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Manny Jul 2014
If I was dead,
And my bones adrift
Like dropped oars
In the deep, turning earth;

Or drowned,
And my skull
A listening shell
On the dark ocean bed;

If I was dead,
And my heart
Soft mulch
For a red, red rose;

Or burned,
And my body
A fistful of grit, thrown
In the face of the wind;

If I was dead,
And my eyes,
Blind at the roots of flowers
Wept into nothing,

I swear your love
Would raise me
Out of my grave,
In my flesh and blood,

Like Lazarus;
Hungry for this,
And this, and this,
Your living kiss.
One of my favourites.

If I was dead - Carol Ann Duffy
Duffy is truly an inspiring poet, this is one of her best works.
Happy Duffy Duck
Floats Into Water
When Here Mother
Quack , Quack, and Quack
She Go Home
And Get Pale of Water.
PARNELL'S FUNERAL

UNDER the Great Comedian's tomb the crowd.
A bundle of tempestuous cloud is blown
About the sky; where that is clear of cloud
Brightness remains; a brighter star shoots down;
What shudders run through all that animal blood?
What is this sacrifice? Can someone there
Recall the Cretan barb that pierced a star?
Rich foliage that the starlight glittered through,
A frenzied crowd, and where the branches sprang
A beautiful seated boy; a sacred bow;
A woman, and an arrow on a string;
A pierced boy, image of a star laid low.
That woman, the Great Mother imaging,
Cut out his heart.  Some master of design
Stamped boy and tree upon Sicilian coin.
An age is the reversal of an age:
When strangers murdered Emmet, Fitzgerald, Tone,
We lived like men that watch a painted stage.
What matter for the scene, the scene once gone:
It had not touched our lives.  But popular rage,
Hysterica passio dragged this quarry down.
None shared our guilt; nor did we play a part
Upon a painted stage when we devoured his heart.
Come, fix upon me that accusing eye.
I thirst for accusation.  All that was sung.
All that was said in Ireland is a lie
Bred out of the c-ontagion of the throng,
Saving the rhyme rats hear before they die.
Leave nothing but the nothingS that belong
To this bare soul, let all men judge that can
Whether it be an animal or a man.
The rest I pass, one sentence I unsay.
Had de Valera eaten parnell's heart
No loose-lipped demagogue had won the day.
No civil rancour torn the land apart.
Had Cosgrave eaten parnell's heart, the land's
Imagination had been satisfied,
Or lacking that, government in such hands.
O'Higgins its sole statesman had not died.
Had even O'Duffy -- but I name no more --
Their school a crowd, his master solitude;
Through Jonathan Swift's clark grove he passed, and there
plucked bitter wisdom that enriched his blood.
Jeremy Duff Nov 2012
Jeremy Duff woke up as he usually does on a Tuesday morning.
With the alarm clock blaring he lifted his right arm from off his wife's chest.
He stood up, covered his wife's bare torso with the purple, fuzzy, comforter and walked to the bathroom, naked.
He turned on the sink so hot water would begin to pour out.
After completing his usual morning routine of shaving, dressing, smoking, and eating, respectively, Jeremy began his walk to work.
It was, on a typical day, and this was a typical day,  a twelve minute walk.
He lit a cigarette the moment his feet hit the sidewalk. It was the first of, on a typical day, thirty-eight.
Jeremy worked on the 27th floor, which he thought of as funny as he pressed the "27" button, as he did on any typical day. His job was to edit spelling on essays before they would be turned in for final inspection. Then, as his boss put it, if the writers were lucky, they would see the essays in the next issue of Story Magazine.
He sat down in his office, lit his third cigarette of the day, and looked at the large stack of papers in front of him. If he was lucky, Jeremy thought, he could get halfway through the stack and take his 10 early, to see his wife. The first one on the stack was entitled "The Young Folks." It had a blue sticky note on it reading "Vignette, Salinger, Jerome David, 1,794 words."
Jeremy read it, purely aesthetically, looking only for spelling mistakes. Finding none, he put a quick check on the blue sticky note. Mr. Duff lit his 5th cigarette and read the story again. It was phenomenal. He read it a third time, while smoking his 6th cigarette. Jeremy finished the first half of the stack and lit his 9th cigarette. He grabbed the story by Salinger and began his walk home. His wife greeted him at the door with kisses. He showed her the story. She read it, read it again and told him it was great. She just didn't understand, Mr. Duff thought.
I have no clue where this is going so I'm just going to stop.
Read Shakespeare and Milton and all of the rest
Keats, Coleridge and Wordsworth are some of the best
Read Ted Hughes and Sylvia, Motion, Duffy
They say what I want to say better than me

