She closed her eyes, comforted by the light tones of the lullaby her father was singing. He let his voice trail off, softening, slowing. Stopping to take one last look as he turned off the light, he smiled. Another perfect day.
A song that is sung to a child to make them sleep. Typically, they’re annoying. VERY annoying. Like, when I used to be sung lullabies, I’d start crying. Why? Because they’re just freakin’ annoying man. Like, “Rock-a-bye, and goodnight?” Who thinks about that stuff! That song’s about a kid falling out of his cradle and DYING! “GOOD NIGHT, BABY, I HOPE YOU DIE!” That’s basically what any parent is saying to his/her child when they sing her/him rock-a-bye-baby.
It sends me into a reverie just like the ones I always have. I dream of love and hope and fulfillment. It sets the stage for my mind to wander, that one song.
everyone thinks that lullabys have to be sung. but no one ever sang to me, not that i can remember at least. but the moments of my parents holding me until i fell asleep or just being there, that was my lullaby. and thats what everyones lullaby should be, it should be what made them the most comfortable.
The sound of her voice fades away until you could have mistaken it for an echo. I clasp my hand around her fingers but I know as soon as I’m asleep she’ll go. Her voice sings the most beautiful lullabies.
you haunt the halls of my mind like a ghost
an echo of what used to be
of what could of been
of what never will be
and you sing a song, as you drift through
not a lullaby like before
but a wordless cry
and if i listen well enough
i might just hear
your final goodbye
I sit down and sing a sweet song near the roaring fire. My first thought after singing this song was who can hear this great melody I created. One day it could be the song I serenade my love… One day it could be the song listened around the world… One day it could be the song I sing to my child…
I always sang you the same lullaby Goodnight Joey, Sleep tight Joey, The God above is a God of Love little boy, sleep in peace, it is still my prayer for you when I awake in the middle of the night with thoughts of you, so far away yet so close to my sweet dreams.
Lullaby, a soothing word for what we think carries babies to the warmth and goodness of sleep.
But nobody ever talks about what the babies know and why it is they cry when you dim the lights, place them in their crib and enchant them with deceitful songs that lead them, hand in hand into a darkness where abandonment, weakness and the unknown wait to devour them.
The sweet lullby that he used to sing while he did it was like nails on a chalkboard when i heard it years later. my eyes welled up and my stomache knotted. the pain was all right there again.
She sang softly to the child, her voice soft and soothing. The infant’s eyes closed and her mouth opened I’m a pink o. She drifted off to sleep but the lady continues to sing. As she continued the soft tones began to mangle into a disturbing disjointed melody. The child awoke with a cry, bawling, tears streaming dowm her small face. The harsh tones of the lullaby grew louder and louder along with the baby’s screaming wails. All the sound stopped abruptly. Only silence could be heard.
I fell asleep, knowing I would never wake up again,
and then my story truly began.
The notes of the lullaby became pathways,
Each one filled with richness and warmth,
But always darkness.
They fuelled my journey,
Took me away from the perverse land of hatred and corruption,
Along the beautiful river
Of bliss
and emptiness.
I sung a lullaby to a baby because it cried and wouldn’t sleep whatsoever and I don’t know what to write about lullabies but they are pretty and I know a good lullaby and I like to sing them and it gives me great pleasure to sing and write about lullabies because they are so beautiful and I love them with a passion because they are totally awesome.
sing me a lullaby
i need a lullaby
to call my screams
to make me stop
I. want. everyone. to. STOP.
and everything
stop talking to me
let the words fill my ears
let the music be what i hear
i dont care
i dont want to be here
banish all these thoughts
its been rough
its been tough
its been a tumble in the mud day
i know for me too
so sing it away
don’t complain to me
i don’t care anymore
i dont want anymore
i want sleep
there is a song called whisky lullaby. It is a great song. Brad Paisley sings it with alison Krause. the two are both amazing singers. The song is about a guy who comes back from war and finds his wife or girlfriend cheating on him, he then get so upset, he trys to drink away the pain and ends up killing himself. she then feels like she is to blame and then she herself drinks and kills herself.
the vocal cords in her throat were bloody and torn. even on her death bed she held that baby tight, brushing his soft black curls. he was like a fuzzy little peach. her lips were too cracked, and her mouth to dry to open. she tried anyways.
she sang him a lullaby as he laid down to sleep. it was not a song for a child, but one of love and longing. to never let him go. and she kept singing, until he knew she would always be there.
Twinkle, twinkle… The room is dark and lit with a single nightlight, sticky stars surrounding the corners that two walls and the ceiling make. Books adorn the shelf above his head, below that a fluffed up pinstriped pillow.
sweet lullaby singing to a baby that is falling asleep in the warm crib prepared by mother. Stories that have a history behind it that children will not pick up on. Comfort singing by mother.
