"mining" poems
~a question of a thousand dreams~^
“Where are you going now my love? Where will you be tomorrow? Will you bring me happiness? Will you bring me sorrow? All the questions of a thousand dreams, what you do and what you see”
this one composes itself
for all dreams go unremembered
the first, the thousandth, the every in between,
erased by the push button of opening eyes
but dreams come, marching in, saints mining the raw materiel
the quartermaster has stored, awaiting requisition by an
unarmed unnamed corp, witnessed but never seen
these dreams wisped soft willow budded, tempting taunting,
leaving nothing but unanswered questions that colored come
in black and white
elementary clues,
a pillow indentation,
single hair that stretches
across the sea between two pillows that is blonde or red
but
certainly unmine,
dregs of soured sentiment linger like the
aftertaste of too many coffees and stainless steel beers
heated summers breezes give no succor or relief,
and the rain following gives no pleasure,
for now you are hot and soaked,
but somewhere in there a dream is part replayed,
and eyes widening in major league surprise,
the question acknowledged, the dreams quest hinted
she has gone, neither happiness or sorrow will she
provide on the morrow, no toweling of your wet hair fair,
and you awake sweat besotted, it is not rain, just pain,
and it is only one dream a thousand times repeated
and what you do and what you see
is the abraded night ahead, and
you bitter laugh, for there is no more other than to think,
the question answered, and you beg relief by
uttering
“perchance to dream”
3:49 pm
see the notes!!
someone accuses me of Plagiarism
because I did not acknowledge that the quote in marks and Italics was from a famous song written 39 years ago
so here is my response to
“just saying”
congratulations on ******* me off
and yes I agree, you do not know the rules
“#1: Quotation Marks Are for Quoting People—Verbatim
Perhaps it should go without saying, but quotation marks are for quoting people. Quoting doesn’t mean summarizing or paraphrasing; it means repeating exactly what someone said. If you put double quotes around a phrase, your reader will often assume that someone, somewhere, said that exact phrase or sentence.“
http://thevisualcommunicationguy.com/2013/09/11/10-things-you-really-need-to-know-about-quotation-marks/
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 3:59 PM UTC
mining till day
In bajan we must and bacca we trust
never going to brake bedrock
enchanting diamond sword
crafting table
rpmx13
asfjerome
flaming arrows
traping in cobwebs
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
I woke up this morning and I was tired.
what was I tired of....
I was tired of waste
hunger
greed
humiliation
global warming
ozone depletion
pollution
guns
deforestation
extinction
mining
disease
overpopulation
terrorism
selfishness
destruction
war
mining
green house gasses
religion
cruelty
I am so tired of being tired.
I am a planet that is tired,
it is time to rid myself...... of the human race.
I am the earth I am alive,
and the human race is a parasite.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
mighty mighty miners
mining for a heart of cryptocurrency
mighty mighty houses
might end up empty
for fake fortune
for a drop of wine
for a speck of grain
for fake fortune
nec·ro·man·cers quick with answers
will you be their broke financiers
will you be their paraplegic dancers
you've got nothing to lose
just a shield of children
wielding weapons
no one knows how to use
mighty mighty miners
mine on empty
too much vacancy
in a heart of cryptocurrency
all one person
all one horsemen
all fake fortune
all one horsemen
wish NPC weren't too dumb to understand
mighty mighty houses built upon sand
because every time jeff eats an iguana,
he's got the whole free market in his hands.
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 12:22 AM UTC
I
She exits herself on the
Sofa. Blanket, dog, and bits
Of a poem on a pad of paper
On the table, like a half-eaten
Piece of homework.
Shades of wine on her sleeping
Lips. Exits herself; space-walks
Outside that frame of mind she's
Been expected to hang herself
On the wall within; she knows
There is more.
There has to be more.
II
She has to be more.
Like so many writers, she falls
Asleep working. Sometimes
Works to fall asleep.
Digging her way through
Herself, mining for words,
Hacking away at painful pasts,
Gathering emerald experiences.
Diamond doubts and ruby
Regrets all fuel her poetry.
And she reads, spotlight kissed;
Audience adored,
Goosebump summoning; hairs
On arms and necks stand up as
She whispers directly to me.
About me. Because of me.
In front of everybody.
To music, and I've brought a box
Of pins, and between each of her
Every word, I drop one. And I
Swear to the gods, you can hear
Them all. Like the unsteady
Ticking of a clock too cool to
Care.