Read Homer and Ovid, Basho and Su ****
Chaucer and Boccaccio they've stood the test
Read Donne, Spenser, Marlowe, Jonson and Raleigh
Read Shakespeare and Milton and all of the rest

Read Swift, Pope, Blake, Tennyson, and Rossetti
The two Barrett Brownings are of interest
For feelings romantic as true as can be
Keats, Coleridge and Wordsworth are some of the best

Read Larkin and Betjeman if you're depressed
Read Wendy Cope to enjoy all of life's zest
Yes please don't think I despise modernity
Read Ted Hughes and Sylvia, Motion, Duffy

And how about all those I haven't addressed
Yeats, Auden, Joyce, Longfellow, Poe and Shelley
And all of the others I'm bound to have missed
They say what I want to say better than me

But what of the poet, with poets obessed?
In prose I am prolix, in speech stuttery:
So where will you find my emotions expressed?
On MySpace, on Twitter, read my poetry
It says what I want to say
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2013
Here are the names of my lovers,
The women I sleep with, whom
I use, like they use me.
Spent, they discard me, for when their pleasure needs
Satiated, they climb aboard another man.

What they do not know,
Is that in my mind, in my ears,
everywhere,
I did not let them, or you go,
We are still romping,
For I
Take them as needed.

I need them all,
For my pleasure needs, like my unshaped heart,
Addictive, endless.

If your is name is here, I do not
Apologize.

Pink
Adele
Lilly Allen
Anna Nalick
Bess Rogers
Beyonce
Brandi Carlisle
Cat Power
Colbie Callait
Duffy
Eva Cassidy
Evanescence
Alison Sudol
Fiona Apple
Florence Welch
Grace Potter
Ingrid Michaelson
You
Joni Mitchell
K.D. Lang
Kate Nash
Kate Voegele
Leona Lewis
Lizz Wright
Madeline Peyroux
Marie Digby
Mary Wells
Norah Jones
Regina Spektor
Sara Bareilles
You
Sara Haze
Taylor Swift and Tracy Chapman
Tristan Prettyman
Vanessa Carlton

So many others, used so long ago, I can't remember the faces,
Which can't be googled.

Use them hard, use them often, more than daily.
Bluntly, I tell you
Your name is on my list,
Even if I do not disclose it.
Courtesy of Mr. Howard.
"Madamina, il catalogo è questo
Delle belle che amò il padron mio;
un catalogo egli è che ** fatt'io;
Osservate, leggete con me."

"My lady, this is the catalog
Of the beauties loved by my master;
a list which I have compiled;
Observe, read along with me."

4/18/18 was hanging with sara b., and this popped up...
Tony Luxton Sep 2016
A light tea before her reading
so I can focus on her words
seek out their meaning
refrain her rhythms
define her rhymes
listen for her killer lines.
A music too rich to revise.
Michael John Sep 2018
lily is bored
she is best ignored
she wants to be adored

and so she will by sun
that adorns her skin
she will wax and in

diamond and pearl
crazy colourings
grow

suddenly say
spread
oil on herself..

indicates
her impossible
pretty

(i will grumble
for
i am working..)

shoulder
and roll a stick
of marijuana

and sundry other
stuff
and that far from

enough and now
the sun has
gone..

behind a cloud
getting loud
fire is out..

lily wears a pout
where has the sun
where is her this

and where is that..
what is she reading
memoirs of a foxhunting man
(siegfried sassoon)

and goodbye to all that
by
robert graves

two great poets from the
first world war
she acclaims..

and carol ann duffy
she is flitting like
a happy

cabbage white
tween the three
waiting for

the light
on the one hand
the death of civilization

and carol´ s fun and dark
determination
between courage and courage

i cream her smooth opal covering
and push a cold mohitjo in her grip
she wonders how life changes

she lights up and picks at the ways
that divide and separate us
just let it rip she sighs..

what choice do we have anyhows
**** hit the fan
what to do..
raen Apr 2012
You are my sun, the planets and the asteroids in between,
actually, make that the energy that embraces the sun,
the elements and trace elements that make up each planet...

