any genre has good music as long as it does not glorify promote and otherwise feature morally degenerate and repugnant behavior.
I have seen
where the wolf has
slept by the
silver stream.
I can tell by the mark he left, you were in his dream.
Ah
child of
countless trees, ah
child of
boundless seas.
What you are, and what you're
meant to be
Speaks his name,
though you were born to me,
Born to me, Cassidy.
Lost now on the
country miles in his Cadillac.
I can tell by the way you smile, he is
rolling back.
Come wash the
nighttime clean, come grow the
scorched ground green.
Blow the horn, and tap the tambourine.
Close the gap of the dark
years in between
You and me, Cassidy.
Quick
beats in an icy heart,
catch colt
draws a
coffin cart,
There he goes and now here she starts, hear her cry.
Flight of the seabirds
Scattered like lost words,
Wield to the
storm and fly.
Fare thee well now, let your life
proceed by it's own design.
Nothing to tell now, let the
words be yours, I'm done with mine.
Fare thee well now, let your life
proceed by it's own design.
Nothing to tell now, let the
words be yours, I'm done with mine.