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Array
(
[sid] => 87564
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Outlaw Blues - B Sides 2: Too Late
[time] => 2005-03-15 18:09:56
[hometext] => Slide has died ... but his music won't let him go
[bodytext] => ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ You can only hide from the truth for so long Slide was no exception to this rule So he cursed and he swore at the hands of fate And a God who could be so cruel His mother was hunting him, of that he was sure She’d need to finish what she began But Slide also felt with all he had left His hourglass empty of sand ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  Slide Cotrelle’s Too Late ______________________________ I can feel my life Just slipping away Night after night And day after day My body is tired My music’s been played It’s too late to think Anything can be changed It’s too late to cry Too late to try In a matter of time It’s gonna be Too late for goodbye ~ ( music picks up ) What did she do to my mind What kinda spell she got me under I turn around again to find Confusing images of wonder The dead are rising up to meet me Reaching out to drag me down Still my music won’t release me And sanctuary can’t be found It’s too late to grieve Too late to be received In a matter of time It’s gonna be Too late for me ~ The music keeps me in this plane And mocks me every other day Magik weaved in each refrain Won’t let my spirit fade away It’s too late to hide Too late to be disguised And it’s long past the time For my death To be denied ~ ( instrumental ) The music has grabbed me It won’t let me go Even though they have taken My heart and my soul It’s too late to cry And it’s too late to grieve And it’s too soon to think I will get some relief So I’ll just go on playing While they hear my voice Living on borrowed time As if I had a choice And I’ll pray for redemption And patiently wait for my slow condemnation And hope ~ That it’s not Too Late ( music fades to a ticking clock ... slowing and ends with a single chime) Tick, tock, tick ~ tock, tick .... Dong ~ ______________________________ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ There were precious few Who could help him now And fewer yet still that could hear His music had taken A dark haunting turn Filled with desperation and fear He felt the witch slowly gaining on him And needed some way to thwart her So he sought out a graveyard that he recalled Was nestled within the French Quarter [comments] => 7 [counter] => 914 [topic] => 45 [informant] => Nazmythian [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 24 [ratings] => 5 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => group )
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