III
Poetry jewelry; set with stones
From her innermost. Chips of
Gold from her heart melted
Down to a key pendant she
Holds in her hand; chain dangling,
Eyes closed, forehead resting
Against a door she knows it is
Time to open. Key in one hand,
Pen in the other,
She
Enters
Herself.
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 6:34 AM UTC
*Nothingness always void,
There is something in vacuum!*
What we called as emptiness
Also having something
Full with energy and matter!
*Nothingness always void,
There is something in vacuum!*
If it gets the model set it will accelerate
Bloom and illuminate!
Nothingness always void,
There is something in vacuum!
In fact by mining the vacuum’s richness
A theory of everything may emerge!
*Nothingness always void,
There is something in vacuum!*
Space around everything is virtual
When everyone convulse for existence
Invisible firework display
It is dark energy
Take over the dynamics of creation
and we are dreaming!
*Nothingness always void,
There is something in vacuity!*
Explore your verve in emptiness
Gain oomph to illuminate everything!
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
A NEW GAME OF BLOCKS AND MINING,
I STAND ON A SHORE OF SAND.
I LIKE IT; IT DOESN'T GET IN MY SQAURE FEET.
I LOOK THROUGH PIXAL EYES
AROUND AT MY SURROUNDINGS;
THERE'S AN OCEAN OF UNMOVING BLUE,
A MOUNTAIN OF STONE AND CAVES
BEYOND A FOREST OF BUMPY GREEN.
I THEN TURN AND THEN,
I SMACK A TREE WITH MY SQUARE HAND.
I EXPECT PAIN BUT THERE IS NONE
AND THE RESULT IS A TINY BLOCK OF DARK WOOD
FLOATING A GAP IN THE TREE IT ONCE FILLED.
I STEP FORWARD TO COLLECT IT,
BUT IT FLIES TOWARD ME AND INTO ME;
I WILL IT TO APPEAR IN MY HAND AND IT DOES.
MY EYES GROW BIGGER AND MY BLOCKY SMILE GROWS
BIGGER THAN THE PIXELS THAT MAKE UP MY FACE.
I RUN AROUND, COLLECTING WOOD
AND LAUGHING WITH A CRAZED FACE.
AS I CATCH MY BREATH, I NOTICE IT'D GETTING DARK
AND I TURN TO SEE A HORRIBLE FACE OF GREEN
AND I HEAR A HISSING NOISE.
I CAN ONLY CRY OUT AS THE THING EXPLODES,
WITH A SICKING EXPLOSION AND A LOOK
ON MY CUBE HEAD THAT SAYS
“F*** YOU, CREEPER!”
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC
Chemicals - hexafluorosilicic acid and sodium fluorosilicate
Derived from the phosphate mining industry,
both considered highly toxic by the EPA
These hazardous wastes are dumped into drinking water
LIES ... Fluoride - it's so good for your teeth
lies the dentist, lies the doctor, lies the politician
Lies the dead fish
in the water
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 8:08 PM UTC
Together we are alone
the wishers utter was always unheard
the Art of my consort is like ash in the wind
this purified drift of the eternal fire burning for all eternity
Timid little shell as fragile as the pearl inside
Impurities imparted and manifested into a gem
Let me see the diamond
the diamond in your mind
I ve been mining with a keen intent
to break down the barriers only to be surrounded by the remains
Im intrigued by lustered reflections of light in these rays of waves in this passing haze of the delicacy protected by your shell
Pandoras box and eves delight
only gives me a peek of that iridescent insight
Such an elusive emblem of the coveted representative Aphrodite
Awakened by impending doom
To
Cross the threshold of a Careless bloom
you turn to me to turn away
that I see
the Diamond is your mental mineral.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 1:09 PM UTC
Right now, loving you feels
the way my toes do when stepping on pebbles
(the stones they put on your back in physical therapy)
or mining ore -
supposed to be cold, but extremely hot to touch.
A copper meadow
shimmy into a tree so you can look up my dress
and catch me like gold armor when I tumble, tumble.
One defense, two defense, three defense, four
worms with spines as soft as hair
try to spindle cobwebs where we skip and hopscotch
skeletons dunk our heads in some sea
but pickaxes
make air pockets, iron is a pillow for us to sleep.
The lights cease when you leave
no longer nearby is the helmet that exudes site -
I think I could mine meteorite from your soul, there’s
only demonite in my own.
Let’s build a house with it
then wait for the bad men to leave, it is night again
perhaps they shall be burned by my evil.
