"menfolk" poems
Like sentinels of days gone by
They're silhouettes against the sky
A headstone for those still below
A monument we proudly show
Of times when our tin was the very best
when quality counted not paying less
When the work was hard and the day was long
And the mines were filled by the miners song
Their hymns tell tales of life in the deeps
where darkness surrounds and dampness creeps
where disaster can be just a minute away
and you thanked the lord for every day
For generations all our menfolk
proudly joined the line
never once imagining
that we'd outlast the mine
Aug 5, 2010
Aug 5, 2010 at 3:12 PM UTC
Winds from far foreign climes beats upon the Lizard rocks
Gulls driven towards the blackest of crags, yet pass over safely inland
In the darkest skies they wheel and spin as if torn by some giant’s hand
White horses gallop crests of waves as they rush towards tiny harbours
There to crash savagely and rend cut stones from their secured places
Men work to save their boats, fighting the storm which mothers sent
Nature conspires to take their very lives as they struggle with her might
Rocks gnash their teeth and boats not safe yet, pass near their faces
Hoping for the safety of their port, men’s white faces line their gunwales
Black, white, red, blue and yellow, boats colours lost within the spray
These same boats that forge the men they carry out upon the sea’s wrath
But now just seek to bring them safely home to their worried wives
Their women stand upon the quay or stare worried from their windows
Churchyards on the hills above seaside villages filled with headstones
Men’s deaths caused by storms in past times of fishing for their living
Leaving spouses, their children to carry on their traditions and religion
Headstones cut from the very granite of the weather worn Lizard cliffs
Menfolk deep beneath the Cornish loam, there to rest for all eternity
Whilst below in the thrashing storm, the families fight once again
Then as quickly as it came, the storm blows out, waters return to placid
Men stretch their aching backs, those hidden from storm turn out
The seaman’s mission helps as it can the fractured families
And church maybe rings for those lost out to sea, never to be seen again
There will be time to mourn, and the village will then lament together
And those who are left, they return to their sacred craft of netting fish
Return to shining calm, to ply their trade, to bring food to this isles shore
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 8:56 AM UTC
OUR POVERTY HAS COLOUR
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected])
Most illusive and elusive
Like the devils of Congo forest
Is the impish poverty
Permeating all seals with vicious wily
Into the midst of callous humanity
Biting country men and country women
With carnivorous dentalities so ruthless
Putting man to a forlorn shame
As the wife looks in desperate flaggerbastation
Putting matriarchal womenfolk to humiliation
As the expectant sire wallow in the askance of looks
Condemning communities to status ad absurdum initio
Thinning man from man, culling woman from woman
Eating flesh by flesh social koprpers of man
Eating the native flesh in the farms of Brazil
Tearing the ***** steak into ghetto lacerations of Chicago
Whizzling sombre morning tunes to the Zulus in the black tundra
Cementing pale casted clusters for the Patels of India
Commanding suave drills to poor (wo) menfolk; left! Left! Left! –abouuuuturn!
With its accomplice Mr. Hunger son of starvation, they both command drills
For black factory workers, Maids and gravediggers to dance
Watchmen, thieves and prostitutes to match
In the hinterland of Africa all the riff-raff in deep despair
Dance in a tandem to the irritating drills of the duo;
You come on! Left! Right! Left! Right!—fowaaard match!
Backward match! Left! Right! Left! Right! Sharpp uuuuuuuturn!
The duo communiqué; Go home and wait for your pay announcement.
Surely; what colour is our poverty?
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 11:13 AM UTC
Real men don't tie their shoes
or wash their hands before eating
but should revert back to the Stone Age
at least three days a week
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 12:40 AM UTC
When you find her love her
Hold her real tight
Get her coffee in the morning
Keep her warm at night
The last thing that you ever want
Is to drive that girl away
So when you find her love her and
She will always stay.
Might take lots of lookin’
Good woman’s hard to find
Admit it man,
You and me, we ain’t no prize of any kind.
We’re rough around the edges
Ain’t got no smooth lines
So when you find her love her
And she will treat you fine.
Yeah, when you find her love her
Hold her real tight
Get her coffee in the morning
Keep her warm at night
The last thing that you ever want
Is to drive that girl away
So when you find her love her and
She will always stay.