Sing me a lullaby and I’ll take a nap. Sing me a lullaby and my dreams will be sweet. Sing me a lullaby and I’ll smile in my sleep. Sing me a lullaby so I can be released.
“Lullaby?!” the young, blonde teenager said into the phone. Her voice was high and panicked with a hoarseness that suggested recent screaming “It’s not a lullaby, Mrs. Anderson, it’s a song about eating teenage girls! You never said anything about this in your Craigslist ad!”
Through the hissing static of the weak connection, Mrs. Anderson said quietly “Well sweetie, these types things are inevitable. His father is Satan.”
The screeching wail that suddenly radiated from her phone caught the attention of the sleazy man next to her at the sleazy bar. They shared a glance and hers eyes told his to look away.
Mrs. Anderson paid her bar tab and walked out into the cold, grey street.Babysitters are never prepared for this, she thought.
The whispered lullaby that escapes my lips lures the baby into a deep, dreamless sleep. Once asleep, she looks so peaceful, like something in a picture. I wish I could help her keep that innocence as long as possible.
Sometimes when I couldn’t sleep my mom would sing me this fucking horrible, off-pitch lullaby. It was actually one of the worst things that I had ever heard but I didn’t complain. You know why? Because I knew that somewhere out there there were kids with moms that could sing better than my mom and even as they could, it didn’t have the love and compassion that mines did. So that’s why I didn’t complain.
bellas lullaby from twilight i love lullabys kiss my forehead and tell me goodnight love me forever and purely too, love together and unconditionally too. give me hope and give me enlightenment and most of all give me rest
Hush little baby, don’t you cry, Daddy’s gonna sing you a lullaby. And if that lullaby plays slow, then little baby don’t you know. Daddy’s gonna try for all his worth, but sometimes life just gets worse. Hush little baby, don’t make a sound, sunny days will soon come ’round.
My father’s last few months were spent in hospice care, where he’d stay in bed all day except for the brief period that they moved him to give him a bath and change the sheets. I don’t know how conscious he was of the whole process at that point.
The lullaby played in the distance as Laurel came to her room. Her nightgown made her already pale skin look even paler. It was sheer and white. She picked up a folded letter on the stand beside her bed and caressed the seal.
We all need a lullaby. Something to keep us calm. We think we only need them as a baby, but why should that stop? Just because we need it as a baby doesn’t mean we don’t need it now. Lullabies are gentle and soft, something we always need. Lullabies keep us sane, they help us forget everything and feel the love we receive.
Sing me your songs, and sign me your triplicates
Tell me why I’m happy, or just let it be
No words
No shocks of angry hair
Just smooth, smooth, over wishes and dreams
A scattered stain glass look
And fly on the Capricorn
Lullabies cleaning the sky
The melody rang sweet from beyond the dell. The children slowly stopped playing, but didn’t stop grinning. The sweet scent of flowers drifted through the air. The lullaby wasn’t so peaceful at heart.
not a lullaby, those winds tonight. the wind chimes, to scare away evil, are evil themselves. devil chimes, again and again and again. i will not slumber tonight. i will fret for my roof and windows and lawn gnomes who must brave this storm alone.
“Lullaby?!” the young, blonde teenager said into the phone. Her voice was high and panicked with a hoarseness that suggested recent screaming “It’s not a lullaby, Mrs. Anderson, it’s a song about eating teenage girls! You never said anything about this in your Craigslist ad!”
Through the hissing static of the weak connection, Mrs. Anderson said quietly “Well sweetie, these types things are inevitable. His father is Satan.”
The screeching wail that suddenly radiated from her phone caught the attention of the sleazy man next to her at the sleazy bar. They shared a glance and hers eyes told his to look away.
Mrs. Anderson paid her bar tab and walked out into the cold, grey street.Babysitters are never prepared for this, she thought.
I sang the lullaby to her silently. It had been three months since her father had died and before he passed, he taught it to me, telling me how it was the only possible way she could get to sleep. I don’t know how I will manage raising her on my own, but I know I will have to.
lullaby
(read: lull-a-bye)
a mother conceals her uncertainty that her child will reawake
She closed her eyes, comforted by the light tones of the lullaby her father was singing. He let his voice trail off, softening, slowing. Stopping to take one last look as he turned off the light, he smiled. Another perfect day.
A song that is sung to a child to make them sleep. Typically, they’re annoying. VERY annoying. Like, when I used to be sung lullabies, I’d start crying. Why? Because they’re just freakin’ annoying man. Like, “Rock-a-bye, and goodnight?” Who thinks about that stuff! That song’s about a kid falling out of his cradle and DYING! “GOOD NIGHT, BABY, I HOPE YOU DIE!” That’s basically what any parent is saying to his/her child when they sing her/him rock-a-bye-baby.
