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Bluelighter
Love that book.
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✍️ WORDS ✍️
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Words Moderators: Shambles
Social Post some Quotes, Lyrics, or Poems that you like
- Thread starter deficiT
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Love that book.
deficiT
Bluelight Crew
The Wanderer
By Unknown
Translated By Roy M. Liuzza
Always the one alone longs for mercy,
the Maker's mildness, though, troubled in mind,
across the ocean-ways he has long been forced
co stir with his hands the frost-cold sea,
and walk in exile's paths. Wyrd is fully fixed.
Thus spoke the Wanderer, mindful of troubles,
of cruel slaughters and dear kinsmen's downfall:
"Often alone, in the first light of dawn,
I have sung my lament. There is none living
to whom I would dare to reveal clearly
my heart's thoughts. I know it is true
that it is a nobleman's lordly nature
to closely bind his spirit's coffer,
hold fast his treasure-hoard, whatever he may think.
The weary mind cannot withstand wyrd,
the troubled heart can offer no help,
and so those eager for fame often bind fast
in their breast-coffers a sorrowing soul,
just as I have had to take my own heart—
Often wretched, cut off from my own homeland,
far from dear kinsmen—and bind it in fetters,
ever since long ago I hid my gold-giving friend
in the darkness of earth, and went wretched,
winter-sad, over the ice-locked waves,
sought, hall-sick, a treasure-giver,
wherever I might find, far or near,
someone in a meadhall who might know my people,
or who would want to comfort me, friendless,
accustom me to joy. He who has come to know
how cruel a companion is sorrow
for one with few dear friends, will understand:
the path of exile claims him, not patterned gold,
a winter-bound spirit, not the wealth of earth.
He remembers hall-holders and treasure-taking,
how in his youth his gold-giving lord
accustomed him to the feast—that joy has all faded.
And so he who has long been forced to forego
his lord's beloved words of counsel will understand:
when sorrow and sleep both together
often bind up the wretched exile,
it seems in his mind that he clasps and kisses
his lord of men, and on his knee lays
hands and head, as he sometimes long ago
in earlier days enjoyed the gift-throne.
But when the friendless man awakens again
and sees before him the fallow waves,
seabirds bathing, spreading their feathers,
frost falling and snow, mingled with hail,
then the heart's wounds are that much heavier,
longing for his loved one. Sorrow is renewed
when the memory of kinsmen flies through the mind;
he greets them with great joy, greedily surveys
hall-companions—they always swim away;
the floating spirits bring too few
familiar voices. Cares are renewed
for one who must send, over and over,
a weary heart across the binding waves.
And so I cannot imagine for all this world
why my spirit should not grow dark
when I think through all this life of men,
how suddenly they gave up the hall-floor,
mighty young retainers. Thus this middle-earth
droops and decays every single day;
and so a man cannot become wise, before he has weathered
his share of winters in this world. A wise man must be patient,
neither too hot-hearted nor too hasty with words,
nor too weak in war nor too unwise in thoughts,
neither fretting nor fawning nor greedy for wealth,
never eager for boasting before he truly understands;
a man must wait, when he makes a boast,
until the brave spirit understands truly
where the thoughts of his heart will turn.
The wise man must realize how ghastly it will be
when all the wealth of this world stands waste,
as now here and there throughout this middle-earth
walls stand blasted by wind,
beaten by frost, the buildings crumbling.
The wine halls topple, their rulers lie
deprived of all joys; the proud old troops
all fell by the wall. War carried off some,
sent them on the way, one a bird carried off
over the high seas, one the gray wolf
shared with death—and one a sad-faced man
covered in an earthen grave. The Creator
of men thus destroyed this walled city,
until the old works of giants stood empty,
without the sounds of their former citizens.
He who deeply considers, with wise thoughts,
this foundation and this dark life,
old in spirit, often remembers
so many ancient slaughters, and says these words:
'Where has the horse gone? where is the rider? where is the giver of gold?
Where are the seats of the feast? where are the joys of the hall?
O the bright cup! O the brave warrior!
O the glory of princes! How the time passed away,
slipped into nightfall as if it had never been!
There still stands in the path of the dear warriors
a wall wondrously high, with serpentine stains.
