검색어: you lift me behind (영어 - 타갈로그어)

you leave me behind
mahal mo ba ako?

to let me behind
tagalog

and put me behind bars
at ilagay ako sa likod ng mga bar

when you left me behind you set me free
it is all i have lost that has set me free

lift me up
buhatin ko

he will never left me behind
he never left me behind

you've been talking bad things about me behind my back
alam ko ang ginawa mo

you lift my feet off the ground spin me crazier
itinaas mo ang aking mga paa sa lupa paikutin mo ako

wish you lift and carry me up..wanna be with you
wish u lift and carry me up..wanna be with u❤

but you lift my peer of the ground
akala ko talaga hindi na ako magmamahal ulit

you lift my feet off the ground spin me around you make me crazier
itinaas mo ang aking mga paa mula sa lupa na pinaikot mo ako sa paligid

the bato national high school a place for the great and for the small the pride of common batohanons a partridge for the weak and for the strong our home to enjoy and to live in creator of happiness so fine our hope our future to believe in alma mater we praise you all the time when we cry made it dry when we fall you lift so high we bring your name upon a pedestal he loyalty we have to bear everytime and every where a freind who loves forever more when we cry made it dry when we fall you lift s
the bato national high school a place for the great and for the small the pride of common batohanons a partridge for the weak and for the strong our home to enjoy and to live in creator of happiness so fine our future to believe in alma mater we praise you all the time when we cry made it dry when we fall you lift so high we bring your name upon a pedestal he loyalty we have to bear everytime and every where a freind who loves forever more when we cry made it dry when we fall you lift s

a low art [excerpt from the penelopiad] by margaret atwood (canada) now that i’m dead i know everything. this is what i wished would happen, but like so many of my wishes it failed to come true. i know only a few factoids that i didn’t know before. death is much too high a price to pay for the satisfaction of curiosity, needless to say. since being dead — since achieving this state of bonelessness, liplessness, breastlessness —i’ve learned some things i would rather not know, as one does when listening at windows or opening ot her people’s letters. you think you’d like to read minds? think again. down here everyone arrives with a sack, like the sacks used to keep the winds in, but each of these sacks is full of words —words you’ve spoken, words you’ve heard, wo rds that have been said about you. some sacks are very small, others large; my own is of a reasonable size, though a lot of the words in it concern my eminent husband. what a fool he made of me, some say. it was a specialty of his: making fools. he got away with everything, which was another of his specialties: getting away. he was always so plausible. many people have believed that his version of events was the true one, give or take a few murders, a few beautiful seductresses, a few one-eyed monsters. even i believed him, from time to time. i knew he was tricky and a liar, i just didn’t think he would play his tricks and try out his lies on me. hadn’t i been faithful? hadn’t i waited, and waited, and waited, despite the temptation — almost the compulsion — to do otherwise? and what did i amount to, once the official version gained ground? an edifying legend. a stick used to beat other women with. why couldn’t they be as considerate, as trustworthy, as all-suffering as i had been? that was the line they took, the singers, the yarn- spinners. don’t follow my example, i want to scream in your ears — yes, yours! but when i try to scream, i sound like an owl. of course i had inklings, about his slipperiness, his wiliness, his foxiness, his — how can i put this? — his unscrupulousness, but i turned a blind eye. i kept my mouth shut; or if i opened it, i sang his praises. i didn’t contradict, i didn’t ask awkward questions, i didn’t dig deep. i wanted happy endings in those days, and happy endings are best achieved by keeping the right doors locked and going to sleep during the rampages. but after the main events were over and things had become less legendary, i realised how many people were laughing at me behind my back — how they were jeering, making jokes about me, jokes both clean and dirty; how they were turning me into a story, or into several stories, though not the kind of stories i’d prefer to hear about m yself. what can a woman do when scandalous gossip travels the world? if she defends herself she sounds guilty. so i waited some more. now that all the others have run out of air, it’s my t urn to do a little storymaking. i owe it to myself. i’ve had to work myself up to it: it’s a low art, tale-telling. old women go in for it, strolling beggars, blind singers, maidservants, children — folks with time on their hands. once, people would have laughed if i’d tried to play th e minstrel —there’s nothing more preposterous than an aristocrat fumbling around with the arts — but who cares about public opinion now? the opinion of the people down here: the opinions of shadows, of echoes. so i’ll spin a thread of my own.
isang mababang kwento ng sining sa tagalog