Shrouded in wood, tucked into a golden chest
the walls are a deep purple
amethyst, aubergine, build our ceiling some citrine -
bunnies swallow the window frame
and I cry because somehow it is my fault,
I try to jump but I fall. And you open the door, you let
in some monsters, how I hate you for a moment.
But no bad man can get you
even ones who have skin sunken like a dead spider
pull out an archery kit
seventy-seven arrows, I put them all in hearts
leaving one special hook for you Cupid gave to me.
We make a great team
demonite meteorite silver copper topaz gold-tipped
and sterling the vultures listen in jealously
knowing this is what love can feel like right now.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC
© 2009 (Jim Sularz)
Quiet mounds of yellowed tailings and dead weeds whisper low.
And proud rusting relics telling tales of striking gold.
The rush from East, from North and South, by wagon, train or foot.
Days not all that long ago, in tall ships made of wood.
“A gold rush struck in’49, all quite by accident.
A burning fever that cut men to bone, in a sea of dingy tents.
Day and night, they toiled and tolled, many headed home without a cent.
But some packed out bags of glistening gold, and made a stop at "Buzzard’s Breath."
"The town’s mud logged street, deep with horse manure, bubbled like a shallow grave.
With a Sheriff’s office, a livery stable, and a church for souls to save.
And a fancy house, on a grassy knoll – sign read, “Madam Lil la ****
With soft, curvaceous ladies who mined for hearts – and gold of a different sort.
Didn’t take long before easy gold, was extremely hard to find.
And burly miners, tough as steel, moved in to hard rock mine.
With bloodied knuckles, dented hats, they blasted at a furious pace.
To find the gold, called the Mother Lode, yellow blood coursing through their veins!
The mine they worked was called “Long Shot”, the men thought that name a curse.
But the miners hankered for the handle, "Buzzard’s Breath”, and the mine’s name was reversed.
As luck would say, they held a royal flush, when they hit that horse-wide vein.
Of the purest gold, yet to be found, this side of the Pearly Gates.
Eyes wide as saucers, they were all in awe, everyone was filthy rich.
The miners should have all retired and should have cashed in all their chips.
But a man’s hard to figure, when his blood is yellow, and he’s stricken with a gold fever.
“Eureka! Boys, *** the dynamite and a whole lot more mining timbers!”
They mined that vein to the bowels of the Earth, and the heat increased by day.
"Buzzard’s Breath" became the hottest place, to Hell – the shortest way.
And then one day, the men never came back. – Hell must have jumped that claim.
Of the purest gold, yet to be found – that’s where the Devil mines today!”
Quiet mounds of yellowed tailings and dead weeds whisper low.
And proud rusting relics telling tales of striking gold.
The rush from East, from North and South, died a slow and quiet death.
Along with days of tall wooden ships, and the ghosts of Buzzard’s Breath.
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC
I pride myself on differences,
but know at heart we're all one
I tried to do the dishes,
but only two knives made the cut.
Now I wonder if I can
accomplish more than thought possible
judging dull wounds in grunting cans;
feeling pistol grooves and wrist slitters,
I am at home again.
Lying, mining, dying figure heads
make their way to the foot of my bed,
and ask if they may lull me to sleep
with dreams of pneumonia and epilepsy.
I ask them to politely leave,
but they perch on boasting names of society,
reciting to me, too condescendingly,
"surely, we know better than you."
Now all of their heads fit askew.
Save the money and excuse for material attachment.
Keep running through your doll houses.
I pull on my hair to make it grow.
You pull on heart strings to teach a lesson, I suppose
we're in the same sinking boat.
But you are my vital poison.
My body collapses- a muted a noise and-
each time I awake perfectly poised
at your feet and frozen mouth.
How will I ever make you love me now?
Life's a Hawaii postcard
pleading, "go experience the vibrant colors."
There's more to see beyond the rainbow trees,
but they'll still satisfy most cravings.
Every threaded fiber of my being
keeps me pondering
if cells are just too shy to speak,
or if they've always spoken through me,
whispering, "scratch to win the lottery."
I want to write children's books,
and release doves from hidden cages;
watch awe wipe over next generation;
use my candies as their safe haven.
Away this world that have caused them pain-
I Am its new name.
Affection is a mistress of mine.
I still crave her like sunlight.
stare into her eye until I am blind
She's addicting even after she harms you.