A storm of spears took away the warriors,
bloodthirsty weapons, wyrd the mighty,
and storms batter these stone walls,
frost falling binds up the earth,
the howl of winter, when blackness comes,
night's shadow looms, sends down from the north
harsh hailstones in hatred of men.
All is toilsome in the earthly kingdom,
the working of wyrd changes the world under heaven.
Here wealth is fleeting, here friends are fleeting,
here man is fleeting, here woman is fleeting,
all the framework of this earth will stand empty.’
So said the wise one in his mind, sitting apart in meditation.
He is good who keeps his word, and the man who never too quickly
shows the anger in his breast, unless he already knows the remedy
a noble man can bravely bring about. It will be well for one who seeks mercy,
consolation from the Father in heaven, where for us all stability stands.
By Unknown
Translated By Roy M. Liuzza
Always the one alone longs for mercy,
the Maker's mildness, though, troubled in mind,
across the ocean-ways he has long been forced
co stir with his hands the frost-cold sea,
and walk in exile's paths. Wyrd is fully fixed.
Thus spoke the Wanderer, mindful of troubles,
of cruel slaughters and dear kinsmen's downfall:
"Often alone, in the first light of dawn,
I have sung my lament. There is none living
to whom I would dare to reveal clearly
my heart's thoughts. I know it is true
that it is a nobleman's lordly nature
to closely bind his spirit's coffer,
hold fast his treasure-hoard, whatever he may think.
The weary mind cannot withstand wyrd,
the troubled heart can offer no help,
and so those eager for fame often bind fast
in their breast-coffers a sorrowing soul,
just as I have had to take my own heart—
Often wretched, cut off from my own homeland,
far from dear kinsmen—and bind it in fetters,
ever since long ago I hid my gold-giving friend
in the darkness of earth, and went wretched,
winter-sad, over the ice-locked waves,
sought, hall-sick, a treasure-giver,
wherever I might find, far or near,
someone in a meadhall who might know my people,
or who would want to comfort me, friendless,
accustom me to joy. He who has come to know
how cruel a companion is sorrow
for one with few dear friends, will understand:
the path of exile claims him, not patterned gold,
a winter-bound spirit, not the wealth of earth.
He remembers hall-holders and treasure-taking,
how in his youth his gold-giving lord
accustomed him to the feast—that joy has all faded.
And so he who has long been forced to forego
his lord's beloved words of counsel will understand:
when sorrow and sleep both together
often bind up the wretched exile,
it seems in his mind that he clasps and kisses
his lord of men, and on his knee lays
hands and head, as he sometimes long ago
in earlier days enjoyed the gift-throne.
But when the friendless man awakens again
and sees before him the fallow waves,
seabirds bathing, spreading their feathers,
frost falling and snow, mingled with hail,
then the heart's wounds are that much heavier,
longing for his loved one. Sorrow is renewed
when the memory of kinsmen flies through the mind;
he greets them with great joy, greedily surveys
hall-companions—they always swim away;
the floating spirits bring too few
familiar voices. Cares are renewed
for one who must send, over and over,
a weary heart across the binding waves.
And so I cannot imagine for all this world
why my spirit should not grow dark
when I think through all this life of men,
how suddenly they gave up the hall-floor,
mighty young retainers. Thus this middle-earth
droops and decays every single day;
and so a man cannot become wise, before he has weathered
his share of winters in this world. A wise man must be patient,
neither too hot-hearted nor too hasty with words,
nor too weak in war nor too unwise in thoughts,
neither fretting nor fawning nor greedy for wealth,
never eager for boasting before he truly understands;
a man must wait, when he makes a boast,
until the brave spirit understands truly
where the thoughts of his heart will turn.
The wise man must realize how ghastly it will be
when all the wealth of this world stands waste,
as now here and there throughout this middle-earth
walls stand blasted by wind,
beaten by frost, the buildings crumbling.
The wine halls topple, their rulers lie
deprived of all joys; the proud old troops
all fell by the wall. War carried off some,
sent them on the way, one a bird carried off
over the high seas, one the gray wolf
shared with death—and one a sad-faced man
covered in an earthen grave. The Creator
of men thus destroyed this walled city,
until the old works of giants stood empty,
without the sounds of their former citizens.
He who deeply considers, with wise thoughts,
this foundation and this dark life,
old in spirit, often remembers
so many ancient slaughters, and says these words:
'Where has the horse gone? where is the rider? where is the giver of gold?