(Oh, my stars!)

You are each perfect petal that unfurls ever so slowly in the morning light,
actually, make that the light that kisses each dew drop which
awakes each petal with that sweet kiss...

(Oh, blush, my buzzing bee!)

You are that raindrop that refreshes my parched soul that's stranded in a desert,
actually, make that the mirage that proves to be an oasis
as my eyes widen in wonderment with the reality of You.

(Oh, shucks, my sweet breath!)

You are my golden compass whenever I get lost in the wilderness,
actually, I wouldn't mind getting lost, if it means
that I get lost in your soulful, beautiful eyes Forever

(Oh, you cheeseball, you!!)

You are the chocolate ganache frosting on that chocolate cake,
actually, you are the powdered sugar on my honey-dipped doughnut
that brushes my lips, the perfect complement for hot, hot coffee

(Oh, honey bun!!)

You are the--

Sweetcakes??

You are the freshly ground pepper that dusts softly on my carbonara, I'm just

Ahem!!!!

You are the freshly ground pepper that dusts softly on my carbonara,
actually it would be bland and incomplete without you and---

Hey, babe!

huh?!

I'm on dense mode right now, what are you really trying to say?
Come on, spill it, I NEVER hear it from you...



Ummm, ummm...I...I...

I mean, I--


Out with it, come on!! You can do it---"I...."

Hoo! Ok, I...

I can do this---

I...

(Note to self: This is IT!!!!!)

I--

Yesss...?!!

I
am
    the empty, wanting glass and you are the refreshing drink that fills me up,
actually,--

~BOINKKKKKkkK~ !! I'm walking away now!!
Geez, if you can't say IT without all the Fluffy, duffy, Fluff,
see me walking away for now...I need the Skinny, the skeleton!
Sometimes one just needs to Hear it, you know?!
Oh, and I love you,in case you didn't know...but see me walk!


Hey, honey bunny, smoochie sweetie pie?

...still walking away~~~~

I...

huff, huff, huff~~

I am walking towards you...

Huff, puff, puff and hufff~! (note to self: Walk on, walk on...)

I said I'm walking towards you...

~bump~!

and

I...
   Love
         You.
Nathan Alexander Aug 2018
He’s so fluffy,
Duffy,
puffy,
My little doggie!

He lets me hug him,
Cuddle him!


Ǔ̠͚̲̤̰̮͊̓̽̌̐͘͟͞͝n̷̡̛̮̭͎͍͑̎̀͌̋̉̚l̸̨̼͈̪̦͙̽̍͌̾͘i̵̘̪̝̦̜̲̒̒̅͋͗̒­̄͞͝k̸͓͚͓̭͎͙̟͔̎̉̌͗̒͗̒̒̾̚͢e̫͎̦̤̼̯̋̈́̓̓̃̎͜ y̵̢̛̦̰̯͕̱̤̫̍̒̀̾͒͌͌̓͡ọ̸̡̤̹̠̝̃͒̏̕͞͞ų̷͈͉̜͚̘͎͓̔̊͆̓̃͐̄͢.


He’s so great to hug and cuddle,
He tries to resist, but after some rebuttal,
He gives in!