I'll keep my heals neck deep
in anxiously wading water.
til I sing it into deep sleep,
its current pulls me under.
and I am at home again.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 9:05 AM UTC
Her Name is Woman
~for Woman~
The body replenishes, even the signs of decay
that come for reparation,
Positive confirmation
her organism survives, alive,
tree circles yet measuring time,
Till a devitalizing time comes, when,
this cellular process concedes degeneration
Then the wondering shifts; new facts sifted;
now the reckoning is not a calculation of
Mortality but of her living immortality;
dive to divine neath her black cloaking, reading
Wounded word revelations, her own Bible stories,
giving nomination to Woman-name
The long shadows that her souls excavations cast,
costs of her stories individual,
Highwaymen robbed her with glass knives
but each remaining black hole lights a story, lost, but
Burning icy inviting, pulling us into book boxes inside,
compost of sheets of composed white clarity
Care not that each riddling reference is obliged to be
oblique, inexplicit,
Woman her name, all encompassing,
her views codified in lines of faith,
Woman, is that not
a mining, and a manifest,
of hidden birthing,
comforting us in warm shades of
Human courage
12/26/18 5:51pm
Dec 26, 2018
Dec 26, 2018 at 5:57 PM UTC
Today we all gather to listen to the merits(?) of mining the Iron Range
Not for iron, but for copper and nickel and other precious metals.
Are these metals more precious than clean water?
Are these metals more precious than our pristine wilderness?
Are these metals a legacy of what is to become of our planet Earth?
We have taken the oil and turned it into plastic that cannot be broken down and turned back into nature.
We have burned the coal to perpetuate our desire for more and more comfort via air conditioning and heat.
We have polluted our atmosphere, melted our icebergs and glaciers
Destroyed our coral reefs
And now we want to risk the pure waters of our northern wilderness
Reaching out to Lake Superior, Hudson Bay, the Mighty Mississippi
And our entire planet.
Why not keep a tiny part of our planet clean so that our children can say-
Look, this is what we once had, this was Eden in our parents' time.
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 8:53 AM UTC
building purist æsthetic
proselytizing solar-powered heliolatry
commemorating historic concert
sensing dark forces
fokken lekker antwoord
pumping sensory overload
featuring high-tech dee-jay
admiring gelato micro-truck
laxing laying lazing
"doing something nasty"
continuing quality content
entering another cathedral
journeying without borders
"exactly one year
since visiting vatican"
appreciating full-time gigasphere
awaiting pyongyang performance
depicting unlikely crowdsurfer
foreseeing exponential improvements
furthering esoteric agenda
sensing profound incompatibility
data-mining people's infidelities
anticipating futuristic caffeine
perfecting invisible propaganda
researching mind-control techniques
polishing psycho-social weaponry
sensing social embargo
flourishing frantic fanfare
admiring longitudinal monument
parodying marketing slogans
cycling through österreich
eyeing dystopian disneyland
streaming crosswords extended-play
herding glass kittens
deleting idiosyncratic fragment
loremipsum-ing laconic loudmouth
receiving ultramodern telegram
eigo-ga wakarimasu ka?
guzzling duck-fat fries
encouraging panic selling
(juxtaposing past incarnations)
getting black-and-white privilege
renewing boutique account
relishing cinema poutine
re-entering hibernation mode
opening old windows
continuing zoo motif
absquatulating excessive excesses
nullifying originality claims
proliferating protean persona
disappearing sidewalk alphabet
shrugging opprobrious moments
enjoying vertical alignment
re-entering cyberpunk paradise
approaching island sun
soaring beyond monoliths
trivializing extraneous argy-bargy
decreasing character limits
dumping generic accounts
uglifying commit message
escaping into idiosyncracy
moonshining great lake
exuding idiosyncratic propaganda
living nineties' dreams
making occidental cuisine
envisioning idiocratic president
expropriating your time
ascending homely helix
singing fat lady
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
Growing up is finding out the real world is cruel
Growing up is finding out what you once knew isn't real
Growing up is realizing a movie or fairy tail
Growing up is learning to hurt, and learning to fail.
Growing up is truly learning how to fake a smile
Growing up is finding out your grandfather is a *********
Growing up is finding out your family hates you for something you cannot control
Growing up is going to the mines so you can support your hateful family by mining coal
Growing up is coming to terms with death
Growing up is learning your mother does ****
Growing up is realizing your father is abusive
Growing up is forever being inconclusive
Growing up is pain
Growing up is hate
Growing up is raze
Grown-up is a four letter word.
