Our late night conversations
that turned into good morning's..

The songs we shared when we were bored.
The concert you promised the details of..

All those don't go yets you used to give me..
Were they all synthetic?
Were they all fake?

Were they all just candy you cook,
So girls like me fall for you?

Do you even hear the songs you said you do?
Or do you just make them up too?

You told me to wake you up.
I did, and you never said a thing..

So that was it?
That was all it?
No nothing?
No goodbye?
At least show me my mistake,
At least tell me why?

I miss those messed up, sleepy laughter
Before we said goodnight .

Gods of Crimes
Lords of the Rhymes
Birds of a feather
Destroy together

This a war to wage
And if you make front page
Ha, your ******
Because then your locked in our cage

And when you think you are alone
Thats when we go unknown
You will stumble into us as we engage
I hope you have a sense of humour
Because if not then all I for see is rage

I hope you don't cower
Because we're drunk with power
I check the front page on the hour
And if you make top WOOPTY ******* DO! I hope your not sour

one: isn't she just gorgeous?
two: i bought her the best clothes i could afford. i know she can't really appreciate them now, but i wanted her to look nice.
three: look at that smile, she's definitely one of God's beautiful angels
four: she looks so peaceful.
five: go be loud somewhere else, this isn't the occasion
six: thank you for the gifts, they're truly appreciated.
seven: i haven't been able to properly leave my house in a week, i've just had so much to do to prepare.
eight: her brother and sister brought a teddy bear for her, it's one of the softest things i've ever felt.
nine: i wish my father could have been here, i haven't seen him in such a long time.
ten: i just got her baptized.
eleven: i think the flower headband is a bit much, don't you? i mean, it's pretty, but i don't think it's necessary- she's pretty enough as is.
twelve: i'm going to be stuck at home for a long time after this, aren't i?
thirteen: when does the pain start going away?
fourteen: i haven't had time to take a shower in the past few days, it's been too difficult.
fifteen: come give your little sister a kiss. yes, i know she looks kind of funny but she's still your sister.
sixteen: these bills are going to be expensive
seventeen: i'm not sure what to do next.
eighteen: it's awfully cold in here.
nineteen: i've been tired for days
twenty:  look at my beautiful baby girl!

“Sundar means beautiful,” the natives write—
The mangroves of south dance beneath daylight
With the flair of a gypsy drunk and bold
Swirling her skirt of salt. And callous gold
Prowls the swamp after trotting prey in flight.

The sentinels of south guard through the night
And push and pull against the windy might;
Behind their sieving shields, beliefs still hold—
Sundar means beautiful.

The men of south venture without invite
For honey, wood and fish into the plight;
The wives, like fortune, wait at the threshold
Praying and cursing gods foreign or old
As sleepless children scramble to recite—
Sundar means beautiful.