The Scarlet Pimpernel - Falcon in the Dive

Falcon in the Dive
(The Scarlet Pimpernel)


Hunt for the man
Comb the city, every street, every grate
You put a guard at every gate
Drag him out, shout the moment that you find him!
Damn!
Knock in the doors, lock up the city
Track him down through this town
And be quick about it...now!
How the devil do I ever prevail when I'm only a man?
But I'll never be duped by this scurrilous phantom again

I wasn't born to walk on water
I wasn't born to sack and slaughter
But on my soul, I wasn't born
To stoop to scorn, and knuckle under
A man can learn to steal some thunder
A man can learn to work some wonder
And when the gauntlet's down,
It's time to rise and climb the sky

And soon the moon will smoulder
And the winds will drive
Yes, a man grows older but his soul remains alive
All those tremulous stars still glitter
And I will survive!
Let my heart grow colder and as bitter as a falcon in the dive

There was a dream, a dying ember
There was a dream, I don't remember
But I will resurrect that dream
Though rivers stream and hills grow steeper
For here in hell where life gets cheaper
Oh, here in hell the blood runs deeper
And when the final duel is near
I'll lift my spear and fly

Piercing into the sky and higher
And the strong will thrive
Yes, the weak will cower while the fittest will survive
If we wait for the darkest hour
Till we spring alive
Then with claws of fire, we devour like a falcon in the dive

These are the days! Yes!
Days of glory, days of rage, and the dream
And the dream of Paris preys on my bones
Gnawing night and day and clawing through my brain and
No, never bend! Never kneel!
Rend him to bits! Bite!
For the beauty of the fight

I'm not a man to hunger for blood, but the spirit can cry
To be younger and fiercer and fly
Piercing into the sky and higher
And the strong will thrive
Yes, the weak will cower while the fittest will survive
If we wait for the darkest hour
Till we spring alive
Then with claws of fire, we devour like a falcon in the dive

Flower Language site/index

Have you ever wondered about the secret language of flowers? Been curious about when a bouquet of red roses began to mean love, or why Miss Marple of the Agatha Christe novels always knew when a seemingly innocent flower was really an omen of death? If you want to know the answers to any of these questions, to learn something new, or just to figure out why your wife/girlfriend looked at you funny when you put those yellow roses in your last anniversary bouquet, then this site is for YOU ^_^

In the Garden: The Language of Flowers


~ passed on to me by the brilliant cheesedanish ~