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 7:02 PM UTC
an assembly or
better named
a clump
of multifarious flotsam
presenting its untidy self
on a recent passing
streetcorner..
a hesitating photo records
a drifting pinecone
centering a stained
and shredding newspaper
a broken sharp stick
red rocks of scales and shadings
flecking dried green leaves..
order imposed by
framing and shaping of
the sidewalk corner..
might other forms emerge
with a focused patience?
a partial headline reads
...sound without the wires..
news of expanding connections
outside a material realm?
headline seemed embedded
in thick advertising bulk
announcing a continuing
culture of material weight..
much else of red and green..
the centering pinecone
occasional pineal symbol of
higher dimension entry..
somehow rightly here
in the dark center
of this mess
this a brief experiment
not yet for most an answer
a question now of mining
finding patterned varieties
in large nature's trove..
patient visions residing in
gathered fragments
if gathered they be..
expectations of more
in what persists
of this and that in
time... :)
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 11:03 PM UTC
Across the road
A J-K girl,
Skipped and laughed
On her way to school.
She was strapped
To a big back-pack,
Looking like
A pink pack mule.
Behind her strove
Her drover,
Directing her to quarry
All the stones of learning.
By three o'clock
My minature mule,
A little slower
Trudged from school.
The pack was filled
With rules and tools.
She had panned
The ores of knowledge;
She'll assay them
In days to follow.
Each day my mule
Will turn the grindstone,
Crunching numbers,
Sifting fine poems.
She's mining all the hidden gems
To fill her back-pack
Once again.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
Mining we do
for survival and art..
repeating processes
both ancient and modern..
beginnings are quiet
seeded by necessity..
badgers dig holes
earthen tunnels and paths
powerful digging discoveries
sustaining of life..
coal miners diggings
dark labor below
planting cities above..
data mining
a technology
new in our time
computer's patterns emerging
never before seen..
startling creation
of many new
wholes...
Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 5:13 PM UTC
Saddle up
Gurl!
It's time
to hit the trail,
as quietly & gently
I spank the pony-
tail,
&
know,
it's how
I love you, baby..
You'll see me riding like the wind,
spurred on by our time & trials ~ that no-one got to win.
We were always mining Fools Gold & giggle indulging every sin!
Our
Poke(h)er
hands
stayed empty
&
the music's...
long since died.
Your sweet songs done,
gone & left me
(sobs)
tumbleweed rolls by
Once
we prospected forever
in this inky ol' ghost town
marking spots with X's before
a WANTED sign was found
and
One Moonshine
still
ain't big en'f 'f both of us
to get our quills thirst drowned
(hic-
cup)
"Look West,
and to the horizon,
see the stage at the edge of town?"
My last performance, PRIVATE, snigger to all the wide-eyed boys around
Ace-high, on a barebacked filly, play gallerying all my skills
I'll slap my thigh
&
Yee-haw !
riding for them there hills
~Saddled up in the softest leather
Chin up!Deep Breath!Chest out!
Corseted
& brimming,
encased in
perfume scented lace
~Bat my eyelids for the masses~
I'll find another place.
And
then you can
cut a swell down Main Street,
(remember the brothels to your right)
keep your low slung loaded though, for it's no place to start a fight
cos just outside that swing (ing) door,
the coffin maker winks at such a cheerful sight,
stood grimacing in his top hat,
grasping 13 nails
tight.
&
I'm sure
you'll measure up
darling
blowing rubied kisses
as
I bid
mine own
true-love's heart
goodnight.
***HiHO Silver,
away..........!***
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 5:33 PM UTC
Where echos bound off cavern walls
Thundering, spacious water falls
Giving power to the ember furnace
Crafters work with full earnest
Our clang of metal forming metal
Our laughter around the stew-filled kettle
Lacboring long into the night
Carrying lanterns for our light
A golden tint in the arenose air
A rich man's delight, deep in this lair
A cornucopia of jewels and stone
Picks and axes spark on the hone
Melted metals with tools of the trade
Upon the anvil are ceremoniously laid
To be shaped and formed into desires
By light of the blazing, crimson fires
Where we find sweat and danger as one
And rarely journey out into the sun
Have amity with our fellow men
And all write to loved ones with one pen
The cavern echos, the rays of gold
This ancient house of tales untold
To find this place, a costly fee
For a way of escape will never be
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 8:30 AM UTC
When biting Boreas, fell and doure,
Sharp shivers thro’ the leafless bow’r;
When Phœbus gies a short-liv’d glow’r,
Far south the lift,
Dim-dark’ning thro’ the flaky show’r,
Or whirling drift:
Ae night the storm the steeples rocked,
Poor Labour sweet in sleep was locked,
While burns, wi’ snawy wreeths upchoked,
Wild-eddying swirl,
Or thro’ the mining outlet bocked,
Down headlong hurl.
