Deck the hall with Pure Choc’late Tra la la la laa, tra la la la. ‘Tis the sea-son to eat choc’late Tra la la la laa, tra la la la.
Please remember, please remember Chocolate should never be Ever less than fifty two percent Tra la la la laa, tra la la la.
Bitte denkt daran dass Schokolade nie weniger als zwei und fünfzig prozent haben darf und immer mit Sorgfalt gehandhabt werden müss.
Please remember, please remember Chocolate should always be handled with care Deck the hall with Pure Choc’late Tra la la la laa, tra la la la. Tra la la la laa, tra la la la.
All kings and all their favourites All glory of honours beauty and wits The sun itself which makes time as they pass Is elder by a year now than it was When thou and I first one another saw All other things to their destruction draw Only our love hath no decay This no tomorrow hath, no yesterday Running it never ran from us away But truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.
And then we shall be throughly blest ; But now no more than all the rest. Here upon earth we’re kings, and none but we Can be such kings, nor of such subjects be. Who is so safe as we? where none can do Treason to us, except one of us two. True and false fears let us refrain, Let us love nobly, and live, and add again Years and years unto years, till we attain To write threescore; this is the second of our reign.
Two graves must hide thine and my corse ; If one might, death were no divorce. Alas ! as well as other princes, we Who prince enough in one another be Must leave at last in death these eyes and ears, Oft fed with true oaths, and with sweet salt tears ; But souls where nothing dwells but love All other thoughts being inmates then shall prove This or a love increasèd there above, When bodies to their graves, souls from their graves remove.
John Donne (1572 – 31 March 1631) Modified slightly for the song: Is elder by some years now than it was To write threescore; this is the silver of our reign.
I think mice Are rather nice Their tails are long Their faces small They haven’t any Chins at all. Their ears are pink Their teeth are white They run about the house at night. They nibble things They shouldn’t touch And no one seems To like them much But I think mice Are nice.
You may call, you may call But the little black cats won’t hear you at all The little black cats are ma-ddened By the bright green light of the moon They are whirling and running and hiding They are wild who once were so confiding They are crazed when the moon is riding You will not catch the kittens soon. They care not for saucers of milk, They think not of pillows of silk, Your softest, crooningest call Is less than the buzzing of flies. They are seeing more than you see, They are hearing more than you hear, And out of the darkness they peer With a goblin light in their eyes.
I just thought that I would let you know I am staying across here in the “snow” Crawley have left The machines are bereft And Saida will lunch with us t’morrow.