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Contributed by
ExodusOnWeezer
on
Tuesday, 9th November 2004 @ 02:31:56 PM in AEST
Topic:
DarkPoetry
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This town It doesn't feel much
Your head Bounced as is, such
It's wicked The way it always turns around
So disastrous The way you never hear a sound
Wretched is the whirlwind Tainted pieces begin to fly
A tempest of disaster But, it's a glorious way to die
The chair Picked up like a needle from the stack
Tossed up into blissfulness Crash through the sky, bend and crack
Shattered pieces Tossed against the floor
Pick them up Right as you stepped through the door
And step away Move right back through
Reverse the emptiness The emptiness that has replaced you
For this town doesn't feel much And not that it should
Your chance was thrown to pieces We all knew you would
Copyright ©
ExodusOnWeezer
... [
2004-11-09 14:31:56] (Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: Home
(User Rating: 1 ) by deathdrop on
Tuesday, 9th November 2004 @ 03:28:04 PM AEST (User
Info | Send
a Message)
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interesting...
and a little odd if i may say so.
good rhyme.
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Re: Home
(User Rating: 1 ) by Tinkerbell13 on
Sunday, 16th January 2005 @ 12:00:00 PM AEST (User
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a Message)
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I HAVE TO SAY IVE NEVER READ ANYTHING LIKE IT BUT IT SURE SEEMS LIKE U KNOW WHAT U R TALKIN ABOUT AND OVERALL ITS GOOD
-TINKERBELL13 |
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