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Mark Hopwood Poems
I Walk Alone
When I feel like talking No one will listen When I feel like crying No one will be there
Put your soul in the hands of the music, man You may think you can't be saved, But you can So let the movement shake your soul Come on, Come on now take control
Walk Your Own Path
Deep in the heart of the valley of life Thats where you'll find the dreams you misplaced Trapped between rocks but not beyond reach Sparkling with future, waiting to be chased,
A happy you Is a happy me Without you I'm nothing With you its WE
No Future, Too Much Past
When you have no future You have to live in the past A member of this human race Who'll pass the finish line last.
Faceless and Faithless
We are the faceless few the surgeon's removed all signs of life Now they brainwash and hypnotise us With a flick of the shiny knife.
One of These Days
One of these days you'll see Who I'm really meant to be I'll be fulfilled and give so much When I'm free.
As my mind lies in the brightness of the night And the lies cast shadows onto the truth The morning sun shines through the darkness of the light Along my lonely journey of life
Fly Me To The Sun
Like the bird flying high in the sunrise I just want to fly to you I just want to fly to your soul Into the sunset, high in the sunrise,
If Only I Could Tell You
If only you knew What scratches behind my eyes If only you could see Why I can't hold this disguise, these lies.
Mirror Mirror Behind my wall Who will catch me when I fall? There will be no one to lend me a hand I'll be Grey, Black and Blue when I land.
Big Pigs Picnic
If you go down to the woods today You're sure of a big surprise If you go down to the woods today You won't believe your eyes
Run for your life Said the man with the gun Aaaaw, Said the other man, You're no fun.
Out of Order
Why does the world spin around? Why do leaves fall to the ground? Why do we live, until we die? Why should we care or even try?
Comments about Mark Hopwood
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
I Walk Alone
When I feel like talking
No one will listen
When I feel like crying
No one will be there
When I feel like walking
I will walk alone
When I feel like dying
Is everyday of my life.
I'm a good actor
Sometimes I can fool myself into believing I'm happy
And as I wipe the words away from my mouth
And throw the burning rag to the floor
Holding the air tightly in my hands
I can sense a battle coming
As the dark black cloud surrounds me again
And the screaming hordes eat into my brain.
How can the sky be the limit
I can't even get my feet off ...