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#manchester
Head full of steam, the end begins on Miller Street. A lifeless disc called Sun leads the funeral procession into the heavens. Factory city breathes through an iron lung, exhaling the smoke of "progress." Dark, dank vapors pollute the scepter, enter the throne room, and take the queen by force. Women and children develop industrial-grade hands and feet, they sleep on beds of coal, a fitting resting place: when they die, they are buried right beneath. The spiraling dance of looms, the incessant screams of machinery, here chimney stacks outnumber the men. An outcrop of crooked crosses on the hills above, the bier stands ready for the next in line, on Sundays each one prays to God it's not them.
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May 6
May 6, 2026 at 5:05 PM UTC
Cottonopolis
Oi, Manchester, why are you so blue? You built it all, there is nothing you can't do. We were here first and we will be here last, Our future is bleak? Well, so was our past. We've had more than our share of ups and downs, Aye, it's grim up north, but every class needs its clowns. Oi, Manchester, chin up arr kid, If they ask you who built it, you tell 'em we did, We built this city with rock and roll, Through rain and shine, with northern soul, The only thing we never built was a great northern wall, We invited each people and we welcomed them all. Manchester, mate, things will get better, Mother nature tries beat us but we've never let her, No matter the odds or how savage their action, We are the great power house, we never lose traction. Each time we're knocked down we rebuild from the ashes, we shoulder each other, we each take lashes. Oi, Manchester, don't you forget your station, We are the heart, we are the brain and the spine of a nation. It was here we split the atom, and here where Rolls met Royce, Swing those monkey arms and sing your Mankey voice Be proud, be loud, there's no need to tiptoe, And always remember that WE created VIMTO. Oi, Manchester, I don't 'alf miss THAT smile, It's the whole hog, the bees knees, the best by a mile, There will be a day when we all laugh again, Brighter, more hopeful, more promising then, There will always be dark before the dawn, But, oi, this is manchester, where all dreams are born.
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Dec 27, 2020
Dec 27, 2020 at 9:32 AM UTC
Oi Manchester, I miss your smile
this old panther is getting older and with age comes a wisdom a knowing of when to curl up the tail time to, time to put it away so these days i don’t want another with you, with you only with you i’m beside myself and like a housecat this old panther just wants to be held
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Jan 8, 2020
Jan 8, 2020 at 7:36 AM UTC
Return From The Wild
Is this actually possible? Considering so few pf the planes were built... i dunno... Manchester Bomber Wreck Manchester bomber rotting away Different than it was before Holes in the surface skin Many pieces missing Broken in two Separated by many feet Engines fallen free Skeletons of the crew inside Unknown war grave except to them Who haunt their lost bomber Lying under the sea bed To them they’re still flying In the sky above enemy territory Fighting for their lives With a faulty engine Not actually on fire Then the flak hit them Damaging the tail unit Followed by an enemy fighter Who shoots them full of holes And kills the Flight Engineer Hitting him with a 20mm cannon shell But not before the gunners Down the **** night fighter The crippled bomber flies on Slowly losing height They’ll never reach the target Nor return home to England So drop their bombs on a small town Unknowingly killing dozens Four tons of bombs will do that The Manchester bomber wasn’t fired on again Losing height was the enemy They decided what to do and drew lots Bail out or ditch in the sea? They decided to ditch It was almost dawn And the horizon lit up They should of made it But the faulty engine finally died The bomber stalled and dug a wing in It cartwheeled over the sea Broke in two and sank All aboard were knocked out And taken to a watery grave Unknown to the world except themselves The only remaining Manchester bomber
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Apr 14, 2019
Apr 14, 2019 at 5:51 AM UTC
Manchester Bomber Wreck
Manchester is drunk, and can't make it to the phone right now...
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Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 5:50 PM UTC
Simple Truths
A Rogue Mind Attacks Manchester A rogue mind descends on a village square ravishing it's children without a prayer. Birds of peace gather and fight the fire on it's wings rest hopes, civility inspires. Up in the sky clouds weep at the mass loss of young ones taken early in bearing the cross. From this World, the descendants left in pain, relatives and love ones befallen, crying in vain. It hurts me to see the breadbasket of life filled with ISIS and terrorist inciting strife. For the seeds they plant grab at our hearts, such devilish intertwines taking our lives apart. How I wish a drone peaks into their yellow skies, taking them all out, like an eye for an eye. Maybe so that's the solution for their pillage, so, now, the World be tighter than the Olympic villages. Logan Robertson 5/24/17
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May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 9:33 PM UTC
A Rogue Mind Attacks Manchester
Don’t look down where emaciated bodies lie beyond salvation they’re beneath you when you preach for profit. Don’t look down to idle bones on the edge of prison walls they’ve already fallen their hands too bloodied to shake their eyes too blind to see the mistakes they are yet to make. Save the souls with the pound sign goals avert your eyes from the misery of the fallen they’re not even there if you don’t look down.