See women they are wary
Far as menfolk are concerned
Seems somewhere in their lifetime
Most all of them’s been burned.
She’s gonna look right through you
Deep into your soul,
So when you find her love her
And she will make you whole.
Yeah, when you find her love her
Hold her real tight
Get her coffee in the morning
Keep her warm at night
The last thing that you ever want
Is to drive that girl away
So when you find her love her and
She will always stay.
She might have some baggage
Made a wrong turn or two
Better look into the rearview mirror
King of baggage might be you!
Then both you go and pack those bags
In the trunk of that used car
And read the map together
So you both know where you are.
Yeah, when you find her love her
Hold her real tight
Get her coffee in the morning
Keep her warm at night
The last thing that you ever want
Is to drive that girl away
So when you find her love her and
She will always stay.
Last thing that you ever want
Is to drive that girl away
So when you find her love her
And she will always stay.
Yeah drive away together
Bags packed and stored away
When you find her love her
And she will always stay.
Phil Lindsey 4/24/15
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
((
))
((
\/
/\
/ \
Star-lit night
( pure the dream )
••
OURS !
--
We will build a world !
Out of the rubble of this hatred
••
( we know --- why
Even if we don't know --- how )
••
I ( softly ! ) see you
I do !
Somehow I can feel you
And be with you
And there is no time passing
Any more
••
On the hill
Touching ( with permission )
The stars
••
We are still children
( we know )
But there don't seem to be no menfolk round here
And so ------ (?)
•
The burning fields
--
We are the masters of dominion
We are the guardians
Of the sacred world
••
My sweet girl !
I see you watching everything
I will lend to you my strength
I trust that you will treat it well
And that tomorrow may find us
Gathering all children
With the story they need to hear
With the story we need to tell
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 10:46 PM UTC
Your pupils dilate when you daydream of me,
I'm the focus of your erratic emotions.
Big birds and sharks circle below and above,
I'm your very own psychotropical ocean.
Goddesses weep that they'll never have me,
I'm the desire of all women and menfolk.
You're just a drop in my nicotine sea,
I'm your Revelator, forever and amen.
I open the book with seven tight seals,
Peter man's the gate to a white scale paradise.
A place for us who can heal the sick and lame,
You darling dear will know nothing of this.
My eyes full of water I struggled to see,
The physical signs of repeated emotion.
They opened my skull so they could finally see,
The darkness inside that caused all the commotion.
Mother boiled water and she made me some tea,
The darkened swirls combined with the clear water.
She mixed it then with some sweet honey,
Made me promise you'd never be her daughter.
Your pupils dilate when you daydream of me,
I'm the focus of your erratic emotions.
Big birds and sharks circle below and above,
I'm your very own psychotropical ocean.
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 5:11 PM UTC
There's many pairs I've fathomed
A poets stock and trade
A thousand couples counted
And a hundred poems made
But I'm awash with bafflement
A word eludes my wits
My sleep is interrupted
And it's getting on ****
Nothing rhymes with 'women'
I've run fresh out of words
I'm sick and tired of 'wenches'
And bored to death with 'birds'
It's hard to write a love song
To 'crumpet' or to 'totty'
Yes, nothing rhymes with women
Those women drive me *****
There's loads of rhymes for 'menfolk'
And equally for 'men'
’Aggressive' goes with 'Passive'
And 'Possessive' now and then
My brain is drained and knackered
And almost rhymes with 'lead'
I'd like to rhyme with someone else
And leave them in my stead
For nothing rhymes with women
And I loath abbreviation
There'll surely be no rimmin'
Or unsightly punctuation
The odds are stacked against me
So, exhausted, I persist
To find a rhyme for women
A word to coexist
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 8:57 PM UTC
For a modest subscription -
say, £100 a month -
you can receive my weekly newsletter
outlining the manner in which I undertake
to steal your jobs,
besmirch your womenfolk
(or menfolk, if you like),
impose my religion upon you,
undermine your financial system,
eat the swans in your local park,
raise/lower house prices (as your current need dictates),
contribute to a nameless sense of dread,
dilute your cherished national identity
and produce more illiterate children than the welfare state
can reasonably support.
