"Sitting on a park bench
Eying little girls
With bad intent.
Snot running down his nose
Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes.
Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run.
Feeling like a dead duck
Spitting out pieces of his broken luck.
Sun streaking cold
An old man wandering lonely.
Taking time
The only way he knows.
Leg hurting bad,
As he bends to pick a dog end
Goes down to a bog to
Warm his feet.
Feeling alone
The army’s up the rode
Salvation a la mode and
A cup of tea.
Aqualung my friend
Don’t start away uneasy
You poor old sod
You see it’s only me.
Do you still remember
December’s foggy freeze
When the ice that
Clings on to your beard is
Screaming agony.
And you snatch your rattling last breaths
With deep-sea diver sounds,
And the flowers bloom like
Madness in the spring."
Haskell Moore: There is a natural order to this world, and those who try to upend it do not fare well. This movement will never survive, if you join them you and your entire family will be shunned. At best you will exist at pariah to be spat at and beaten, at worse to be lynched or crucified. And for what, for what, no matter what you do it will never amount to anything more than a single drop in a limitless ocean.
Adam Ewing: What is an ocean but a multitude of drops?
“I’ve consistently been impressed with J.J. as a filmmaker and storyteller. He’s an ideal choice to direct the new Star Wars film and the legacy couldn’t be in better hands.”
"Who would be a poor man
A beggar man, a thief
If he had a rich man in his hand?
And who would steal the candy
From a laughing baby’s mouth
If he could take it from the money man?
Cross-eyed Mary goes jumping in again
She signs no contract
But she always plays the game
She dines in Hampstead village
On expense accounted gruel
And the jack-knife barber drops her off at school
Hey, laughing in the playground
Gets no kicks from little boys
Would rather make it with a letching gray, yeah
Or maybe her attention is drawn by Aqualung
Who watches through the railings as they play
Hey, cross-eyed Mary finds it hard to get along
She’s a poor man’s rich girl and she’ll do it for a song
She’s a rich man stealer but her favour’s good and strong
She’s the Robin Hood of Highgate
Helps the poor man get along, hey
Laughing in the playground
Gets no kicks from little boys
Would rather make it with a letching gray, yeah
Or maybe her attention is drawn by Aqualung
Who watches through the railings as they play
Cross-eyed Mary goes jumping in again
She signs no contract
But she always plays the game
She dines in Hampstead village
On expense accounted gruel
And the jack-knife barber drops her off at school
And then the Fugees gonna break up, now everyday I wake up
Somebody got something to say?
What’s all the ****ing fussing for? Because I’m grubbing more
And I pack heat like I’m the oven door?
****** pray and pray on my downfall
But every time I hit the ground I bounce up like roundball
Now I don’t wanna have to kill sound bar
Don’t wanna have to c**k back the four pound bar
Look scrapper I got nephews to look after
I’m not looking at you dudes, I’m looking past ya
I thought I told you characters I’m not a rapper
Can I live? I told you in '96
That I came to take this **** and I did, handle my biz
I scramble like Randall with his
Cunningham but the only thing running is numbers fam
Jigga held you down 6 summers; damn, where’s the love?
Twilight Sparkle’s five friends have been cursed by the mischevious Discord to shun her. They mock her as they abandon the unicorn, after their plan to defeat the draconequus failed.
Twilight (angry): Fine! Leave! See if I care! I don’t need you guys either! With friends like you, who needs… beat
…enemies.
She slowly starts to turn grey, as she herself falls to the curse too. A single tear leaks from her eye and splashes on the ground, its puddle in the shape of a broken heart.
The Return Of Harmony Part 2, My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic
“Let me tell you the tales of your life of
your love and the cut of the knife
the tireless oppression
the wisdom instilled
the desire to kill or be killed.
Let me sing of the losers who lie in the street as the last bus goes by.
The pavements are empty: the gutters run red - while the fool
toasts his god in the sky.”