Ṯ̱͓͎̻͔̤͇̭́̏̅̊̚ͅh̴̨͈̮̟̞̜͇̟̞͗̌̂̂̽̇͞ǒ̸̰̘̦̘̪̹̟̺̂̅̉̕͞͠ự̖̣̥͍̙̫̆̓̈­́̀g̗̥̱̱̤͕͚͇̩̰̐̐͐͂̈̉̃̇h̵̡̨̘̖͇̞͗͂͒̉͌̽̍̚,̸̯͍͖̦̤̙̆̋͌̍̀̄̔͢͡ͅ e̱̤̩͕̤̝̞̰͕̦͑͛̀̄͑̔̅v̴̡̤̘̜͚̮͍̠̏͒̒͠͞ȩ̭̩͕̦̺͐̾̈͊̔̓̿͆̽͢͠ͅņ̵̮͔͙̭͎̺̥̾̍̒͐̔­͋̚ į̵̡̝̪̤̼̖̜̟̀̊̊̄̂̋͌f̧̬̝̦̙̠̠͈̾͒̃́̏̚͟͡͞ ḩ̴̣̹͇̞͖̮̒̄̓̀͝͞ȩ̶̲̻̪͕̖̱͉̮̰̾̎̉͋͒́͘͠ ą͇̹̰͇̳͖̪̅̑̉̓̑͜͟c͍̼̮͓̘͓̀̅͋̍̂t͇̬̤̗̥͔̜̲̖̎͋̈̀͟͠͡s̴̨̭̩̟̠̩̾͗́̚͟͢͞͞ ḱ̸͙̲̜͇͉͔̺͍̙̏̎̊͑̔͝͡͠ͅi̸͉̭͍͇̠͚̓̌̑̎̌͠͠n̼̞̰͈͑͒̍̈̓͜͠d̡̢̰̯̗͓̺͈̘̯̓̿̄͗̽̿̆­̕͡,̶̞̮̘̯͖̜̓̓̐̒̅͜͟͜
̶̢̨͈̱̺̻̳̞̝̋́̑̀̅͞ͅǍ̷͓̞͉͉̦̿͗̍͠͡͡f̨͔̗̘͕͓̺̍̒̐̊͂͌̆͜­t̷̢̥̮̳͙̭̺̏͋͂́͌̋́͊̑e̡̛̼̠͖͖͑͋̏͝ŗ̮̮̫̺̤̠͇̤̞͊̓͌̀̕ ä̛̜̥̜̫̞͍̣̝̗́̀̓̉̾͆͝ͅ w̵̨̨̗̳̪̞̼̓̉̀͗̐̾̚͜͞͝h̤͇̖͉̣̒̈́̑̇̒͐̂̉͛͢͞ȋ̶̢̡̫͚̪̓́́̔̃͜͜l̵̢̛̼̲̱͍͎̼͇̯̥͌­͋̈́̿̚ẻ̱̬̤͔̻̹͒̃̄͊̊̌͘͘,̨̳̱̼͈̃̐̓̑͠͝
̨̛̫̹͍̯̰̰̞̂̃͗̄̕J̨̰͍͕̣͇͇͙͇̬́̎̒̓̈̔͘­͡ȕ̲̗̬̦̲̟̱̈̂̕͝s̡̨̨̱̱̤̰̼̽͐̇̑̎̍͂̾͆͜ţ̶̛̭͚̤͕̜̈́̃͗̍̊̽ l̡̧̰̞̮̤̞̀̄̀̋̓͢ì̷̡̛͍̠͕̭̞̺̝̑̑̉̂̽͆͢͢k̴̼͖̬͖̜̟̰͍͑͊̏̓̀̓͑͂͘͘͟ë̴͕̞͈͈̋̿̌̈́­̔̆͆̑͟͝ y̶̡̝̱̹̗͍̗̝̤͔̌̽̆͒̄̓̕ö͖̦̥̰͎͒̃̉̓͞u̗͉͉͋͋̈̋̚͢ͅ a̸̧̫̣̠̔̌̃́̓̌́̇́͡ͅs̶̢͇̺͖͎̰̗͋̔̓́̕ş̨̨͍̙̯̓͊͐̇͌́̔͟h̵̭̹̫̠̫͎̦̃̇̓͆̎̓̅͌́͘ó­̢͚͍͈͌̑̋͐̈́͢ḷ̴̢̮̬̹̤̍͆̒̋̾͒̑̐̑̌ẻ̷̡̮̦̗̹͉̦͒̅͛̆̕s̢̛̫͕̫͖̋̃̓̐͠,̘̻̳͔̱͗̄̏̀́­
