City o' canvas built like a tent Held together by strands That can barely make rent The poles hold is folky yet formal These people sized holes, becoming too normal I'd spin you a tale, but where to begin A city of winners, **** stained in sin Lord stretch thee almighty abundant in lands Take it or make it, but never hold hands
Wake with me as the sun sets across the tree lined peaks. Close your eyes when your lids grow weary. Fall asleep in our tent, as the sun rises through the night. Our fire burned bright, as we talked about finding love, losing life, and weeks gone by. Savor every moment in these mountains, because soon enough this world will pass is by.
nauseous... I hear a voice screaming, open the tent... and there is my best friend screaming... "help help," she says, but I could not care less, for she was being held by a, big harmless, shadow... maybe it was furry, had claws sharp open, but for that night, my tent stayed open...
I wake up the next morning, for there she is, not dead, cooking us, marshmallows instead...
one is so glad for not being a member of his harem exclusion from the inner sanctum gives one a good perspective on the everyday doings between his adoring ladies one oft sees them bickering over his attention the females appear to be competing at a super-human rate hoping he'll send a flashing wink their way the sheik has many choices inside his tent
You think I give a **** how much you kick and scream? It's actually so ******* cute that you think you're over me. I know the need to destroy, I know your destructive destiny, but it's high time, and we both deserve to stay alive. One more time, I'll beg you ride the rails, arms around me. If I die, I'd prefer not to be interred by me, all the death in hand as dirt, surrounding.
Here's a silly little tale, I hope a giggle does not fail, I was cooking Bok Choy in a tent, On a primus stove, up she went, You can guess what that meant, Dinner was a non-event, Now known as "The Bok Choy Incident!"