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Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 2:34 PM UTC
Don't Look Down
THIS CITY This life, this people, this city. All living in a certain geographical area – here, this city. Dying eventually, one day which only God knows. Today under a tram or of old age. This city with many names, is it like your city? I know you were a cold war target, so were we. People make love, fight, laugh, cry in your city just like in my city. You have been bombed, so have we. Quick, dig them out! Shall we join them and **** them, their corpses can't say no! Go to see a Goth band, add our own little histories to a history of this city?
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Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 12:52 PM UTC
THIS CITY
The stars are out and you know the way - Piccadilly, Rusholme, Withington, Wythenshawe. These are names that could freeze your soul in blue and maybe light a candle in the dark if you could only find a spark. Every building is an open door, every street an absent flower that unknown gods collected long ago when it was raining. This is England - a promise. I tell myself - there is a plan. Just follow through, be yourself, smile under this weird constellation and expect the unexpected; what you want will happen, it's just probability and probability is always on your side when you are in Manchester.
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Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 3:53 AM UTC
Mancunian song II
a twinkle in my mezzo is a wrinkle in this forte where flatulent is an eggplant but virulent is my phone that screamed from my soul as she'd walk in a box of rings that made me sing her too With sheet of tears did blanket Around her bed of posies alas if heart truss sung to their content   tonight the hour grew dark in Jodrell Bank as this virtue of love did radio a Lovell and sealed my fate in spite of her again
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Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 2:18 PM UTC
Observatory 'Tis Alight
THE ONE LOVE MANCHESTER CONCERT WAS FULL OF LOVE AND TEARS REMEMBERING THE LIVES LOST EMBRACE YOUR FRIENDS SO DEAR ARIANA JUSTIN AND KERRY COLD PLAY AND MANY MORE RAISE MONEY AND SEND THEIR LOVE SINGING LIKE NEVER BEFORE THE CONCERT WAS A SAFE ENVIRONMENT TO ESCAPE CELEBRATE AND HEAL FOR HORRIFIC TERRORISM ACTS WONT EVER MAKE MANKIND KNEEL
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Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 10:05 PM UTC
THE MANCHESTER ONE LOVE CONCERT
THE WORLD TODAY IS SHATTERED AND TORN DEATH IS ALL AROUND US TERRORISM IS BORN WE MUST FIGHT THIS SCOURGE UNTIL WE WIN DEDICATION TO OUR TASK IS WHERE LIFE WILL BEGIN THE PEOPLE AROUND US MUST BE PROTECTED FROM THIS SLOW MOVING CREEPING DISEASE COUNTRIES ALL BAND TOGETHER AND FIGHT THIS FOE LIKE A COOL CALM AND RELENTLESS BREEZE SWEEPING ACROSS DESERTS AND OUR FALLEN CITIES BRINGING WITH THEM A UNITED AND STRONG VOICE WE MUST DESTROY THE DEMON WE KNOW AS TERROR FOR MANKIND'S FUTURE THERE IS NO CHOICE
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Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 6:34 PM UTC
TERROR WON'T WIN
Soldiers of Peace march on Have no enemies Just hearts and souls to win over. See no divisions Between race or creed Or whatever. Engage with people. Listen and understand Where they are coming from. Unite us all: The human race – Life Forms everyone. Have that discipline Of the best army In the world But channel everything Into peace And Love. Stand together For The Common Good. Paul Butters
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May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 6:37 PM UTC
Soldiers of Peace
ONE LAST TIME We bring the cup back home for those who will never come home. "We played for the people who had died!" Pogba avows. An absence in the heart. The memory of her laugh. Her smile in a photograph. She, so much there but not there. The unbearable presence of loss. From a pop concert to a football final Death walks amongst our ordinary lives. "MANCHESTERMANCHESTERMANCHESTER!" the crowd chants "WE'ILL NEVER DIE!" Here even in the kick of a ball the defiant gesture. We bring the cup back home for those who will never come home.
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May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 3:37 PM UTC
ONE LAST TIME
Those who have lost their battles, They'll be fine from now on. They're up high in their castles, For their life down here is gone. Just keep flying up, Angels. You'll be right where you belong. Thank you for everything, Angels. The trip won't be that long.
