Are you going to Scarborough Fair
Parsley, age, rosemary and thyme
Remember me to one who lives there
She once was a true love of mine
Tell her to made me a cambric shirt
(Oh the side of a hill in the deep forest green)
Parsley, age, rosemary and thyme
(Tracing of sparrow on the snow crested brown)
Without no seams nor needle work
(Blankets and bedclothes the child of mountain)
Then she’ll be a true love of mine
(Sleeps unaware of the clarion call)
Tell her to find me and an acre of land
(On the side of a hill a sprinkling of leaves)
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
(Washes the grave with silvery tears)
Between the salt water and the sea stand
(A soldier cleans and polishes a gun)
Then she’ll be a true love of mine
Tell her to reap it with a sickle of leather
(War bells blazing in scarlet battalion)
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
(General order their soldiers to kill)
And gather it all in a bunch of heather
(And to fight for a cause they’ve long ago forgotten)
Then she’ll be a true love of mine.

The Sound of Silence
Hello darkness my old friend ,I’ve come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping ,left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains within the sound of silence
In restless dreams I walked alone, narrow streets of cobblestones
Beneath the halo of a street lamp, I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
Split the night ,and touched the sound of silence
And in the naked night I saw, ten thousand people may be more
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
No one dare disturb the sound of silence
Fools said I you do not know, silence’s like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you
But my words like silent raindrops fell, echoed in the wells of silence
And the people bowed and prayed to the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning in the words that it was forming
And the sign said
The words of the prophets are written
On the subway was tenement hall
And whispered in the sound of silence

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