window pane glass
Blessed is the church service, makes me nervous
Blessed are the penny rookers, cheap hookers, groovy lookers
O Lord, why have you forsaken me?
I have tended my own garden much too long

The last train is nearly due
The underground is closing soon
And in the dark deserted station
Restless in anticipation
A man waits in the shadows

His restless eyes leap and scratch
At all that they can touch or catch
And hidden deep within his pocket
Safe within its silent socket
He holds a colored crayon

Now from the tunnel's stony womb
The carriage rides to meet the groom
And open wide and welcome doors
But he hesitates, and then withdraws
Deeper in the shadows

And the train is gone suddenly
On wheels clicking silently
Like a gently tapping litany
And he holds his crayon rosary
Tighter in his hand

Now from his pocket quick he flashes
The crayon on the wall he slashes
Deep upon the advertising
A single worded poem consisting
Of four letters

And his heart is laughing, screaming, pounding
The poem across the tracks rebounding
Shadowed by the exit light
His legs take their ascending flight
To seek the breast of darkness and be suckled by the night

A winter's day
In a deep and dark
December;
I am alone,
Gazing from my window to the streets below
On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

I've built walls,
A fortress deep and mighty,
That none may penetrate.
I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain.
It's laughter and it's loving I disdain.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

Don't talk of love,
But I've heard the words before;
It's sleeping in my memory.
I won't disturb the slumber of feelings that have died.
If I never loved I never would have cried.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

I have my books
And my poetry to protect me;
I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

And a rock feels no pain;
And an island never cries.

Hello darkness
my old friend
I've come to talk
with you again
Because a vision
softly creeping left
the seeds while
I was sleeping
And the vision
that was planted
in my brain
still remains within
the sound of silence
In restless dreams
I walked alone narrow
streets of cobblestone
'neath the halo
of a street lamp
I turned my collar
to the cold and damp
When my eyes were
stabbed by the flash
of a neon light
split the night and
touched the sound
of silence
And in the naked light
I saw then thousand
people maybe more
people talking without
speaking people
hearing without
listening people
writing songs
that voices never
share no one dare
disturb the sound
of silence
"Fools!" said I
"You do not know
silence like
a cancer grows"
"Hear my words that
I might teach you
Take my arms
that I might reach you"
But my words
like silent raindrops
fell and echoed
in the wells of silence
And the people
bowed and prayed
to the neon god
they made
And the sign flached
out it's warning
In the words
that it was forming
And the signs said
The words of the
prophets are written
on the subway walls
and tenement halls
And whisper'd in
the sounds
of silence~

what a dream I had
Pressed in Organdy
Clothed in crinoline
Of smocky burgundy
Softer than the rain

I wandered empty streets down
Past the shop displays
I heard cathedral bells
Tripping down the alleyways
As I walked on

And when you ran to me
Your cheeks fleshed with the night
We walked on frosted fields
Of juniper and lamplight
I held your hand

And when I awoke
And felt you warm and near
I kissed your honey hair
With my grateful tears
Oh,I live you girl
Oh,I love you

A church is burning, the flames rise higher,
Like hands that are praying, a-glow in the sky,
Like hands that are praying the fire is saying
"You can burn down my churches but I shall be free."

Three hooded men thru the back-roads did creep,
Torches in their hands while the village lies asleep.
Down to the church where just hours before,
Voices were singing and hands were beating and saying,
I won't be a slave any more.

A church is burning, the flames rise higher,
Like hands that are praying, a-glow in the sky,
Like hands that are praying the fire is saying
"You can burn down my churches but I shall be free."

Three hooded men, their hands lit the spark,
Then they faded in the night and they vanished in the dark,
And in the cool light of morning there's nothing that remains,
But the ashes of a Bible and a can of kerosene.

A church is burning, the flames rise higher,
Like hands that are praying, a-glow in the sky,
Like hands that are praying the fire is saying
"You can burn down my churches but I shall be free."

A church is more than just timber and stone,
And freedom is a dark road when you're walking it alone,
But the future is now and it's time to take a stand,
So the lost bells of freedom can ring out in my land.

A church is burning, the flames rise higher,
Like hands that are praying, a-glow in the sky,
Like hands that are praying the fire is saying
"You can burn down my churches but I shall be free

I can hear the soft breathing of the girl that I love
as she lies here beside me
asleep with the night
and her hair in a fine mist floats on my pillow
reflecting the glow of the winter moonlight

she is soft, she is warm, but my heart remains heavy
and I watch as her breasts, gently rise, gently fall
for I know with the first line of dawn I'll be leaving
and tonight will be all I have left to recall

oh what have I done, why have I done it?
I've committed a crime, I've broken the law
for 25 dollars and pieces of silver
I held up and robbed a hard liquor store

my life seems unreal, my crime an illusion
a scene badly written in which I must play
yet I know as I gaze at my young love beside me
the morning is just a few hours away