There I was just sat and loaded ready to be self-exploded when a little birdie called me he did not proceed to stall me instead begged harm to befall me. / He was getting me so flustered while his tiny wings just fluttered he did not seem to receive as I begged him to relieve me of the pain, he would not cease me. / i once again begged him to go but no weakness did he show he had set off to just guilt me and with torment, he had filled me 'til he convinced my gun to **** me. / With no confidence in relief and the only thought in me grief i decided to be exploded with the gun that was still loaded i pulled the trigger and then floated.
I long to write Beautiful things Like Shakespeare And elegant ballgowns Something with more meaning Then simply feeling down
I long to write Of romeo and Juliet Symbolic and deeper then most see Oh thou arent very good with writing
I long to write Like egar allen poe Or any inspiration i claim to love But instead i write of the dead things That roam through my mind stirring
Pound pound pounding My mind is constantly aching She's but a young child Cry cry crying For attention she seeks but it keeps dying
Plays and music will not be wrote Of the things i write For they are not artistic They are but a jumbled mess Never knowing where to place Each Line or Stanza
Now I'm rambling On and on and on She goes sad and chaotic Whispering obscenities And screaming repetitive words and pleas
I adore the poems and songs That at face value seem Like they are about love for another When truly they ring about darkness
Oh sweet child Your love keeps thy so warm But it's breaking into a storm I watch you try to sleep Why do you weep? Dost thou not realize thy beauty? Stab thy heart into shreds For i cannot breath without the But i cannot smile when thy fills my blood with led
Sweet little girl You have made no sense Get on your knees and repent For you will never be
My head was filled with so very mamy words this morning i had to get them all out
If you travel the coast as the air gets much colder You might find that you are inclined to be bolder But it would be safer to give the cold shoulder To Sepulchre-by-the-sea.
There's a lady in white, and a lady in grey And a girl with a lantern who howls down the bay, And much more besides, but I'd stay away From Sepulchre-by-the-sea.
Yes, there's bare-breasted women who sing on the rocks Just out from the jetty, tossing green locks But I think that you should stay clear of the docks And from Sepulchre-by-the-sea.
See, the local gazette it prints fevered petitions Against succubi stealing nocturnal emissions And how corpses go wandering from the morticians In Sepulchre-by-the-sea.
There's a man in the inn whose incisors are filed And two men share a room and one’s wicked, one mild But only one’s in when their room number’s dialled From Sepulchre-by-the-sea.
Now, officially the dog population’s in stasis But will somehow increase on a once monthly basis And then viscera’s found in unusual places In Sepulchre-by-the-sea.
There's some fishermens’ families who look rather odd And can't manage to shake the aroma of cod And they've got their own church but who knows to what god? In Sepulchre-by-the-sea.
Seaside kiosks sell postcards in a decent range But look at them twice and you might find it strange That the poses of people and views seem to change Of Sepulchre-by-the-sea.
There's a man with long limbs who lives out in the woods And I'd say to forget him if only you could But to keep him at least out of mind would be good, Ditto Sepulchre-by-the-sea.
You may say it's haunted, you may say it's cursed, You may say that of bad luck it's got just the worst But you could say all of that without going first To Sepulchre-by-the-sea, To Sepulchre, there, by the sea.