Where are the seats of the feast? where are the joys of the hall?
O the bright cup! O the brave warrior!
O the glory of princes! How the time passed away,
slipped into nightfall as if it had never been!
There still stands in the path of the dear warriors
a wall wondrously high, with serpentine stains.
A storm of spears took away the warriors,
bloodthirsty weapons, wyrd the mighty,
and storms batter these stone walls,
frost falling binds up the earth,
the howl of winter, when blackness comes,
night's shadow looms, sends down from the north
harsh hailstones in hatred of men.
All is toilsome in the earthly kingdom,
the working of wyrd changes the world under heaven.
Here wealth is fleeting, here friends are fleeting,
here man is fleeting, here woman is fleeting,
all the framework of this earth will stand empty.’
So said the wise one in his mind, sitting apart in meditation.
He is good who keeps his word, and the man who never too quickly
shows the anger in his breast, unless he already knows the remedy
a noble man can bravely bring about. It will be well for one who seeks mercy,
consolation from the Father in heaven, where for us all stability stands.
rentedbythehour
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Jul 5, 2024
- Messages
- 1,585
This is deep.
jasperkent
Bluelighter
How dismal it is to see present day Americans yearning for the very orthodoxy that their country was founded to escape. -- Christopher Hitchens
It did not then cross my mind that they, like religious apologists, might have any personal reasons for holding to this disbelief. It certainly did not cross my mind that I had any low motives for it. Unlike Christians, atheists have a high opinion of their own virtue. -- Peter Hitchens
An oak, the pride of all the mossy dell,
Spread its broad arms above the stony cell;
And many a bush, with hostile thorns arrayed,
Forbids the secret cavern to invade;
Whilst delving vales each way meander round,
And violet banks with redolence abound.
Here, if the uncouth song of former days
Soil not the page with Falsehood’s artful lays,
Black Annis held her solitary reign,
The dread and wonder of the neighbouring plain.
The shepherd grieved to view his waning flock,
And traced his firstlings to the gloomy rock.
No vagrant children culled (the) flow’rets then,
For infant blood oft stained the gory den.
Not Sparta’s mount, for infant tears renown’d,
Echo’d more frequently the piteous sound.
Oft the gaunt Maid the frantic Mother curs’d,
Whom Britain’s wolf with savage nipple nurs’d;
Whom Lester’s sons beheld, aghast the scene,
Nor dared to meet the Monster of the Green.
Tis said the soul of mortal man recoil’d,
To view Black Annis’ eye, so fierce and wild;
Vast talons, foul with human flesh, there grew
In place of hands, and features livid blue
Glar’d in her visage; while the obscene waist
Warm skins of human victims close embraced.
But Time, than Man more certain, tho’ more slow,
At length ‘gainst Annis drew his sable bow;
The great decree the pious shepherds bless’d,
And general joy the general fear confess’d.
Not without terror they the cave survey,
Where hung the monstrous trophies of her sway:
‘Tis said, that in the rock large rooms were found,
Scoop’d with her claws beneath the flinty ground;
In these the swains her hated body threw,
But left the entrance still to future view,
That children’s children might the tale rehearse,
And bards record it in their tuneful verse.
But in these listless days, the idle bard
Gives to the wind all themes of cold regard;
Forgive, then, if in rough, unpolished song,
An unskilled swain the dying tale prolong.
And you, ye Fair, whom Nature’s scenes delight,
If Annis’ Bower your vagrant steps invite,
Ere the bright sun Aurora’s car succeed,
Or dewy evening quench the thirsty mead,
Forbear with chilling censures to refuse
Some gen’rous tribute to the rustic muse.
A violet or common daisy throw,
Such gifts as Maro’s lovely nymphs bestow;
Then shall your Bard survive the critic’s frown,
And in your smiles enjoy his best renown.
John Heyrick - Black Annis’s Bower
EDIT: I should probably clarify that Black Annis is a character from British folklore: a one-eyed woman with metal claws who hid in trees waiting for children whom she skinned alive, ate their still-twitching flesh and wore their bloody pelts as a cloak
This particular fairy tale has yet to be made into a Disney movie.
Spread its broad arms above the stony cell;
And many a bush, with hostile thorns arrayed,
Forbids the secret cavern to invade;
Whilst delving vales each way meander round,
And violet banks with redolence abound.
