Fictional Songs Quotes

“THE ANTHEM OF HOPE

Tiny footprints in mud, metal scraps among thistles
Child who ambles barefooted through humanity’s war
An Elderflower in mud, landmines hidden in bristles
Blood clings to your feet, your wee hands stiff and sore
You who walk among trenches, midst our filth and our gore
Box of crayons in hand, your tears tumble like crystals
Gentle, scared little boy, at the heel of Hope Valley,
The grassy heel of Hope Valley.

And the bombs fall-fall-fall
Down the slopes of Hope Valley
Bayonets cut-cut-cut
Through the ranks of Hope Valley
Napalm clouds burn-burn-burn
All who fight in Hope Valley,
All who fall in Hope Valley.

Bullets fly past your shoulder, fireflies light the sky
Child who digs through the trenches for his long sleeping father
You plant a kiss on his forehead, and you whisper goodbye
Vain corpses, brave soldiers, offered as cannon fodder
Nothing is left but a wall; near its pallor you gather
Crayon ready, you draw: the memory of a lie
Kind, sad little boy, sketching your dream of Hope Valley
Your little dream of Hope Valley.

Missiles fly-fly-fly
Over the fields of Hope Valley
Carabines shoot-shoot-shoot
The brave souls of Hope Valley
And the tanks shell-shell-shell
Those who toiled for Hope Valley,
Those who died for Hope Valley.

In the light of gunfire, the little child draws the valley
Every trench is a creek; every bloodstain a flower
No battlefield, but a garden with large fields ripe with barley
Ideations of peace in his dark, final hour
And so the child drew his future, on the wall of that tower
Memories of times past; your tiny village lush alley
Great, brave little boy, the future hope of Hope Valley
The only hope of Hope Valley.

And the grass grows-grows-grows
On the knolls of Hope Valley
Daffodils bloom-bloom-bloom
Across the hills of Hope Valley
The midday sun shines-shines-shines
On the folk of Hope Valley
On the dead of Hope Valley

From his Aerodyne fleet
The soldier faces the carnage
Uttering words to the fallen
He commends their great courage
Across a wrecked, tower wall
A child’s hand limns the valley
And this drawing speaks volumes
Words of hope, not of bally
He wipes his tears and marvels
The miracle of Hope Valley
The only miracle of Hope Valley

And the grass grows-grows-grows
Midst all the dead of Hope Valley
Daffodils bloom-bloom-bloom
For all the dead of Hope Valley
The evening sun sets-sets-sets
On the miracle of Hope Valley
The only miracle of Hope Valley

(lyrics to "the Anthem of Hope", a fictional song featured in Louise Blackwick's Neon Science-Fiction novel "5 Stars".”
― Louise Blackwick, 5 Stars

“A million sensations hit me all at once – the scent of her perfume, the slight taste of strawberries from her lips, the clean minty taste of her breath, the rise and fall of her chest as she slowly breathed, the palpable beating of her heart, the welcome warmth of her presence – and I remembered the lyrics of the song I’d heard in my dream:

Where time's winds blow
That's where you'll be.
Where love's fires glow
Your smile I'll see.
Across the stars
Across the sea
Where time's winds blow
Our hearts will be.”
― Alex Diaz-Granados, Reunion: A Story: A Novella

“Seven days and seven nights; Isendjan! Isendjan!
Seven ways to make it right; Isendjan! Isendjan!
Pray and Pilgrimage and Rest, all of these a small request.
Keep your shoes beneath your bed.
Rejoice! But do not cover your head,
Else will Babaroga hap
To snatch your boots and bald your cap!
Beware, beware, the Witch of Old.
Forget not what has been foretold of
Isendjan! Isendjan! Seven nights and seven days of
Isendjan! Isendjan! The Mirror, the Hag, away aways!”
― Molly Collier, The Paragon

“The Witch of the Crater dove in and survived.
The Witch of the Badlands bade mountains her hive.
Devourer, Deceiver, Destroyer in one.
No soul made it past her defenses alive.
Where sand turns to craggy rock, turn back and run.
Of body and blood, the Devourer leaves none.”
― Molly Collier, The Paragon

“Deep in the desert, o’er painted rock hill,
Once was an ocean aplenty until
The Devourer emerged, the water was scourged.
What should never have emptied nevermore would fill.

Deep in the desert, ‘neath painted rock hill,
The thwarted one waits for the levee to fill.
The witch drank it dries, the crow stole her eyes, so she usurped its body and took to the skies.

Deep in the desert o’er painted rock hill,
The crow hag thirsts when the stormclouds refill.
The crow drinks them dry, the hag tarries by, but not a drop descends from the grey desert sky.

Deep in the desert ‘neath painted rock hill,
The crow plots its descent into the anthill.
The ants–unawares–have forgotten their prayers.
The Devourer remembers and hungers still.”
― Molly Collier, The Paragon