̪̩̠͔̦͋̍͒͛̈́̆̈͋̓̕͜͟Ḫ̷͖̘̯̑͌͛̈́́̿̎̑͜͢e̴̡̯̪̪͈͙͕̜̍̐̄͛̎̅̈́͡͝ l̷̡̥̺̼̪̇͆̋̇͋̽̂͋̚e̢̗̙̺̫̽̍̑͡͡ͅȁ̸̡̛̛̯̺̞̹̠͂͛̆̕͘͜v̶̧̧̜͉̼̝̼̈͗͐̔͛̂͌͒͡͡ę̴­̳͍̪͉̌̒͌͂̃̿͊s̸̰͉̩̲̳͎̃̿̇̌͐͋͠ m̷͔̻̯͇̙̤̟̭̈́͒̎̓̔͛͟͡e̶̢͖̬͎̎͒̂̉̔̈̈̍̑̀͟ a͔͚̟͇͉͂̆̒̅̄͒̍̉̀͝l̝̩̻͕͎͇̪̙͊͛͊͑̉͆̽̽̕ǫ̧̡̲͉̥͍̙̑̒̽̓̒̓̕͟͝͠ṉ̶̺͙̪̮̩͓̭̓͊̈̍­̊̋̈̚͜͝ę̪͙̲̥̪͂̅̃́͌̏̏,̛͓̦̰͚̠̿͌͂́͟
̷̨̙͓̥̮͍̼͊̃̐́̋̍̀͠C͇͎̙̤̜̝̪̀͊̐̇̂͒̈̉ò­̴̧̭͍̟̺̜̣̹̭̲̇͋͂̆͒̔̽͝l̢̢̼͕̘̻̱͉͈̺̽̂͗̄́̕d̶̛͇̼͕͕̩̋̌̽̂͊̍͋ t̟̫͕̗̄̓̉̆̉̀͟ó͈̞̼̣͎̩̗̝͌̿͌̾͘͜ͅ ť̵̯̝̙̰̼̏́̐̊̿͘͟h̡̰̰͔̜̗͉̻͓͈͆͆̐̿͒͛͘͝ė̢̧̢̩̖̦͉̼̂̒̉̔̾͗̀͠͝ b͕͍̭̩̝̪̋̽̑͋̀̒̈́͒o̴͉̠̮̲͔͉̙͆̃̈́́̽̇̕n̻͓̤͖̟̱̠͗̔̅̈͛́̽̏̈̀͢͜ě̴̦̪̬̦̩̻̩̞̅͗­͌͂̽̍͘,̶̲̹͓̟̖̝͙͙̯͎́̃̉͌̂̉̃̽̓̕
̖̰͍̟̹͛͗̏̊̾́͆̉̚͢ͅB̸͉̘̝͔͚̬́͗̆̅͐͢͢ù̷̥̮͇̗­̰͚͑̉̑͊̂́͢͜͠͞t̛͇̟̲̟̭̯̐͑̿͐̌̒̂͑̇ͅ Į̠̞͇̗̗̂̿͗̋̑̚ a̺̱̟̩̙͌̓́̿̔̀ļ̲̯̟̳̂̂̂̌̄͋̅̍͡͠r̫̼̙̤̪͉̮̣͔̟̀̐̈̕͠e̷̫̮̬̜̘̭̱̠͙͇͗̋̉̒̀̎̚͝à̵­̹̟̜̮̳̯̂̑̂͗d̸̥͇̯̘͖̮͉̂̎̎͐̎̓̔̕̕͜͢͟ỹ̭̞͚̺̗̩̀͒̑̅̕͡ k̶̹̖͔͎̳̂̌̅̌̊̌͌͘n̨͈͕̬̺̤͉͈̠̠̂͊͊͐̿̍́̓͘o͔̮̼͍̦̱̝͊͆̊̾̆͜͞w̴̨̩̘͔̭͎̰̍̑̑͌̆̄­̀̕͟n̪̭̫̦̤͈͓̊̾̓̓͐.̶̪͎̯͈̜̗͓͗̔͑̐̔͠