It sends me into a reverie just like the ones I always have. I dream of love and hope and fulfillment. It sets the stage for my mind to wander, that one song.
everyone thinks that lullabys have to be sung. but no one ever sang to me, not that i can remember at least. but the moments of my parents holding me until i fell asleep or just being there, that was my lullaby. and thats what everyones lullaby should be, it should be what made them the most comfortable.
“Like lullabies you are
Forever in mind.
I feel you in all
The pieces of my life.”
-YUNA
The sound of her voice fades away until you could have mistaken it for an echo. I clasp my hand around her fingers but I know as soon as I’m asleep she’ll go. Her voice sings the most beautiful lullabies.
you haunt the halls of my mind like a ghost
an echo of what used to be
of what could of been
of what never will be
and you sing a song, as you drift through
not a lullaby like before
but a wordless cry
and if i listen well enough
i might just hear
your final goodbye
I sit down and sing a sweet song near the roaring fire. My first thought after singing this song was who can hear this great melody I created. One day it could be the song I serenade my love… One day it could be the song listened around the world… One day it could be the song I sing to my child…
Don’t you fret, my dear,
It’ll all be over soon,
I’ll be waiting here,
For you.
Please don’t go… . . . . .
I always sang you the same lullaby Goodnight Joey, Sleep tight Joey, The God above is a God of Love little boy, sleep in peace, it is still my prayer for you when I awake in the middle of the night with thoughts of you, so far away yet so close to my sweet dreams.
Lullaby, a soothing word for what we think carries babies to the warmth and goodness of sleep.
But nobody ever talks about what the babies know and why it is they cry when you dim the lights, place them in their crib and enchant them with deceitful songs that lead them, hand in hand into a darkness where abandonment, weakness and the unknown wait to devour them.
The sweet lullby that he used to sing while he did it was like nails on a chalkboard when i heard it years later. my eyes welled up and my stomache knotted. the pain was all right there again.
She sang softly to the child, her voice soft and soothing. The infant’s eyes closed and her mouth opened I’m a pink o. She drifted off to sleep but the lady continues to sing. As she continued the soft tones began to mangle into a disturbing disjointed melody. The child awoke with a cry, bawling, tears streaming dowm her small face. The harsh tones of the lullaby grew louder and louder along with the baby’s screaming wails. All the sound stopped abruptly. Only silence could be heard.
I fell asleep, knowing I would never wake up again,
and then my story truly began.
The notes of the lullaby became pathways,
Each one filled with richness and warmth,
But always darkness.
They fuelled my journey,
Took me away from the perverse land of hatred and corruption,
Along the beautiful river
Of bliss
and emptiness.
I sung a lullaby to a baby because it cried and wouldn’t sleep whatsoever and I don’t know what to write about lullabies but they are pretty and I know a good lullaby and I like to sing them and it gives me great pleasure to sing and write about lullabies because they are so beautiful and I love them with a passion because they are totally awesome.
sing me a lullaby
i need a lullaby
to call my screams
to make me stop
I. want. everyone. to. STOP.
and everything
stop talking to me
let the words fill my ears
let the music be what i hear
i dont care
i dont want to be here
banish all these thoughts
its been rough
its been tough
its been a tumble in the mud day
i know for me too
so sing it away
don’t complain to me
i don’t care anymore
i dont want anymore
i want sleep
there is a song called whisky lullaby. It is a great song. Brad Paisley sings it with alison Krause. the two are both amazing singers. The song is about a guy who comes back from war and finds his wife or girlfriend cheating on him, he then get so upset, he trys to drink away the pain and ends up killing himself. she then feels like she is to blame and then she herself drinks and kills herself.
the vocal cords in her throat were bloody and torn. even on her death bed she held that baby tight, brushing his soft black curls. he was like a fuzzy little peach. her lips were too cracked, and her mouth to dry to open. she tried anyways.
she sang him a lullaby as he laid down to sleep. it was not a song for a child, but one of love and longing. to never let him go. and she kept singing, until he knew she would always be there.
Twinkle, twinkle… The room is dark and lit with a single nightlight, sticky stars surrounding the corners that two walls and the ceiling make. Books adorn the shelf above his head, below that a fluffed up pinstriped pillow.
sweet lullaby singing to a baby that is falling asleep in the warm crib prepared by mother. Stories that have a history behind it that children will not pick up on. Comfort singing by mother.
Sing me a lullaby and I’ll take a nap. Sing me a lullaby and my dreams will be sweet. Sing me a lullaby and I’ll smile in my sleep. Sing me a lullaby so I can be released.
