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Shyly they laugh and dance out the door.
They're children, all children, without any care.
Their clothes, all with holes, in complete disrepair.
They're children, all children, without any care.
Tables and chairs are painted with flair,
But the legs are all broken, and the walls all have holes, but the children all play without any care
How can they grow? When they all stare, at our cameras and movies and think in despair
'I am not smart, I am not fair, my life is my life, I cannot better my fare."
So they play, as children, without any care.
Living in Tanzania
Molly is not my friend.
Stole my lover,
Never to come back again,
Do I embrace your body? these wounds to mend?
For my soul, for worse, is left arend

If only Molly were my friend,
She left me high and dry again.
On lonely nights,
To great heights,
Her choice, her life, my hole, mine, to contend.

I wish Molly never existed,
Never be apart, our love never blistered.
My only wish, I could have fixed it,
But I don't believe you,
You don't believe me,
Because I believe broken is better than twisted.

No, Molly is not my friend.

Molly, at last I bid you adieu,
You sounded so pretty, until she met you.
Your tongue lashed out and tickled her ear,
Her hands play with your Mercury, it's luminescent sheer,
No thought of what she leaves behind, she is who she chooses to do.
Death you are seen so repugnant.
Death you are sensed so vile.
Death you are deemed so untimely.
“Death can’t you wait for a while?”
But Death, aren’t you Life’s true redeemer?
Making everyone think well of the dead.
Death aren’t you Life’s other half?
Death don’t you tuck us to bed?
When our wanderlust has faded,
your embrace remains unjaded.

Death you are humble in your infamy;
Life the glory claims.
Yet sickness, accidents and war
are all Life’s macabre games.
That which kills you comes from Life.
Life will push to make that sale;
living organs mere currency.
Cannibalistic Life - advertising as a fairy tale.
Death you are left to clear the carnage.
Death – the coloseum’s sand –
innocently soaked in the blood of Life’s cruel hand.

Death you are Life’s psychologist;
motivating each step, each trial.
Making us get up every morning
to make each moment worthwhile.
Death you employ Time’s creation
to set a deadline to Life.
Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring
Death you are a scalpel; Life a butcher’s knife.
Famine, plague, disease, beast,
Without glorious survival, why feast?

Death your work with Time is inspired,
for we created it to understand your course.
With Time we can learn Life’s seasons
and record it’s length before it’s divorce
from our fragile clay.
Death you make us frugal with our Time,
yet generous with our Love.
For to each heartbeat’s rhythm and rhyme,
we fervently dance to give.
To make another grief-stricken Death.

For if Life is filled with meaning,
it is Death’s boon to us all.
Life becomes exhilarating –
A race before the fall!
Death remains a wallflower to the very close.
Death only wants to meet us;
a gentle lover with a rose.

Encouraging, yet terrifying.
But if we fear the Darkness, it is Life we fear not Death.
How often has a blinding Light been reported on a final breath?
For a time we exchanged lives.
Many a trait, from you derives.
Then no-one, no-one, no-one
could be you: The One.
Our secrets filled each other’s ears
spoken in a second; lasting years.
It hurts my mind remembering We
for you are now a part of Me.

Sometimes I wish we hadn’t solved our woes.
The saddest part to part as foes.
In my memories you’re still my best friend;
Moments show a friendship with no end.
In those snapshots we never grow a part,
Yet it is those memories that tear my heart.
Although but a fluttering butterfly kiss,
our carefree laugh is one I’ll miss.

As life changes so do We.
In the end we is anyone + me.
Because we changed as we got older,
so our laughs got fewer, our looks colder.
We may not make new memories together,
But our shared time will last forever.
Our contact now may be none to few.

I am glad I was somebody + you.
I wrote this about a very dear friend, who I miss terribly. Often those we love become a part of who we were, but not who we need to become.
Dust to dust and mold to mold,
We take the tasteless by the armful.
With greedy hands that grasp,
we take the shapeless mass.
Just the dust and just the mold.

Dust to dust and mold to mold,
Just loved by arms that enfold.
A warm embrace,
from a lovely face.
Eventually to dust and then to mold.

Dust to dust and mold to mold,
We shrink before we grow bold.
Grow strong in time,
just to diminish in size.
Just to dust and just to mold.

Dust to dust and mold to mold,
A lovely day for life on the world.
On a bountiful globe,
We develop and grow.
Just to turn to dust, and then to mold.

Dust to dust and mold to mold,
We heal as just as we return to our home.
Lie down in our bed,
As we begin mend.
Just to dust and just to mold.
Rise and fall
Her wound bleeds fresh when she breathes too deep.
Her heart is hers to keep or let seep
Beneath the earth... Beneath the grave...
beneath the trees... there it lays!

Cool to the touch, and clutch by a corpse.
Her heart: eternally frozen in quartz.
Move on, my dear... he's dead.
At danu's spring, he licked his wings, and prepped his mind to soar,
but foresworn maid, with lowly heart he bade, goodye forevermore.
What wrath had she? She turned her cheek. No bitterness to behold.
He sought only luxury, she cared only for her sheep - thus love, it's cards did fold.
Reminder of those left behind in pursuits.
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