Here, if the uncouth song of former days
Soil not the page with Falsehood’s artful lays,
Black Annis held her solitary reign,
The dread and wonder of the neighbouring plain.
The shepherd grieved to view his waning flock,
And traced his firstlings to the gloomy rock.
No vagrant children culled (the) flow’rets then,
For infant blood oft stained the gory den.
Not Sparta’s mount, for infant tears renown’d,
Echo’d more frequently the piteous sound.
Oft the gaunt Maid the frantic Mother curs’d,
Whom Britain’s wolf with savage nipple nurs’d;
Whom Lester’s sons beheld, aghast the scene,
Nor dared to meet the Monster of the Green.
Tis said the soul of mortal man recoil’d,
To view Black Annis’ eye, so fierce and wild;
Vast talons, foul with human flesh, there grew
In place of hands, and features livid blue
Glar’d in her visage; while the obscene waist
Warm skins of human victims close embraced.
But Time, than Man more certain, tho’ more slow,
At length ‘gainst Annis drew his sable bow;
The great decree the pious shepherds bless’d,
And general joy the general fear confess’d.
Not without terror they the cave survey,
Where hung the monstrous trophies of her sway:
‘Tis said, that in the rock large rooms were found,
Scoop’d with her claws beneath the flinty ground;
In these the swains her hated body threw,
But left the entrance still to future view,
That children’s children might the tale rehearse,
And bards record it in their tuneful verse.
But in these listless days, the idle bard
Gives to the wind all themes of cold regard;
Forgive, then, if in rough, unpolished song,
An unskilled swain the dying tale prolong.
And you, ye Fair, whom Nature’s scenes delight,
If Annis’ Bower your vagrant steps invite,
Ere the bright sun Aurora’s car succeed,
Or dewy evening quench the thirsty mead,
Forbear with chilling censures to refuse
Some gen’rous tribute to the rustic muse.
A violet or common daisy throw,
Such gifts as Maro’s lovely nymphs bestow;
Then shall your Bard survive the critic’s frown,
And in your smiles enjoy his best renown.
John Heyrick - Black Annis’s Bower
EDIT: I should probably clarify that Black Annis is a character from British folklore: a one-eyed woman with metal claws who hid in trees waiting for children whom she skinned alive, ate their still-twitching flesh and wore their bloody pelts as a cloak
This particular fairy tale has yet to be made into a Disney movie.
Last edited:
PixelParalysis
Bluelighter
Hey vanity, this vile's empty
So are you
So are you
shreddedlettuce
Bluelighter
- Joined
- May 31, 2007
- Messages
- 2,505
"It is better to be moderately happy and more than moderately wealthy than to be very happy and moderately poor."
Last edited:
I would actually say the exact opposite tbh.
shreddedlettuce
Bluelighter
- Joined
- May 31, 2007
- Messages
- 2,505
Me too... but it was a quote I heard from an audiobook I was listening to.
From a character's perspective in the book.
It was thought provoking, so I posted it in this thread.
The only thing in life that is worth working towards is true happiness and not wealth. IMO.
ChemicallyEnhanced
Bluelighter
Anything Goes but I've updated some of the lyrics
Times have changed
And we've often rewound the clock
Since the puritans got a shock
When they landed on Plymouth Rock
If today, any shock they should try to stem
Instead of landing on Plymouth Rock
Plymouth Rock, would land on them
In olden days a glimpse of stocking
Was looked on as something shocking
But now, God knows
Anything goes!
Good authors, too, who once knew better words
Now only use four-letter words
Writing prose
Anything goes!
The world has gone mad today
And good's bad today
And black's white today
And day's night today
And that gent today
You gave a cent today
Once had several chateaus
And though I'm not a great romancer
I know that you're bound to answer
When I propose
Anything goes!
When loving families, at the borders
Are torn apart on his orders
Then Donald shows
Anything goes!
When young girls who once had more ambitious plans
Now just show themselves on OnlyFans
Without their clothes
Anything goes!
If driving fast cars you like
If low bars you like
If old hymns you like
If bare limbs you like
If Mae West you like
Or me undressed you like
Why, nobody will oppose
When grandmama whose age is eighty
In nightclubs is getting matey
With gigolos
Anything goes!
