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mojojojo 1940 posts |
Aug 03, 2005, 14:01
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Touch my bum, this is life ? x ps: the should wipe them, then life wouldn't grow there...
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Nat 1905 posts |
Aug 03, 2005, 14:02
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Stop it... you're making me cry... lol xxx
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mojojojo 1940 posts |
Aug 03, 2005, 14:36
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How about these? I'm not really joking either... Verse 1 He used to give me roses I wish he could again But that was on the outside And things were different then Verse 2 We build our world together With a love so clear and strong But that was on the outside Where did I go wrong? Chorus On the inside the sun still shines And the rain falls down But the sun and rain are prisoners too When morning comes around Verse 3 Last night I dreamed we were together Sharing all the love we'd known 'Til I had to face the nightmare Of waking up alone Repeat Chorus New Chorus On the inside the roses grow They don't mind the stoney ground But the roses here are prisoners too When morning comes around Verse 4 He used to give me roses I wish he could again But that was on the outside And things were different then x
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meurglys III 1085 posts |
Aug 03, 2005, 14:46
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What's he building in there? What the hell is he building In there? He has subscriptions to those Magazines... He never Waves when he goes by He's hiding something from The rest of us... He's all To himself... I think I know Why... He took down the Tire swing from the Peppertree He has no children of his Own you see... He has no dog And he has no friends and His lawn is dying... and What about all those packages He sends. What's he building in there? With that hook light On the stairs. What's he building In there... I'll tell you one thing He's not building a playhouse for The children what's he building In there? Now what's that sound from under the door? He's pounding nails into a Hardwood floor... and I Swear to god I heard someone Moaning low... and I keep Seeing the blue light of a T.V. show... He has a router And a table saw... and you Won't believe what Mr. Sticha saw There's poison underneath the sink Of course... But there's also Enough formaldehyde to choke A horse... What's he building In there. What the hell is he Building in there? I heard he Has an ex-wife in some place Called Mayors Income, Tennessee And he used to have a consulting business in Indonesia... but what is he building in there? What the hell is building in there? He has no friends But he gets a lot of mail I'll bet he spent a little Time in jail... I heard he was up on the Roof last night Signaling with a flashlight And what's that tune he's Always whistling... What's he building in there? What's he building in there? We have a right to know...
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mojojojo 1940 posts |
Aug 03, 2005, 14:47
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Oh yeah - good one! x
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Nat 1905 posts |
Aug 03, 2005, 14:48
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LOL... stop it!!! :o) >snigger< You sure you can't make lunch on Saturday? You could entertain us during the starters!! LOL.... That song always reminds me of this one: I realized the way your eyes deceived me with tender looks that i mistook for love So take away the flowers that you gave me And send the kind that you remind me of Paper Roses Paper Roses Oh How real those roses seem to be But there only imitation like your imitation love for me I thought that you would be a perfect lover You seemed full of sweetness at the start But like a big red rose thats' made of paper There isnt any sweetness in your heart Paper Roses Paper Roses Oh how real those roses seem to be But there only imitation like your imitation love for me
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supercat 4257 posts |
Aug 03, 2005, 14:50
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Ha! ;-D xx you'll always be young Ron xxxx
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anthonyqkiernan 7087 posts |
Aug 03, 2005, 15:00
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They first met at the hospital, she was checking out for good Her body patched but past repair, and there her angel stood She was feeling quite confused now that her death was close at hand She had to face eternity, so why not this mumbling man? Who bought himself a wedding suit at a local war on want sale It belonged to some old Turkish man who'd owed and gone to jail He would caox her mind with talk of love to make her body kind Because people hate the truth, you know; they need their pack of lies Growing tired of being foreign, being spat on and shortchanged He demanded that she leave with him for the land from whence he came They were herded on like cattle to a ferry at high tide This unkempt, aging orphan and his helpless, dying bride But he left her at the other shore crying on the deck She was slumped against the rail as he had struck to free his neck and the customs shed was empty as he made his way inside There were no chimpanzees in uniform to hear his pack of lies Now she's ascending into heaven with contentment on her face and Holy God is there to greet and batter her into her place But meanwhile back on Earth, we see the prodigal's returned and they're making him the chieftain and they've come to him to learn How the neighbours in he rich land better steal and kill and lie and when they ask who calls the weaklings there he just shrugs and says, "Not I!" Though surrounded by diseases, I stood tall and kept my health I could have been important if I'd been somebody else The moral of this story is: This land's a victim-farm Don't you ever feed a beggar here, he'll eat your fucking arm and don't blaspheme the strong ones if you want to stay alive Now smile and give them thanks when they say, "Here's a pack of lies!"
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supercat 4257 posts |
Aug 03, 2005, 15:02
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No wonder your finger's aren't working properly you've got RSI AQK. ;-D xxxxxx
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mojojojo 1940 posts |
Aug 03, 2005, 15:03
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Feathers burn so easily, the cat is blinded in the garden, last vision the lark is flame. The cattle shed gives off the smell of sunday kitchen, the gentle eye, the dispensable perfection. Before the flash takes two weeks' food, pile the sacks of earth and hide. All of us here know it, we grew it. Fighting amongst ourselves, leaving bits of flesh on barbed wire, a little blood on the floor. Locks and bars across the door, well versed in violation, our children beat each other in the garden. Our failure to accept the earth, we talk of love but push it to the edge. Push it to the edge. This is no natural aggression composing death, I am afraid for beauty when I see the fist, The perfect hand that turns against itself, the perfect hand that holds a gun or wields a butcher's blade, or leads to death, Leads to death the used-up bull or incarcerates the hopeless fool or takes the forest with a single flame Leaves the nest an empty shell. Human kind condemns the hunting beast yet their own choice leaves behind such ragged meat. The military dream of blood, their sweet wine flowing in the veins of men who work towards our bloody end. They fly Enola gaily, give birth to this waiting... waiting, give us the reality of our hatred, give the earth nothing. Melting, goats dead on the green, dying lambs bleating by the wire... three last days on the earth, I lay down to die in the grass. x
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