I will do you this service
on the understanding
that you will stop attributing blame
to your undeserving neighbours
and get on with your life
like a decent human being.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 3:28 PM UTC
Journeyed from
a far off land
through the forest
across the sand
like a restless beast
never at peace
wandered for years
laughter and tears
A family of wanderers
have traveled the path
acrobats and see'ers
jugglers and rats
all move together
for it would seem
safety in numbers
they're often seen
Raven haired beauties
with large almond eyes
pry coins from the menfolk
tell them sweet lies
they stay for awhile
then they move on
when their welcome
is truly gone
misunderstood
for hundreds of years
the travelers have wandered
despite all our fears
the gypsies have lived
like we wish we all could
living and laughing
loving as they should
don't be so hard
on those you don't know
could be a friend
let you in from the cold.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 8:20 AM UTC
Verily, verily, I wilt thole
the strenuous measure
Without thee in mine
Reach. Thine countenance do I seek in
Sainthood luster; O' how I needeth thee mine
beloved of cherubic power,
Tis the moonlight hour's I dieth to layeth mine brow
Upon thine own.
Sweat cover's me, I needeth mine
Abode, for thou art mine home;
In which I hath sought after
Since afore the age of Noah.
O' how this locution screameth out loud to the crowd's of emptied lonesome-hearted mad
Men. Mine darling, àgapi mou, best friend. Tis not the end-
Only the beginning. I glance keenly dearest jane-
Into meadow's wherein the pool's of life art made for one man
And his wife, as godly intended;
Foregone art the soul's that shalt
wait ourn arrival, they've been waiting endlessly to enter us inside.
O' Queen Jane, Filipino treasure of mine;
O' how we shalt dine and feast amongst the golden pathway's and see-through streets, bare **** feet to lead ourn spiritual direction, ourn agápi reflecting Yahweh's glow in three-
Dimensional complexion.
One day to be as babes, Unchained, not slaves to menfolk's rule-
A place wherein one enters by the amount of love they've given
And hath shown, a kingdom
Wherein we shalt be renewed.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( àgapi mou) dedicated
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
Clothes held close as menfolk left.
Clutched close to wifely bodies.
The scent of that last embrace.
She smells his left behind clothes again.
Nobody else knows his smell.
It tickled her nose.
Memories of last moments of closeness.
This moment maybe their last dance.
Uniforms of formality in such organised organisations.
Firm protection of noble nations.
Action stations, yet again.
And the death bell tolled.
And the trains rolled into the station.
Waiting to clamber on to the war bound train.
Walking away.
Heads held high.
Stiff upper lip.
After kisses goodbye.
Which of the bedfellows will survive?
It's a long drawn out slog.
This war is a dog.
Big.
Black.
Vicious.
Still alive?
(c) Livvi
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 3:17 AM UTC
Today I walk,
hesitating and scared.
All the way I wonder
will I be spared?
At home stay them,
those loved ones
who debate within
imagine me chased by guns.
Today is the day
all my folk are silenced,
taken for granted,
eternally fenced.
It is me,
the voice
of the women who surrender,
those very women, victims of the thunder.
those very women
whose bodies have been scarred,
those very women
whose lives have been marred.
By what means,
By what reason
Am I exploited,
maimed by treason?
Who gives menfolk
The power to ****
To ****** to remove
the dignity I drape?
I have every strength,
I have all you do.
In fact much more
and rationality too.
All I declare,
all that I make clear
Enough is Enough,
Do you hear?
I've given you more
than you've ever deserved.
Gone are the days
I acted reserved.
This shall not be repeated
so get it right.
Touch me and beware
of the wrath of my might.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 10:16 AM UTC
The land it's name was faraway.
A land so pretty,
The land where fairies play.
The grass verdant and succulent.
Glows in the midday sun.
The trees bow inadvertently to the fairies passing by.
Fairies bearing various gender.
Girl folk with flowing straw like hair, bound with strands of strawberry flair.
Menfolk wearing doublet and hoes.
Black and green.
Obvious features, all fairy men folk sport a pointed nose.
Elder folk, they have aching knees.
Hair tinged with tiger stripes of grey and black.
Could have been zebra stripes,but the elderly fairies, can be just a little spritely, temperamental at times.
They sit under willow trees.
Writing, busking rhymes.
