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Quote: Éagann an ní a dhéanaimid dúinn féin - Maireann an ní a dhéanaimid do chách go síoraí ('What we do for ourselves dies with us - what we do for others is immortal' )
I am a 36 year old Solitary Druid who is part of Ar nDraiocht Fein (ADF), a well established Druid Organization. Within it I am also a member of "Tylwyth Y Ddraig Goch: Clan of the Red Dragon", a Kin group. As well as the Brewers Warriors Guilds, and Foireann Mhorrigan "Crew of the Morrighan" (special interest group) Currently I have residency in Dothan, Alabama. Where I am employed as a Shift Manager for the Southside Burger King.
Likes: Celtic & Norse mystiscism, Herbalism, Mead making (home brewing), Cooking, Usui Shiki Ryoho Reiki, Karuna Ki, Collecting Tarot card decks for their artwork, MartialArts, Conservation, Serria club, & recently learning Welsh.
Dislikes: Closed minded individuals and groups who try to force their beliefs down your throat. Bigotry in general. Having all those "good" meaning people tell me I am going to hell.
Well I guess thats enough for now.
Rev. Joseph S. Worley aka DaemonChild69
The only song fit for the profile page... well the lyrics anyway lol
When You're Evil by Voltaire
When the Devil is too busy
and Deat's a bit too much
They call on me by name you see.
for my special touch.
To the gentlemen I'm Miss Fortune
To the Ladies i'm Sir Prize
But call me by any name
may way it's all the same
i'm the fly in your soup
i'm the pebble in your shoe
i'm the pea beneath your bed
i'm a bump on every head
i'm the peel on which you slip
i'm a pin in every hip
i'm the thorn in your side
makes you wriggle and writhe
And it's so easy when you're evil
This is the life, you see
The Devil tips his hat to me
i do it all because i'm evil
And i do it all for free
Your tears are all the pay i'll ever need
While theres children to make sad
While there's candy to be had
while there's pockets left to pick
While there's grannies to trip down the stairs
i'll be there, i'll be waiting round the corner
it's a game. i'm glad i'm in it
'cause there's one born every minute
And it's so easy when you're evil
This is the life, you see
The Devil tips his hat to me
i do it all because i'm evil
And i do it all for free
Your tears are all the pay i'll ever need
i pledge my allegiance to all things dark
And I promise on my damned soul
to do as i am told, Lord Beelxebub
has never seen a soldier quite like me
Not only does his job, but does it happily.
i'm the fear that keeps you awake
i'm the shadows on the wall
i'm the monster they become
i'm the nightmare in your skull
i'm a dagger in your back
am extra turn on the rack
i'm the quivering of your heart
A stabbing pain, a sudden start.
And it's so easy when you're evil
This is the life, you see
The Devil tips his hat to me
i do it all because i'm evil
And i do it all for free
Your tears are all the pay i'll ever need
it gets so lonley being evil
What i'd do to see a smile
even for a little while
And no one loves you when you're evil
i'm lying though my teeth
Your tears are all the company i need
The Raven
by Edgar Allan Poe
This poem was first published in The New York Mirror, January 1845. Rev. George Gilfillan, a contemporary litterateur of Rev. Rufus Griswald, Poe's literary executor, declared Poe hastened his wife's death to write the poem. The Reverands and Poe waged bitter war with politeness, justice, and truth on the side of Poe.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;— vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow— sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me— filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"— here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed
he;But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning— little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered— not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never— nevermore'."
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee— by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite— respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!— prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by horror haunted— tell me truly, I implore—
Is there— is there balm in Gilead?— tell me— tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil— prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us— by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting—
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!— quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted— nevermore!
| Member Since: | Sep 04, 2007 |
| Last Login: | Jan 04, 2008 |
| Times Viewed: | 4,378 |
| Times Rated: | 427 |
| Rating: | 9.277 |
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