Array ( [sid] => 126424 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => At home with a frying pan belies the fact that jumping hoops can make me futile [time] => 2006-10-01 20:12:30 [hometext] => Thanks to Sam Duckworth for re-inspiring me with faith [bodytext] => Troubador, felt raw, come on bring me an encore,
Forgot the gift of moving on can make me want more,
Old scores, so sore, getting deeper than before,
Laying down the law, what like I ever wanted more?

And so the object of punity,
Is not real, it's fake, can't make me break completely,
So my abject philosophy,
Is be strong, live on, live long, yeah that's what it's meant to be.

Some man,I am, at home with a frying pan,
Belies the fact that jumping hoops can make me futile,
Old doors, so broad, that I opened up before,
Felt a smack I can't ignore, but now I'm healing up some more.

And so those rushes of emptiness,
They're gone, so long, I'm strong, can't make me defeated,
And those feeling of hopelessness,
Were so real, that's the deal, my steal, but I'll make me completed.

My law, my door, it's gonna open like before,
Don't feel the hurt and pain can tarnish me no more,
I'm raw, for sure, but my rawness is a roar,
This little lioncub is so ready to explore.

And so that awful sobriety,
Is replaced by an animal that knows I'm truly free,
And such foolish propriety,
Is left with wealth on the shelf of dreams that never will be. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 258 [topic] => 34 [informant] => alasdaircairns [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => SongLyrics ) Your Poetry Dot Com - At home with a frying pan belies the fact that jumping hoops can make me futile


At home with a frying pan belies the fact that jumping hoops can make me futile
Date: Sunday, 1st October 2006 @ 08:12:30 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: alasdaircairns
Troubador, felt raw, come on bring me an encore,
Forgot the gift of moving on can make me want more,
Old scores, so sore, getting deeper than before,
Laying down the law, what like I ever wanted more?

And so the object of punity,
Is not real, it's fake, can't make me break completely,
So my abject philosophy,
Is be strong, live on, live long, yeah that's what it's meant to be.

Some man,I am, at home with a frying pan,
Belies the fact that jumping hoops can make me futile,
Old doors, so broad, that I opened up before,
Felt a smack I can't ignore, but now I'm healing up some more.

And so those rushes of emptiness,
They're gone, so long, I'm strong, can't make me defeated,
And those feeling of hopelessness,
Were so real, that's the deal, my steal, but I'll make me completed.

My law, my door, it's gonna open like before,
Don't feel the hurt and pain can tarnish me no more,
I'm raw, for sure, but my rawness is a roar,
This little lioncub is so ready to explore.

And so that awful sobriety,
Is replaced by an animal that knows I'm truly free,
And such foolish propriety,
Is left with wealth on the shelf of dreams that never will be.

This poem is Copyright © alasdaircairns


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