When Besos, Musk, and Bill Gates
Are paying lower tax rates
Than average Joes
Anything goes!
When they elect a convicted rapist
Who thinks trans people don't exist
It just shows
Anything goes!
When hatred seems to be all folks preach
And Brits are arrested for free speech
Ignorance grows
Anything goes!
If saying your prayers you like
If green pears you like
If old chairs you like
If back stairs you like
If love affairs you like
With young bears you like
Why, nobody will oppose
They think he's gangster number one
So they made him their favourite son
And that goes to show
Anything goes!
Times have changed
And we've often rewound the clock
Since the puritans got a shock
When they landed on Plymouth Rock
If today, any shock they should try to stem
Instead of landing on Plymouth Rock
Plymouth Rock, would land on them
In olden days a glimpse of stocking
Was looked on as something shocking
But now, God knows
Anything goes!
Good authors, too, who once knew better words
Now only use four-letter words
Writing prose
Anything goes!
The world has gone mad today
And good's bad today
And black's white today
And day's night today
And that gent today
You gave a cent today
Once had several chateaus
And though I'm not a great romancer
I know that you're bound to answer
When I propose
Anything goes!
When loving families, at the borders
Are torn apart on his orders
Then Donald shows
Anything goes!
When young girls who once had more ambitious plans
Now just show themselves on OnlyFans
Without their clothes
Anything goes!
If driving fast cars you like
If low bars you like
If old hymns you like
If bare limbs you like
If Mae West you like
Or me undressed you like
Why, nobody will oppose
When grandmama whose age is eighty
In nightclubs is getting matey
With gigolos
Anything goes!
When Besos, Musk, and Bill Gates
Are paying lower tax rates
Than average Joes
Anything goes!
When they elect a convicted rapist
Who thinks trans people don't exist
It just shows
Anything goes!
When hatred seems to be all folks preach
And Brits are arrested for free speech
Ignorance grows
Anything goes!
If saying your prayers you like
If green pears you like
If old chairs you like
If back stairs you like
If love affairs you like
With young bears you like
Why, nobody will oppose
They think he's gangster number one
So they made him their favourite son
And that goes to show
Anything goes!
PixelParalysis
Bluelighter
"If I was a bird I'd fly into a ceiling fan" - Red Foreman
Deleted member 578389
Greenlighter
“Perhaps the biggest tragedy of our lives is that freedom is possible, yet we can pass our years trapped in the same old patterns...We may want to love other people without holding back, to feel authentic, to breathe in the beauty around us, to dance and sing. Yet each day we listen to inner voices that keep our life small.”
Tara Brach
Tara Brach
ChemicallyEnhanced
Bluelighter
Osama: The Musical
Once, I was a lonely banker
All I cared for were margins and accounts
I dreamed, of Dow-Jones and the FTSE
I didn't see my credit running out
I passed, you on the phone each morning
I always gave a cheery smile
But you, you never even saw me
You were far too busy all the while
Then came the day Osama blew us away
Then came the day Osama blew them away
(Osama blew them away)
Then came the day Osama blew them away
(Osama blew them away)
And now, I know how I feel
I bring, you coffee and a bagel
But you never had the time for me
I dreamed, that one day you'd say "hey, girl,
That bagel's mighty fine it's plain to see"
Then the came the day Osama blew us away
And now, you know how I feel
Then came the day Osama blew them away
(Osama blew them away)
Then came the day Osama blew them away)
(Osama blew them away)
Just time to say the things I must
Before my hopes all turn to dust
Now nothing seems to matter
And every word is true
When I say, I'm blown away, with you
What can I say?
You blew me away
And now I'm falling
(We're falling)
In love
Then came the day Osama blew us away
(Osama blew them away)
Then came the day Osama blew us away
(Osama blew them away)
Then came the day Osama blew us away
(Osama blew them away)
Then came the day Osama blew us away
(Osama blew them away)
And now we're falling
(They're falling)
In love
Once, I was a lonely banker
All I cared for were margins and accounts
I dreamed, of Dow-Jones and the FTSE
I didn't see my credit running out
I passed, you on the phone each morning
I always gave a cheery smile
But you, you never even saw me
You were far too busy all the while
Then came the day Osama blew us away
Then came the day Osama blew them away
(Osama blew them away)
Then came the day Osama blew them away
(Osama blew them away)
And now, I know how I feel
I bring, you coffee and a bagel
But you never had the time for me
I dreamed, that one day you'd say "hey, girl,
That bagel's mighty fine it's plain to see"
Then the came the day Osama blew us away
And now, you know how I feel
Then came the day Osama blew them away
(Osama blew them away)
Then came the day Osama blew them away)
(Osama blew them away)
Just time to say the things I must
Before my hopes all turn to dust
Now nothing seems to matter
And every word is true
When I say, I'm blown away, with you
What can I say?