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May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 3:46 AM UTC
Angels
Broken minds Broken bodies Broken art   Broken girl What is the point of laughing anymore? Dresden fires Hiroshima pyres Twenty two dead in Manchester Twenty two dead in Manchester Is it really true? Is it really true? Broken religion Broken borders Broken trust Broken girl What is the point of living anymore? Planes and skyscrapers Harbor infamy invaders The god of Abraham silently weeps The god of Abraham silently weeps Can he hear you? Can he hear you? Broken world Broken God Broken belief Broken girl What is the point of dying anymore? Suicide bomber Children ****** Thou shalt not **** Thou shalt not **** It's nothing new It's nothing new
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May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 10:33 PM UTC
Broken
No way no how, I'll ever understand how a message of violence gets people, their wish, and/or demands Religion used as a shield to destroy I know, it's been done before as Martyrs, they employ I'll hold a candle high, shedding light for those who see no more great people of Manchester open hearts and open doors
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May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 8:57 AM UTC
Manchester, United
I see the violence, I hear no laughter, It's all faith to capture; I can feel the rapture, Disaster another chapter, Darkness within these walls, a fall, No more buildings too tall. Fire choking the young, It's only just begun. There's no sun, We hear a bomb, Run, Innocent children, Deprived of fun, Shrapnel flying everywhere, Smoky air, Streets are bare, It's all despair, I feel the Animosity, Subconsciously, Knowing I'm dead probably, We do this to our society, Because we have religion and rivalry, Violently, involved yet independently, You walk so silently, Scared of your own shadow frightfully, Tirelessly, With your messed up psychiatry, That’s irony.
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May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 4:50 AM UTC
Manchester Bombings (Rap)
OUR YOUNGER GENERATION ARE NOW THE TARGET THEIR YOUNG LIVES ARE NOW LOST THE TERRORISTS HAVE STRUCK AT A CONCERT MANCHESTER NOW COUNTS THE COST HOW CAN WE EXPRESS OUR THOUGHTS TO THE PARENTS OF THESE CHILDREN OUR HEARTS ARE TORN APART THE TERRORISTS ARE ALWAYS HIDDEN OUR HEARTS OUR THOUGHTS OUR LOVE GO OUT TO THE YOUNG LIVES LOST HOW CAN YOU UNDERSTAND THE MIND OF A TERRORIST WHEN YOUNG LIVES ARE LOST
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May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 9:21 PM UTC
MANCHESTER
It's a small bar, with old wooden tables and no music: I like to get a break sometimes and I come here every Sunday after my CBT sessions. The waitress smiles. She is Spanish too but (it's that white mist taking over my mind again) I can't articulate and I just speak English, hoping she doesn't notice my accent. When she brings me a dark decaf coffee, even if I have asked for a decaf tea, and I taste it, and it tastes horrible, I lose balance and stumble for a moment ("you are going to fail", and "this is all your fault", and "just let it go, don't move, it'll pass"). It is such a small detail in the grand scheme of things, but this decaf coffee, this black mist, makes me feel that there is something wrong with me. I look through the window: across the road, a student residence, all windows and shining glass. A girl goes up the stairs with a blue basket in her hands; she is probably doing the laundry. Another girl leans on the sill, and smokes. I invent a life for them, and it's a good life - a life to praise. I want to go back to Uni, I think, and for a moment I feel safe, and warm. ("Never mind, I'm too old, after all"). I pay for the coffee and leave. In two hours, she'll have clean clothes, and I don't know where I'll be (especially on days like these, when my mind feels heavy, and weak).
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Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 3:56 PM UTC
The blue basket
I am leaving this house, where I once dreamed of a shared life, shards of future reflecting the light, telling me "you can do this, yes, you can." Somebody left; the roots were shaken but the tree still stands. I am leaving this house, this refuge, solid ground. There was only a dark night; it lasted for two weeks, and I survived. I am leaving this house. (I didn’t sleep for two weeks, that time, but it’s over now, I am fine).
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Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 5:12 AM UTC
Farewell to the Victorian house
I live in this city alone. It is always cloudy here. It is cold and it rains all the time but you could find love if you wanted. That's what I tell myself when I'm wet and cold on a lonely street, walking home. You could look through the window of an old Victorian house and, seeing a beautiful family in a living room full of books, think “this could be my family”. Or, in another reality, “that could be me, as a child or, maybe one day, as a father”. The city has no limits; take advantage, this could be your land. You could call this city home, bend it to your will if you wanted to. Take this city in your hands and squeeze it. Forge a big heart out of it or some wings. Just give it a chance, it’s not too late and you still need to get home and it's ****** raining                                     again.
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Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 5:56 AM UTC
Mancunian song
on the platform a girl drops a pink tissue and it lies there, all scrunched up like a rose
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Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 8:06 AM UTC
Salford Crescent #1