He’s so warm, and fluffy,
He’s my little doggie buddy!


Ḃ̟͓͇̬͛̋͟͝͡ű̷͇̞̟̘̜͓̮̮͓͙̆̓̊̽͛ṭ̵̩̭͊̏̿͊̂͂́͌͟͜͢͞ ḩ̛̦̗͉̈́͊̔͆̂̽́̇͘͢ë̡̮̘̱̳̤͙̳͇̟́͒̀́̍’̶̨̙̤͇̱̹͓͌͒̒̄͐̏̏͢͢͡ͅş̸̨̢̛̘̜̰͊̂̀̾͊­̈́̚͜͡ 1̸̡̛̮͔̮̙̭͙̠͕̙̽̐͊͗͆̍̌̕0̬̫̯̟̮̦̌̓̉͂̉̉̑̇̒̍͟ y̢̩̖͎̤̌̑̊́̀̾͆e̬̥͍͚̤̯̰̫͉̮̋͆̅̉̊̌͑̊̄a͚̺̺̰͎͇̪͈̓͛̌͒͘ṙ̴̡̞̯̯͚̗͒̈͒͐͗ͅs̜̲̞­͔͖̏́͒̌͂̉̈̾́͘͜ͅͅ o̷̙̭̯͕͖̅͗̍̊̒̂̓̕͠l̵̡͚̝̼̼̺̲̑͂̌̌͡ͅd̢̗̰̖̟͗̊̀́̾́̚͘͜,̣̹̩̘̝̾͐͒̓̆̚̚ a̵̩̬͖͖̫͇̫̩͒̽́̍̈́̊̄͐̄͞ṅ̸͓͓̰͇͔͌̔̃͟͜͠͝͡͠d̶͔̤͙̙̙̥͎̙̬̉̏̈́̇̅̊͌͛͟͠ w̶̡̧͇̳̘͕̳͕͗̅́̈̽͊͞ͅͅi̬̙̦͍̮̯͑̌̓̋͑̋̎͝l̴̺̝̠̻͔̬̪͔̱̩͌̊͂̽̚͞͠l̵̨̢̠̜̳̩̥̞͚̋­͛̄͊́̑̽͂̈́͟ d̶̩̳̣̭̣̰̐̓̋̎̃͌͐̾̈́̎͢i̵̢̢͙̞͎͙͉͛̎͆̐̀͆̀͗̃̚ẽ̸͍̪̞̯̳͍͕̗̃̀̏̑̄͊͠͡ ş̷̨͙̹̝̭̞̀̋̒̿̆ǫ̣̘̬̗̙̤̣͋͆͗̾̐̽͟͞ò̴̢̟͔̖̻̯̱̈́̓́͠͝ñ̴̮̙̱̜̲̻̹̺̓̋̕͞,̢̛̥̮̩̭­̗́͊̚͢͠͠
̧͙̗̹̮̜̋͐̄͑̊̇̆͑̕E̥͇̱̭̠̺͔͓͐̑̈́̾̀̂̉͝ͅv̡͕͍̣̬̖͚̑͒̒̔͊̉͗͘ͅe͉̼̝̟̩­͉͙̓̑͋̇̾̏̓̇̂̕ṋ̤̱̪̫͔̂͂͋̅͠͞ t̤͉̩͔̪̩͚͔́̇̎̐͡ͅō̵͉̯̪̼̳͈̉͋̅͜͝͝ t͕͕̜̯̬̳̔̌̈͂̌̍͢͠͠h̞̠̳̭̩͙̪̙͗͗̄̓́̑a̤̣̲̲̬̥͔̱̱͇͗̈̀̈́̒̂͊̚̕t̵̢̡͓̜̺̓͐̂͛̓̉­̅́̚͢,̴̨̢̩͈̟̻͓̍̏̓̃̍͞ İ̼̠̫̞́̿̀͜͟͝’̛̛̖͉̬͉̖̎̏̇̒͟͞͝m̘̻͔̗͓̺͎̌̏̃̄͆̕͢͢ n̹͕̳̬͉̆̀͐̽̆̍͡ͅǫ̸̡͚͈̩̯̪͗̆͂̓̆͐͐͞ͅt̷͖͚̜͎̥̦̯͋̆͌̐͘͢ i̛̯̻̰̖͇̓̑͌̈́̽̃̕͘͞ͅm̷̧̬̻͎̲͈͙̹̙͛̿̆̆̋͟m̼̩͉̭̮̥̝̹̬̊̑͆̈̋́̽͒͠ư̷̫͈͇̞̻͉̦̓̈­́͋̉̒͘ṇ̵̞͈̘̹̼̌̋̚͜͞͠e̢̛̲̱̟̟͐͆͆̋̾̏.̸̡̡͕̜̗͚͌͆̈́̈́͗́̎͜.̥̻͍̻̫̩̳̆͑̈́̋́͢͝­.̡̢̡̜̗̖̹̲͈̈́̊̇̿̚ͅ