Listen without witness, you'll swear you'll hear them sing.
Leave a pretty penny in the spot where you have been.
Walk silently away.
Peer over your left shoulder and you may just glimpse the fairy queen.
If you should be so lucky.
(c)Livvi
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 2:53 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
In a trance with a different light in mind,
I provoke,
Like the entertaining women dancing for their menfolk,
That's a joke,
Degradation of women is not the subject mostly when
Need to be told,
I guess it might be getting old,
Solid gold,
Chambers with secrets in it like Harry Potter,
Feeling elevated off the ground like a helicopter,
Cops and robbers,
Tell the coppas that I did not shoot the sheriff,
Guess they'll shoot me down anyway call them
Heart stoppers,
Have no beef with anyone , I'm more like the safe haven,
More like a beacon, if you want heaven then just behave and,
Life is too short to be worried about a grave and,
Your mom just lost her job and your dad is on the deep end,
Do what's ....best for your life despite the things you've seen around
You,
You're a..
Lost cause to them, but you'll make it , they won't be better than You,
You buss your *** everyday to pick up on the homework but you can't
Concentrate on the lessons because of a kid that that picked at you and bothered you your whole life,
But your more than meets the eye, okay.
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 1:41 PM UTC
...besides the LORD, and my menfolk: Nobody.
(sonnet #MMMMMCMLXXXIX)
I meant to 'gin: Officious. Sunday thence
With echoes of religious duties they'll
Assure you's needful, 'til in sheer betrayl
Tis sin to not be there and an offense
To sleep-in, whilst the shabby bow from hence
To cold hauteur and know god has a scale
Whereby we measure worth by gain's detail--
But I've forgotten whither, in a sense.
Come, which is better? Oh yes, to be sure
Like he said 'long ere: "say whatever--" to
Add, "--but stand on it too." If church is poor
Cuz that's pretense, so is aught falsehood. Do
I be a hyp'crite in love too, well you're
Allowed to censure me. Who owns me? Who?
23Oct16a
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 11:25 PM UTC
when it really matters
i know
you will be here
we know
we can
play games
in the dark
but not in the light
we are too real for
such stuff anymore
we know too much already
the mothers are crying
the chidren are hungry
the menfolk are crazy
and here we are
it really matters now
so
be here
right here
right here
Sep 24, 2010
Sep 24, 2010 at 1:31 PM UTC
Cleansings
by Michael R. Burch
Walk here among the walking specters. Learn
inhuman patience. Flesh can only cleave
to bone this tightly if their hearts believe
that God is good, and never mind the Urn.
A lentil and a bean might plump their skin
with mothers’ bounteous, soft-dimpled fat
(and call it “health”), might quickly build again
the muscles of dead menfolk. Dream, like that,
and call it courage. Cry, and be deceived,
and so endure. Or burn, made wholly pure.
One’s prayer is answered,
“god” thus unbelieved.
No holy pyre this—death’s hissing chamber.
Two thousand years ago—a starlit manger,
weird Herod’s cries for vengeance on the meek,
the children slaughtered. Fear, when angels speak,
the prophesies of man.
Do what you "can,"
not what you must, or should.
They call you “good,”
dead eyes devoid of tears; how shall they speak
except in blankness? Fear, then, how they weep.
Escape the gentle clutching stickfolk. Creep
away in shame to retch and flush away
your ***** from their ashes. Learn to pray.
Keywords/Tags: Holocaust, poem, ashes, crematorium, chimney, smoke, gas, chamber, Auschwitz, starvation, walking dead, mass graves, genocide, ethnic cleansing, racism, antisemitism, fascism, cruelty, brutality, inhumanity, horror
Mar 22, 2020
Mar 22, 2020 at 12:08 AM UTC
There were sisters three, and they all were free
In a town called Tavistock,
Freer than they would want to be
As they stared at the Town Hall Clock.
‘Our time is running ahead of us
They will soon call us ‘Old Maid’,
Said sister Jill to the younger Phil,
And the eldest one, called Jade.
‘So why don’t the menfolk look at us,
We’re not that hard on the eye,
Certainly better than Betty Watts
Who married the stable guy.’
‘I danced with him, did you know?’ said Phil,
‘By God, he’s a clumsy oaf,
He kept on tripping over his boots,
And stamped on all of my toes.’
