S
SUNNBEAM
Guest
Seems that the only poem I can remember goes like this:
Roses are red
Violets are blue.
Some poems rhyme,
but this one doesn't.
Roses are red
Violets are blue.
Some poems rhyme,
but this one doesn't.
Kiss full of color,
makes me wonder where you've always been
I was hiding in doubt,
'til you brought me out of my chrysalis
And I came out new
All because of you
makes me wonder where you've always been
I was hiding in doubt,
'til you brought me out of my chrysalis
And I came out new
All because of you
Facing this prospect I set out for today's over-introspection, I feast upon decay.
Around me is misfortune my avenue all spades.
Digging all the so-called diggers, digging his own grave.
Permit me Mr. Indecision watch his machine cave.
End up on itself and watch one debit I win and mince our way.
The seats are best from over there, out beyond the shade.
My diggers in their dirty coats, their attitudes of spades.
Passing the inspection, no! Now this is every day.
Special forces, special boots the stomper comes to pay.
Fancy men so over-suited for the final days
Keep the prince in timely chintz, ring out the barren child at bay.
Christen the disaster, at least that's what I say.
Into which the thing determines which rate he decays.
Keeping loads of sunshine, I love the job I play.
Digging out this whole shitty world, digging it today.
White world!
Feel indication, my vindication to know nothing exists opens all to "what and if".
Portions of my emptiness sitting by the open door.
Looking up to take it out, settle in to catch a show.
Re-situation, dead indication feels like a clock I ate ticking in this toxic state.
Ready for an occupant suck it up to sniff the paint.
Sniffing up the weakest link, rising from the righteous stink.
See simulation speak to take a piece of me, hold onto the walls of life, pull the chain when burning bright.
In a copter raise the rope, firmly placed around my throat.
Each a seclusion, my own intrusion upon my waking state, each of us must face their fate.
Crawling wicked, crawl some more broken body pray on floor.
Pulling through to face a flaw pushing back to push some more.
by Ogilvie & Walk
Around me is misfortune my avenue all spades.
Digging all the so-called diggers, digging his own grave.
Permit me Mr. Indecision watch his machine cave.
End up on itself and watch one debit I win and mince our way.
The seats are best from over there, out beyond the shade.
My diggers in their dirty coats, their attitudes of spades.
Passing the inspection, no! Now this is every day.
Special forces, special boots the stomper comes to pay.
Fancy men so over-suited for the final days
Keep the prince in timely chintz, ring out the barren child at bay.
Christen the disaster, at least that's what I say.
Into which the thing determines which rate he decays.
Keeping loads of sunshine, I love the job I play.
Digging out this whole shitty world, digging it today.
White world!
Feel indication, my vindication to know nothing exists opens all to "what and if".
Portions of my emptiness sitting by the open door.
Looking up to take it out, settle in to catch a show.
Re-situation, dead indication feels like a clock I ate ticking in this toxic state.
Ready for an occupant suck it up to sniff the paint.
Sniffing up the weakest link, rising from the righteous stink.
See simulation speak to take a piece of me, hold onto the walls of life, pull the chain when burning bright.
In a copter raise the rope, firmly placed around my throat.
Each a seclusion, my own intrusion upon my waking state, each of us must face their fate.
Crawling wicked, crawl some more broken body pray on floor.
Pulling through to face a flaw pushing back to push some more.
by Ogilvie & Walk
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there.
I did not die.
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there.
I did not die.
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