̧̞̭̬͖̪̐̊͐͆̐́́͞͠ͅĻ̴͚̗̖̳̰̞͚̫̽͐͗̀̾̋̌͘̕͟ḛ̵̛̖̤̺̰̘̅̓̓­̕͘͢͠ͅa̵̬̳̹̼͈͉͎͎̞̭̐̂̀͑͊v̷͍̭͙̹̠̊̓̓͗̄̈̃̓͢͝i̵͍̤̭̫̿̎͑̒̈́̑̚͘͟n̵̼̳͇̞̝̒̓̌­̓͐̽̉̕͟͡ǵ̗̻̗͇͔͕͗̎̈̑̅̉̽̌͝ m̵͇̖̞̤̪̖̺͖̽̆̾̎̀̑̀͘͜ę̪̠̥͓͎̘͇͑̊͊̀̉̀͗̂̕ͅ e̱͇̱̮̜͇͙̬͐̎̋̇̕v̢̛͓̘̻͔̱̮͈͛̇̉̽̉͐̍̚͢ě̶̼̫̜͇̙̖̜̩͉̉̊́͢͠n̵͍͎̖̪̮̺̲͋̆̽͂͌̃́­̃͊͢ ḿ͍̙͇̖̘̔̀͊̑̓̉̚̕̚ô̴̘̥͍̹͖͈̠̌́͒̃̒̿͋r̡̼̣̗̭͕̹̽̀̃̉̔̅͜͝ḙ̸̩̝̬̖͛̀̌͑͘ l̗͓͍̻̹̙̗̥͂̏́̀̀̌̃ò̴̢̢͎͎̠̫̲̣͉̆̿͋͜͝n͓͈̞̘͕̱͇̞̈̽͆́̽͡e̸͍̩͈̝̱͌̈̏͋̐̆̈͞l̵̨­̛̬̟̤̝͎̱͇̅̈́̓͛̐̉̄̕͠y͓̬͍̞͚̅̊̍̌̽̉̀͢͟͠ͅ t̤͖͇̬̃̈̋͊͢͜͠ĥ̴̨̯̻̪̭̪̬̯̍͆͋̐͗͆̍͟å̟̼̙̘̠͑̾̎̃̃̌̀͊͂n̛͉̘̬̞̪͈̏̿̽͐̉̅͘̕ Į̛̺̟̯͖̻̐̂̐̋ ã̩͖̰̗̤̙̒̀͋̏̅͟͞l̸̛̲̼̥̩̩̯̈͗̾̾̄̓́̕͝r̷̤̲͍̺̪̻̾͊̂̀͐͗̾̚͟ḙ̶̛̼͖̪͚́͂̅̐ȧ̸̭͓̙­̞̳͇̯̣̳̽̓̎̂ͅḑ̴̨̧̪̼̥̭͕͍̗̈̔̆̈̇̔͌̓̉ỳ̠͉͇͈̬̑̊̾̌̕͜͢͢ a̧̜̗͈̤̅̽̆̍͂͘̕͡m͓͍͇͙̺̈́͆̂͌͗,̨̻̣̮̥̳̆͛͐̈́́̉̈́͆͡͠
̶̛͔̞̦̗̦̱͆̅̿̍̈́̇̐͘I̘­̹̫̼̲̣̠̫̟͛͊̓̉̂’̢̩̹̫̥̣̳́̆͑͆̕l̢̡̡̖͕͕̱̗̼̅̆͑̔̽͂̚͜͝l̢͙̩̖͗̓̒͂͜͡ b̸̠̝̝̜̗̯͆̃̎͐͊̈͌͌ë̡̥̜̻̯̇̔̽͝ s̸̹̹̪̱̹͕͉̦̙͈͒̋̋̂̚̚t̶̬͎̯̯̩̱͍͒͌͐̑̈̈́̍͋̕ͅǘ̵̥͕̯̙̠͙͙̊͌͛͞ͅc̸̞͖̺̙̝̪̼͎̣̀̿­̄̑̓̈́̀̈k̩̪̺̺̦͎̃̊̔̈́̊̊̀,̨̨̳̰̻̰̹̅̄́͒̿ i̡͍̗̞͙̹̟͊̓̀͌̀̎̏̚͘͜ņ̶͕͙͔̫̻͕̮̱́̇͌́̃̏̍̃ e̛̹̮̗̖͇͎͛̔̑̇͗̕͘̕͞ͅt̸̡̧̰͈͔̙̩͓͆̄̄̿͛͑̽̚͠ͅẻ̶̛̮̬̝̰̗̠̀́͋͆͒͡ŕ̵͓̫̠̻̖̘͉͂̉͑­̒n̷̙̼̣̖̺͖̯̘͊̆̂͌̃͞ą̛̳̗̼̩̳͉̓̍̊̍́̚͢͠l̸̼̭̪̩͚̩̮̰͚͖̉͋͊̌̃̍̄̔͞ ḩ̛̯̤̪͔̘̙̝͍̣͌̄̓̏͘e̴̡̨͚̻̻̦̗͐̉͑̉̄̾͋͛͠ͅl̷̤̙͓̹͔͕̒͌̓̇̕ͅl̸̢̻̪̘̮̹̜͙̎̑̅̈̈̀­̏̑͞,̶̧̧̬̙̰͔̪̝͎̽́͗̄̀ͅ
̶͎͚̯̫͍̝̭̪̈́̑͒͑̂͝W̡̭̮̺͍͉͙͛̈̇̔͐͌̍̌͘i̬̥̮̗͉͖͈̗̓̀­͐̑͛̀̿̄t̵̢̹̹̞̣͓͑͋͐̑̄̆͂̕͟͜͢͠͝h̶͉̭̖͕͎̮͑̀̌̂͋͞o̯̭̥̙̭͒͂̅̓́́̓̏̀̕ṳ̶̢͓̺̟̙̞­͊̆́͒̃t͖͇͍̹̞̋̈́̏̋͛͆̑̚͝ ť̷̨͍͔̪̮̹͎͕͓̄̂͐̌́̏͞h̵̢͈͉̯͓̯̾͌̏́͐̚͡e̵͎̫̝̰̬̤̐̌͑̿̈̈͆͠ c̷̨̞̮̱͒̿̍͌̈́͢ͅọ̵̢̜͉̺̳̙̩̍̄̋̎́̕͢͡m̧̢͙̙̦̥͍̐͗̃̐̀̓f̝͇̻̞̝̩͙̱̰͂͗̽͑͐̈́ͅo̧­̝̥̥͆͆̇͋̀̋̎͢͟ŗ̵̢̙͍̫̰̻͍͂̂̿͞͠t̸̛̛͚̩͕̞̣̅͐͛̋̿͌̚͝ͅ ǒ̶͕̭̤̘͔̜̖͔̄̔͒̅̈́̕͡ͅͅf̷̢̛̤̳̗̰̩̭̬̼͚̀̍͌͋̀ m̸̬͖̱̳̫͍̼̌̓͐̅̋̀͠ͅy̟͇̪̬͍̜͖͌̓̌͐͗̇̇͗͘ d̤̮̗͈̟̠͉̞̈́̂͐̓͐o̶̡̢͔̻͎͙̠̙͛̔̀̿̈̑̔͝ͅg̷̛̖͉̰̰͗̌̈́͗̀̈̂͜͝͝,̵̡̫̮̯̘͌͗̌́̀͢­͢͜ e̷̡͚̪̹͍̟̱̦͛̃̅̓͂͂̓̐̋ͅv̴̗͉̣̙͍͚̦̽͋̐̔͛͊͂ȩ̶̧̛̥̫̺̣͓̈̒̏̋̂̾̒͌̚ṉ̯̰̘̺͑̈̋̏͢͝­.̴̻̮̹͎̙͒͗͒̈̃̀̔̑̈́.͕̘̗͉̦̮̝͙͒̓̒́̚͢͟͝.̲͙̬̦̠̮̺̠̝̔̑̏̑̌
A fun little song once in a while won’t hurt!

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