‘I had a line on the fisherman,’
Said Jill, ‘and I thought I’d win,
I’d give it a month or two to set,
And then I would reel him in.
But Nancy Croft got her hooks in him
And I see they’ve tied the knot,
I said, ‘but you were going with me!’
He said, ‘Oh! I’d forgot.’
Then Jade had turned with a waspish look
And she said, ‘Well, look at me!
I’m the eldest and should be wed
By rights, the first of three.
There’s only a single guy in town,
He’s the only one that’s left,
I heard him say he’s going away,
He’s an army boy, called Jeff.’
But Jill and Phil said, ‘He’s not yours,
It’s the one that gets there first,’
They were in favour of drawing straws,
But Jade had stamped and cursed.
They said they’d ask him around to tea
They’d cook up muffins and toast,
And then they’d see what they all would see,
By whom he talked to most!
He came attired in his uniform
His scabard by his side,
Placed his sword on the mantelpiece
Where Jade stroked it with pride.
‘My, but you’re a fine gentleman
And I see you play the fife,
How sad, you’ll march to a battle cry
Without a beautiful wife.’
He sat perturbed, and he looked at them,
At each one in their turn,
‘If only there were three of me,’
He said, but his cheeks had burned.
The sisters jostled to catch his eye,
Were heated and dismayed,
‘I know a way we can settle this!’
And Jill had reached for the blade.
She swung the sword and before they knew,
The soldier lay in halves,
She’d cleft him, clean through the waist, and then
She’d cut off both his arms.
To Jade the head and the torso went,
To Phil, arms worn like a shawl,
Which left Jill what was below the waist,
(She had the most fun of all!)
David Lewis Paget
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 10:00 AM UTC
(
•
)
^^^~~~^^^~~~^^^
••
The clock tower
crumbles
The Day
falls down
••
In the shadows
broken hearted children
Looking old
( enslaved )
//////
Lonely mothers
Objects of scorn
Of the howling mad laughter
Of the menfolk
In their uselessness
( so afraid
Of appearing
Afraid )
///
Crumbling down days
( broken Dawn )
Evolution and God
Are
One and the same
( and they both are gone )
••
The clock tower
Crumbles / ( all is Lost )
Come
Humble children
It's time to be gone
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
Just twelve, I swear, I must have been
The day they took the Witch of Steen
And put a halter round her neck
To teach her magic some respect.
The women in the village square
Tore off her clothes, and pulled her hair
Then called their menfolk out to view
Who crossed them there, what they would do.
They tied her hands behind her back
The rope around her neck was slack,
But tied to Jethro’s stubborn mule
They led her naked, like some fool.
And all her secrets lay out there
Uncovered, in the open air,
She looked quite beautiful to me
Her naked form, such artistry.
The mule dragged her, painful and slow
Along the lanes where they would go
As gusts of breeze blew out her hair,
Revealed what she was hiding there.
And I, I followed, just a lad
Whose eyes were full of her, by god,
Whose ******* were pert and firm back then
Whose thighs held secrets, hid from men.
I saw that tiny tuft of hair
That hid her womanhood in there,
That plagued me since, for every night
I’d think of it in dread delight.
But still they led her, lane and field
No place that she was not revealed,
They took her to the ducking pond
Where life or death would lie beyond.
And when they laid the ducking stool
With her aboard, across the pool,
Her voice rang out, this buxom maid
With words the villagers dismayed.
‘For all that you come judging me,
Look to yourselves, your pedigree,
What sons and daughters sprang at night
From phantom fathers, bred in spite.’
‘When husbands were out tending fields
And wives would wait, temptation yields.
What shadows stood by window ledge
Gained entry to some marriage bed?’
The women quaked before her spell
And screamed, then ducked the witch to hell
And would have left her there to drown
Had not the menfolk brought her round.
In mercy then, they set her free
And she had screamed, ‘A curse on thee!
‘Your cattle will roam free and late
Your catch won’t hold the cattle gate.’
‘Your crops will flatten in the fields
When hail and sleet destroy their yields,
And mud will fill your village hall,
Your church collapse, your roofs will fall.’
She left there with a final shout
The things she cursed, they came about,
But I was left a lifetime dream,
That naked witch, the Witch of Steen.
