Senor


From: golden3000997
Date: Sun Jan 25, 2004 11:01 am
Subject: Senor

SENOR
(Tales of Yankee Power)

Words and Music by Bob Dylan
1978 Special Rider Music

Senor, senor, do you know where we're headin'?
Lincoln County Road or Armageddon?
Seems like I been down this way before.
Is there any truth in that, senor?

Senor, senor, do you know where she is hidin'?
How long are we gonna be ridin'?
How long must I keep my eyes glued to the door?
Will there be any comfort there, senor?

There's a wicked wind still blowin' on that upper deck,
There's an iron cross still hanging down from around her neck.
There's a marchin' band still playin' in that vacant lot
Where she held me in her arms one time and said, "Forget me not."

Senor, senor, I can see that painted wagon,
I can smell the tail of the dragon.
Can't stand the suspense anymore.
Can you tell me who to contact here, senor?

Well, the last thing I remember before I stripped and kneeled
Was that trainload of fools bogged down in a magnetic field.
A gypsy with a broken flag and a flashing ring
Said, "Son, this ain't a dream no more, it's the real thing."

Senor, senor, you know their hearts is as hard as leather.
Well, give me a minute, let me get it together.
I just gotta pick myself up off the floor.
I'm ready when you are, senor.

Senor, senor, let's disconnect these cables,
Overturn these tables.
This place don't make sense to me no more.
Can you tell me what we're waiting for, senor?

...................................................................................................................................

From: holderlin66
Date: Sun Jan 25, 2004 11:32 am
Subject: Re: Senor/Michael Hearts

--- In anthroposophy_tomorrow@yahoogroups.com, golden3000997 wrote:

SENOR
(Tales of Yankee Power)

Words and Music by Bob Dylan
1978 Special Rider Music

Senor, senor, I can see that painted wagon,
I can smell the tail of the dragon.
Can't stand the suspense anymore.
Can you tell me who to contact here, senor?

Well, the last thing I remember before I stripped and kneeled
Was that trainload of fools bogged down in a magnetic field.
A gypsy with a broken flag and a flashing ring
Said, "Son, this ain't a dream no more, it's the real thing."

Bradford comments:

AT ain't your mommas dumb ole sqawks that like coins go to the collection box on a pale Sunday Noon.

We talk about the Dragon and they think we make up tales. We say have you heard of TIAMUT with the sawed off tail? No, you're makin' it up they wail.

Have you heard how "they stuck it with the steely knives but couldn't kill the beast.?" We ask.. Oh kids tales for the autumn, I get ya. Brainwashing on this lie you tell, about how St. Michael hovers over Waldorf Hell. Where all the children come out zonked. Their eyeballs glazed and repeating Anthro mantrams.. Yep..."Into the Light Children, into the Light"

This ain't your mommas AT. We got Dylan and Gore Vidal, Michael Moore and thousands of others who see through this Green Vest, with scales on your wearing so proudly and primping around. Saying, ain't my intellect grand. I got scissors in my curled up, clawed hand. I aim to snip the Doctor with Slur and route, to feed the monster that is in my snout. Yep.. they got the cloudy third eye blues and they sit real high on the seats of the thrones of the doomed. They rejected the Call when, in the Michael Hall, The Sun Lord offered his Boon. They rejected his Boon and the light in the room, gloomed as the souls of us cringed. For here on the Earth, we would face you with worth, that the choice you had made sealed your doom.

But waking can blare, like the trumphets in air, the soul from its mystified stare. Shake yourself free, stop attempting to flee, for Ahriman watches you run. He sees with ten heads, of Kings Nazghouled demised and he gathers hyenas to hunt for his prize, which is you. For scraps and raw meat, they would gladly eat, any Gold from Michael's Crown. But it lies in our hearts and we shall not depart from the honor his Boon has us given. Each soul with a STING, a sleight sword of a thing, but be wise before tempting your snarl.

Restore your whole soul, get right and get whole and purge the icy voices you hear. Remember dear Sweet, it is fear that you greet with his cold clammy hands and his killer honed Crown that is drooling to to take Michael Down.

Bradford

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Click to subscribe to anthroposophy_tomorrow
 

January/February 2004

The Uncle Taz "Anthroposophy Tomorrow" Files

Anthroposophy & Anarchism

Anthroposophy & Scientology

Anthroposophical Morsels

Anthroposophy, Critics, and Controversy

Search this site powered by FreeFind