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ashby-brownPoems
Failure In the 9th degree You peddle me Everything Lo' you tell me That what you wanted Was a love that you said You would give me For free Then the toad Clad in His Heroine glands Requested you send Him His Absinthe neck tied and Bland You said Rimbaud And I laughed At your Punk Pratfalls What an absolute Way to tell that you've Nothing to say and The only way to say it Is through what you've Only got to say that you've Seen Seen Oh' experience What a crocodile of Old ways The Franzen door model through the Way to the Chicago postal service & Pushing through the seeds of Terrorism Dramatics The death through The lost letters of No one Because money PUSHES PUSHES PUSHES THROUGH THE SOULS OF MAN and no one seems to give a god heaping **** yet the prizes are given out and the bodies continue to rot so hip hay hooray to the one with the animal socks So say you Are the one They were Talking about The one They were all Hearing about The most Entertaining of The bunch of the Crunch Well when The crutch that Is your purpose Their reason For their Purses Runs dry and Then their Eyes become Dull and weary Looking for Another place To place Their curses They will Toss you aside With no Bitterness Or Nastiness With only A smile and A sad thanks That your time With them was Short lived and "Maybe again!" Perhaps Again Till the Next Season
0
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 7:36 PM UTC
The One You Didn't Want To Read
Failure In the 9th degree You peddle me Everything Lo' you tell me That what you wanted Was a love that you said You would give me For free Then the toad Clad in His Heroine glands Requested you send Him His Absinthe neck tied and Bland You said Rimbaud And I laughed At your Punk Pratfalls What an absolute Way to tell that you've Nothing to say and The only way to say it Is through what you've Only got to say that you've Seen Seen Oh' experience What a crocodile of Old ways The Franzen door model through the Way to the Chicago postal service & Pushing through the seeds of Terrorism Dramatics The death through The lost letters of No one Because money PUSHES PUSHES PUSHES THROUGH THE SOULS OF MAN and no one seems to give a god heaping **** yet the prizes are given out and the bodies continue to rot so hip hay hooray to the one with the animal socks So say you Are the one They were Talking about The one They were all Hearing about The most Entertaining of The bunch of the Crunch Well when The crutch that Is your purpose Their reason For their Purses Runs dry and Then their Eyes become Dull and weary Looking for Another place To place Their curses They will Toss you aside With no Bitterness Or Nastiness With only A smile and A sad thanks That your time With them was Short lived and "Maybe again!" Perhaps Again Till the Next Season
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ashby-brown
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 7:36 PM UTC
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