David Lewis Paget
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 5:42 AM UTC
It is the bells I fear
when at 6pm the menfolk trudge up from the glen
and evening flicks its greedy tongue
into the eyes of the dying day
and the beasts that room within the evening gloom
are no longer held at bay but free to roam.
The darkness has no home
not in my heart
I want no part of it.
The eyelids of the night blink
and in them
I sink into another death
where the stinking breath of doom
invades me.
All pervasive
persuading me to go
Into what I do not know?
Nor want to.
At 5am the menfolk wake and that is when
the lingering night spits into the face
of the coming light
and then I feel alright.
But as the gloom retires
it is time to light the parlour fires
to rid myself of the chattering chill.
The night will always frighten me
the bells will always make me see
the beasts.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 7:21 PM UTC
There is a land top-filled with woe,
And poorish sorrows that go unseen,
Where candle flames toss o’er the hearth.
And maidens' gentle ******* are torn
By their menfolk’s leave for noble wars.
Threads of grass spangled o’er with dew
Are trodden down by silken slippers,
Bitwixt the dusk and coming morn,
A princess weeps, her heart grief-stricken.
And in the pale and rising dawn,
A flame rolls over the orchard hills,
And blossom falls in bloodied paths
Of Wallach men marching Dragul trails.
As the maidens brush their gentle hair,
The window slits are lit aglow,
And brave menfolk return at last!
The bloodied wars have ended fast,
And Szelyk troops were struck aghast,
Hence no sorrow shall be rooted there.
Landed true their dying blows,
For thought of gentle women near,
The phoenix men felt no wordly fear.
And poorish sorrows go now to grave
Where kisses fall on those not saved.
There is a land now decked with cheer.
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 3:13 PM UTC
.
so many stories to tell
""""
"""""
One tree grew in the depths
Of the desert
One man grew in the fierce
Utter hatred of these days
•
••
•••
••. ••
One old man
Gazing out the window
•
1000 men whose child
Has been slain
••
( oh woman ! )
Tears
-- --
*
What's there to say ?
what can we do ?
We ourselves are " bwokin"
We are Helpless
Sorry
:::
But
You're not gonna try to live !
You're gonna keep senselessly and lovelessly
Fuckingly and cutting
And writing about it
And. Relating & getting
"Bwokin "
And basically
DYING FOR FUN
••
******** !
Basically
I know
BE COMPASSIONATE !!
**** that ****
///
You know
We are all dependent on
Each other !
For love
For support
::
We know we are being manipulated
Into playing these perverted love stories
But we PURPOSELY keep living out
The same ******** scene
Knowing
KNOWING !
It all leads to death
,,,,,
Compassion !
For what
)(
You're just
******** !
////
Cool foxy **** ********
////
( with **** for brains )
•
,,,,,
The young boy
Old cloak
Torn boots
Upturned collar
He's escsping thru the woods
)(
The wolf follows
To protect him
//
The girl follows for she too
Would be free
••
The 1000 sons
Song of the beating heart
)(
The 1000 lovely maidens
Cross the field
They shall not yield their dignity
To any man
•
The mothers throw down their fears
& pick up their righteousness
•
The menfolk throw down their
Religion and acknowledge their
Godliness
•
The lovers decide to actually
Love
To know the purpose of *** before
Perverting it with maudlin pride
)(
The old man looks out the window
And for the first time in centuries
He is not ashamed
;;
And the years are washed away
And a new world is seen
Right behind this monstrosity
Of matrix
& lies
•
And we stop being such fuckingly ********
Content to **** & die
To hurt and be hurt
To distort and deceive
•
And we become human beings
//////:
Hey
Wouldn't THAT be nice ?
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 7:38 AM UTC
In the name of Jesus
Begged to be alive
In the name of God
Trying to survive
**
In the name of Whisky
In the name of *****
All of us are clowns
All of us are Pooch
**
In the name of Martyrs
Killed for what they believe
Confounded, nothing but ****
Simply all they receive
**
In the name of Devil
Deceiver of menfolk
All of us are just mortals
He is the Herrenvolk
**
In the name of Damnation
In the ******* void life
All of us are asinine
Please **** me with a knife...
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 2:25 AM UTC