justin bieber - never say never

See I never thought that I could walk through fire.
I never thought that I could take the burn.
I never had the strength to take it higher,
Until I reached the point of no return.
And there’s just no turning back,
When your hearts under attack,
Gonna give everything I have,
It’s my destiny.
I will never say never! (I will fight)
I will fight till forever! (make it right)
Whenever you knock me down,
I will not stay on the ground.
Pick it up,
Pick it up,
Pick it up,
Pick it up up up,
And never say never.
I never thought I could feel this power.
I never thought that I could feel this free.
I’m strong enough to climb the highest tower.
And I’m fast enough to run across the sea.
And there’s just no turning back,
When your hearts under attack,
Gonna give everything I have,
Cause this is my destiny.
I will never say never! (I will fight)
I will fight till forever! (make it right)
Whenever you knock me down,
I will not stay on the ground.
Pick it up,
Pick it up,
Pick it up,
Pick it up, up, up,
And never say never.
Here we go!
Guess who?
JSmith and Jb!
I gotcha lil bro.
I can handle him.
Hold up, aight?
I can handle him.
Now he’s bigger than me,
Taller than me.
And he’s older than me,
And stronger than me.
And his arms a little bit longer than me.
But he ain’t on a JB song with me!
I be trying a chill
They be trying to side with the thrill.
No pun intended, was raised by the power of Will.
Like Luke with the force, when push comes to shove.
Like Cobe with the 4th, ice water with blood.
I gotta be the best, and yes
We’re the flyest.
Like David and Goliath,
I conquered the giant.
So now I got the world in my hand,
I was born from two stars
So the moon’s where I land.
I will never say never! (I will fight)
I will fight till forever! (make it right)
Whenever you knock me down,
I will not stay on the ground.
Pick it up,
Pick it up,
Pick it up,
Pick it up, up, up,
And never say never.
I will never say never! (I will fight)
I will fight till forever! (make it right)
Whenever you knock me down,
I will not stay on the ground.
Pick it up,
Pick it up,
Pick it up,
Pick it up, up, up,
And never say never.

Fairy Tales & Folk Tales

All the songs of the east speak of the love of the nightingale for the rose in the silent starlight night. The winged songster serenades the fragrant flowers.

Not far from Smyrna, where the merchant drives his loaded camels, proudly arching their long necks as they journey beneath the lofty pines over holy ground, I saw a hedge of roses. The turtle-dove flew among the branches of the tall trees, and as the sunbeams fell upon her wings, they glistened as if they were mother-of-pearl. On the rose-bush grew a flower, more beautiful than them all, and to her the nightingale sung of his woes; but the rose remained silent, not even a dewdrop lay like a tear of sympathy on her leaves. At last she bowed her head over a heap of stones, and said, “Here rests the greatest singer in the world; over his tomb will I spread my fragrance, and on it I will let my leaves fall when the storm scatters them. He who sung of Troy became earth, and from that earth I have sprung. I, a rose from the grave of Homer, am too lofty to bloom for a nightingale.” Then the nightingale sung himself to death. A camel-driver came by, with his loaded camels and his black slaves; his little son found the dead bird, and buried the lovely songster in the grave of the great Homer, while the rose trembled in the wind.

The evening came, and the rose wrapped her leaves more closely round her, and dreamed: and this was her dream.

It was a fair sunshiny day; a crowd of strangers drew near who had undertaken a pilgrimage to the grave of Homer. Among the strangers was a minstrel from the north, the home of the clouds and the brilliant lights of the aurora borealis. He plucked the rose and placed it in a book, and carried it away into a distant part of the world, his fatherland. The rose faded with grief, and lay between the leaves of the book, which he opened in his own home, saying, “Here is a rose from the grave of Homer.”

Then the flower awoke from her dream, and trembled in the wind. A drop of dew fell from the leaves upon the singer’s grave. The sun rose, and the flower bloomed more beautiful than ever. The day was hot, and she was still in her own warm Asia. Then footsteps approached, strangers, such as the rose had seen in her dream, came by, and among them was a poet from the north; he plucked the rose, pressed a kiss upon her fresh mouth, and carried her away to the home of the clouds and the northern lights. Like a mummy, the flower now rests in his “Iliad,” and, as in her dream, she hears him say, as he opens the book, “Here is a rose from the grave of Homer.”

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