Jesus Christ you've come out of hiding
Just sign here on the dotted line
I'll see you're OK
I'll say to you expenses are high
Seeing you've made it before
I'll take 20% and no more (Gross)
Oh, tell me Lord did you happen to bring with you
A saleable piece of the cross
Crown of thorns
A disciple or two
We'll sell them Jesus hats
Jesus socks
Jesus coats
We'll sue the Pope
Jesus shoes
Jesus dirty books too
I wonder what will Billy Graham do
Let me say how much I respect your wish
To feed the multitude with 5 loaves and a fish
But I'm sure you'll see by going on the road with me
Will make the needy pay
There's more money that way
We'll sell them Jesus hats
Jesus socks
Jesus coats
We'll sue the Pope
Jesus shoes
Jesus dirty books too
I wonder what will Billy Graham do
<³ëÀÎÀ» À§ÇÑ ³ª¶ó´Â ¾ø´Ù(No country for old man) ¼Ò¼³°ú ¿µÈÀÇ ¿µ°¨ÀÌ µÈ ½Ã>
Sailing to Byzanthium ºñÀÜƼ¿òÀ¸·ÎÀÇ Ç×ÇØ
William Butler Yeats Àª¸®¾ö ¹öƲ·¯ ¿¹ÀÌÃ÷
I
That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees,
—Those dying generations—at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.
II
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.
III
O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.
IV
Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.