List’ning, the doors an’ winnocks rattle,
I thought me on the ourie cattle,
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle
O’ winter war,
And thro’ the drift, deep-lairing, sprattle,
Beneath a scar.
Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing!
That, in the merry months o’ spring,
Delighted me to hear thee sing,
What comes o’ thee?
Whare wilt thou cow’r thy chittering wing
An’ close thy e’e?
Ev’n you on murd’ring errands toil’d,
Lone from your savage homes exil’d,
The blood-stain’d roost, and sheep-cote spoil’d
My heart forgets,
While pityless the tempest wild
Sore on you beats.
2.6k
Harsh, desert scenery
Haven, from lush misery
Forced by Impi, so greedily
This, our new sanctuary
Glitter, in desert sand
The cause, of moonlike land
No more men, with bow in hand
No more happy feet, stamping sand
Scenery, violated by man and machine
A hole, were last buck was seen
Spiritual pickings, now so lean
White man’s god, o so mean
Before white man’s god, we now bow
We ask the spirits, “How can you allow”
Is this, the final raw?
Are we, disappearing now?
After a visit to Jwaneng, a diamond mining settlement of De Beers in Botswana, I was impelled to write this poem to revolt against the injustices being committed against the Bushmen in Botswana. The Bushman are forcibly being removed from there desert land to make place for diamond mining activities.
Dec 12, 2009
Dec 12, 2009 at 7:18 PM UTC
insane+im+deranged+it+is+kinda+strange+i+need+the+money+like+every+day+oh+cleshay+got+the+9+now+yippie+yi+yay+in+her+dam+mouth+stop+it+bitch+save+it+for+the+nose+expose+your+skull+to+the+purest+form+just+say+mc+cay+need+the+cain+like+my+ears+need+Yay+Yeezy+got+the+beat+in+repeat+my+awareness+of+life+is+phenomenal+taking+out+Empires+like+a+beast%2C+Holy+One+Son+of+Sons+walking+with+the+Father+then+we+start+to+run%2C+runnin+game+on+the+world+dominating+taking+wills.+Feel+the+pain+and+pleasure+at+the+same+time%2C+spittin+mad+lines+rolling+in+at+right+times%2C+with+the+blunt+smoiking+aces+mind+i+am+curing+like+the+herb+everyday+im+high+what+a+celebration%2C+speaking+to+the+Lord+I+adore+more+than+any+inpiration%2C+be+aware+that+I+know+what+I+speak%2C+how+can+man+fall+so+far%2C+but+still+be+brought+up+like+a+Holy+Beast%2C+Lord+of+Armies+yes+he+guides+me+mind+is+Divine+among+all+others+they+will+mind+me%2C+as+im+mining%2C+minning%2C+tah%2C+da%2C+mining%2C+mining%2C+tah+dah.&oq;=m+insane+im+deranged+it+is+kinda+strange+i+need+the+money+like+every+day+oh+cleshay+got+the+9+now+yippie+yi+yay+in+her+dam+mouth+stop+it+bitch+save+it+for+the+nose+expose+your+skull+to+the+purest+form+just+says+mc+cay+need+the+cain+like+my+ears+need+Yay+Yeezy+got+the+beat+in+repeat+my+awareness+of+life+is+phenomenal+taking+out+Empires+like+a+beast%2C+Holy+One+Son+of+Sons+walking+with+the+Father+then+we+start+to+run%2C+runnin+game+on+the+world+dominating+taking+wills.+Feel+the+pain+and+pleasure+at+the+same+time%2C+spittin+mad+lines+rolling+in+at+tirght+times%2C+with+the+blunt+smoiking+aces+mind+i+am+curing+like+the+herb+everyday+im+high+what+a+celebration%2C+speaking+to+the+Lord+I+adore+more+than+any+inpiration%2C+be+aware+that+I+know+what+I+speak%2C+how+can+man+fall+so+far%2C+but+still+be+brought+up+like+a+Holy+Beast%2C+Lord+of+Armies+yes+he+guides+me+mind+is+Divine+among+all+others+they+will+mind+me%2C+as+im+mining%2C+minning%2C+tah%2C+da%2C+mining%2C+mining%2C+tah+dah.&gs;_l=s
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 6:26 AM UTC