Welcome to Gaia! ::

Metallica - "Disposable Heroes"

Bodies fill the fields I see, hungry heroes end
No one to play soldier now, no one to pretend
Running blind through killing fields, bred to kill them all
Victim of what said should be, a servant till I fall

Soldier boy, made of clay
Now an empty shell
Twenty-one, only son
But he served us well
Bred to kill, not to care
Do just as we say
Finished here. Greetings, Death,
He's yours to take away

Back to the front
You will do what I say, when I say
Back to the front
You will die when I say, you must die
Back to the front
You coward, you servant, you blind man

Barking of machine-gun fire does nothing to me now
Sounding of the clock that ticks, get used to it somehow
More a man, more stripes you wear, glory-seeker trends
Bodies fill the fields I see
The slaughter never ends

Soldier boy, made of clay
Now an empty shell
Twenty-one, only son
But he served us well
Bred to kill, not to care
Do just as we say
Finished here. Greetings, Death,
He's yours to take away

Back to the front
You will do what I say, when I say
Back to the front
You will die when I say, you must die
Back to the front
You coward, you servant, you blind man

Why am I dying?
Kill, have no fear
Lie, live off lying
Hell, hell is here

[Solo]

Why am I dying?
Kill, have no fear
Lie, live off lying
Hell, hell is here
I was born for dying

Life planned out before my birth, nothing could I say
Had no chance to see myself, molded day by day
Looking back I realize, nothing have I done
Left to die with only friend
Alone I clench my gun

Soldier boy, made of clay
Now an empty shell
Twenty-one, only son
But he served us well
Bred to kill, not to care
Do just as we say
Finished here. Greetings, Death,
He's yours to take away

Back to the front
You will do what I say, when I say
Back to the front
You will die when I say, you must die
Back to the front
You coward, you servant, you blind man

Back to the front
Back to the front
Back to the front
Back to the front
Back to the front

Theatre of Tragedy - "Black as the Devil Painteth"

An artist is what is call'd the self that the brush holdeth -
Though hath it then caringly caress'd the Canvas of to-morrow?,
O Canvas! for thee I hold my tool - still! passionless it quivereth,
Minding not that my hands are more than apt;
My Muse,

Where is hidden
The blue-huéd arch'neath the High Heaven's rich emblazonry,
The flowery meadow, embrac'd by the horizon - snowflakéd and aery mountains,
In which the barebreastéd maidens dance to the lay o' midsummer,
Aloft the distant lazy flapping of the doves in vainglore.

O Canvas!, wherefore canst thou these images not allow? -
I deem a projection of my Theatre they should be! -
Then, I challenge thee the wisdom of naysaying the yearns o' mine -
What is this unforseen that not enjoineth light shades to be skillfully paintéd?

The raven sky prey'd on by the snowfill'd, blustery clouds,
Unadornéd the meadow - hunger driveth the wolf out of the wood,
The maidens chainéd and whippéd within a dreary dungeon -
And, lo! 'twixt the wizen roses a mossy grave:
The Devil is as Black as he Painteth -
O Canvas! wherefore?...

Estelle- American Boy

Ne-Yo- Miss Independent

David Cook- Time of My Life

Andy Duguid feat Leah - Wasted

Cirque du Soleil- Alegria

L'Arc~en~Ciel - DRINK IT DOWN(hydeless version)