Hair Metal Soliloquy: Hence I Journey Anon

From White Snake, Here I Go Again

I know not to where I go, but I knoweth certainly whence I've been
I graspesth on the promises in the ballads of yore
And in my mind's eye, I am certain
I waste time no more
Hence I journey anon, hence I journey anon.

Though I searcheth for an answer
I find and not find that for which I seeketh
Oh Lord, prithee, give me strength to carry forth
For I fathom what thou meanest
To abide along the lonely road of dreams

Hence I journey anon unaided
Wayfaring the only road of which I've henceforth had knowledge
As a vagabond, I was brought forth to walk alone
It is decided
I waste time no more

I be another heart requiring salvage
Waiting on love's sweet charity
And I shall grippeth tight for the rest of my days
For I fathom what thou meanest
To abide along the lonely road of dreams


Hence I journey anon unaided
Wayfaring the only road of which I've henceforth had knowledge
As a vagabond, I was brought forth to walk alone
It is decided
I waste time no more


But hence I journey anon, hence I journey anon...

Wednesday's Medicine

Recently, I have been reminded of the brilliance of Shakespeare. I know. Of course, he's a genius, right? But having just watched a brilliant production of The Merchant of Venice, I'm reminded of the power of his art. He is a rock star. So, in an effort not to forget again, I'm going to use Wednesdays to post a bit of Shakespeare or some other genius' work, lest we forget art under the press of the humdrum.

Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2.

I have of late--but wherefore I know not--lost my mirth, forgone all custom of exercise, and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestic roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors. What a piece of work is man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god--the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?