“Lullaby?!” the young, blonde teenager said into the phone. Her voice was high and panicked with a hoarseness that suggested recent screaming “It’s not a lullaby, Mrs. Anderson, it’s a song about eating teenage girls! You never said anything about this in your Craigslist ad!”
Through the hissing static of the weak connection, Mrs. Anderson said quietly “Well sweetie, these types things are inevitable. His father is Satan.”
The screeching wail that suddenly radiated from her phone caught the attention of the sleazy man next to her at the sleazy bar. They shared a glance and hers eyes told his to look away.
Mrs. Anderson paid her bar tab and walked out into the cold, grey street.Babysitters are never prepared for this, she thought.
Still, the child has fed. She can go home now.
The song flowed from her lips like silk, wrapping me tightly in a soothing embrace,
The whispered lullaby that escapes my lips lures the baby into a deep, dreamless sleep. Once asleep, she looks so peaceful, like something in a picture. I wish I could help her keep that innocence as long as possible.
Sometimes when I couldn’t sleep my mom would sing me this fucking horrible, off-pitch lullaby. It was actually one of the worst things that I had ever heard but I didn’t complain. You know why? Because I knew that somewhere out there there were kids with moms that could sing better than my mom and even as they could, it didn’t have the love and compassion that mines did. So that’s why I didn’t complain.
Sing to me, a lullaby
add in a death threat or two…
…..though I know not to defy
the monster inside of you.
bellas lullaby from twilight i love lullabys kiss my forehead and tell me goodnight love me forever and purely too, love together and unconditionally too. give me hope and give me enlightenment and most of all give me rest
Hush little baby, don’t you cry, Daddy’s gonna sing you a lullaby. And if that lullaby plays slow, then little baby don’t you know. Daddy’s gonna try for all his worth, but sometimes life just gets worse. Hush little baby, don’t make a sound, sunny days will soon come ’round.
My father’s last few months were spent in hospice care, where he’d stay in bed all day except for the brief period that they moved him to give him a bath and change the sheets. I don’t know how conscious he was of the whole process at that point.
The lullaby played in the distance as Laurel came to her room. Her nightgown made her already pale skin look even paler. It was sheer and white. She picked up a folded letter on the stand beside her bed and caressed the seal.
We all need a lullaby. Something to keep us calm. We think we only need them as a baby, but why should that stop? Just because we need it as a baby doesn’t mean we don’t need it now. Lullabies are gentle and soft, something we always need. Lullabies keep us sane, they help us forget everything and feel the love we receive.
Sing me your songs, and sign me your triplicates
Tell me why I’m happy, or just let it be
No words
No shocks of angry hair
Just smooth, smooth, over wishes and dreams
A scattered stain glass look
And fly on the Capricorn
Lullabies cleaning the sky
The melody rang sweet from beyond the dell. The children slowly stopped playing, but didn’t stop grinning. The sweet scent of flowers drifted through the air. The lullaby wasn’t so peaceful at heart.
“Did you sing her a lullaby?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Hannah set down her highball glass. “She says my singing voice alarms her.”
“What? Why?”
She shrugged. “Well, she didn’t say it quite like that…but…I guess I don’t sound too great.”
“Or you try too hard.”
“I just want her to sleep well,” Hannah sighed. “For once. And not have nightmares every time three o’clock am rolls around.”
“We can only wish,” said Todd.
not a lullaby, those winds tonight. the wind chimes, to scare away evil, are evil themselves. devil chimes, again and again and again. i will not slumber tonight. i will fret for my roof and windows and lawn gnomes who must brave this storm alone.
Sing a song of love to me my one my only my husband my wife and it will weave us both together in the night with words to soothe the darkest dreams …
“Lullaby?!” the young, blonde teenager said into the phone. Her voice was high and panicked with a hoarseness that suggested recent screaming “It’s not a lullaby, Mrs. Anderson, it’s a song about eating teenage girls! You never said anything about this in your Craigslist ad!”
Through the hissing static of the weak connection, Mrs. Anderson said quietly “Well sweetie, these types things are inevitable. His father is Satan.”
The screeching wail that suddenly radiated from her phone caught the attention of the sleazy man next to her at the sleazy bar. They shared a glance and hers eyes told his to look away.
Mrs. Anderson paid her bar tab and walked out into the cold, grey street.Babysitters are never prepared for this, she thought.
Still, the child has fed. She can go home now.
I sang the lullaby to her silently. It had been three months since her father had died and before he passed, he taught it to me, telling me how it was the only possible way she could get to sleep. I don’t know how I will manage raising her on my own, but I know I will have to.