You blew me away
And now I'm falling
(We're falling)
In love
Then came the day Osama blew us away
(Osama blew them away)
Then came the day Osama blew us away
(Osama blew them away)
Then came the day Osama blew us away
(Osama blew them away)
Then came the day Osama blew us away
(Osama blew them away)
And now we're falling
(They're falling)
In love
ChemicallyEnhanced
Bluelighter
Lola
I met her in a club down in old Soho
Where you drink champagne and it tastes just like Coca-Cola
C-O-L-A, cola
She walked up to me and she asked me to dance
I asked her her name and in a dark brown voice she said "Lola"
L-O-L-A, Lola
La la la la, Lola
Well I'm not the worlds most physical guy
But when she squeezed me tight, she nearly broke my spine
Oh my Lola
La la la la Lola
Well I'm not dumb, but I can't understand
Why she walked like a woman, but talked like a man
Oh my Lola
La la la la Lola
La la la la Lola
Well we drank champagne and danced all night
Under electric candlelight
She picked me up and sat me on her knee
Said "Little boy, won't you come home with me?"
Well, I'm not the world's most passionate guy
But when I looked in her eyes
Well, I almost fell for my Lola
La la la la Lola
La la la la Lola
I pushed her away
I walked to the door
I fell to the floor
I got down on my knees
Then I looked at her, and she at me
And that's the way that I want it to stay
I'll always want it to be that way
For my Lola
La la la la Lola
Girls will be boys and boys will be girls
It's a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world
Except for Lola
La la la la Lola
Well, I'd left home just a week before
And I'd never, ever kissed a woman before
But Lola smiled at me and grabbed me by the hand
Said "Little boy, I'm gonna make you a man"
Well, I'm not the worlds most masculine man
But I know what I am and I'm glad I'm a man
And so is Lola
La la la la Lola
La la la la Lola
Lola
La la la la Lola
La la la la Lola
I met her in a club down in old Soho
Where you drink champagne and it tastes just like Coca-Cola
C-O-L-A, cola
She walked up to me and she asked me to dance
I asked her her name and in a dark brown voice she said "Lola"
L-O-L-A, Lola
La la la la, Lola
Well I'm not the worlds most physical guy
But when she squeezed me tight, she nearly broke my spine
Oh my Lola
La la la la Lola
Well I'm not dumb, but I can't understand
Why she walked like a woman, but talked like a man
Oh my Lola
La la la la Lola
La la la la Lola
Well we drank champagne and danced all night
Under electric candlelight
She picked me up and sat me on her knee
Said "Little boy, won't you come home with me?"
Well, I'm not the world's most passionate guy
But when I looked in her eyes
Well, I almost fell for my Lola
La la la la Lola
La la la la Lola
I pushed her away
I walked to the door
I fell to the floor
I got down on my knees
Then I looked at her, and she at me
And that's the way that I want it to stay
I'll always want it to be that way
For my Lola
La la la la Lola
Girls will be boys and boys will be girls
It's a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world
Except for Lola
La la la la Lola
Well, I'd left home just a week before
And I'd never, ever kissed a woman before
But Lola smiled at me and grabbed me by the hand
Said "Little boy, I'm gonna make you a man"
Well, I'm not the worlds most masculine man
But I know what I am and I'm glad I'm a man
And so is Lola
La la la la Lola
La la la la Lola
Lola
La la la la Lola
La la la la Lola
Deleted member 578389
Greenlighter
Robert Greene, The 48 Laws of Power
Fire&Water
Bluelighter
Hide in your shell
let the world go to hell
Its like Russian roulette to you
Sweat running cold you cant face growing old
Its a personal threat to you
the world is a cage for your impotent rage
but dont let it get to you
neurotica exotica hypnotica
It's psychotica chaotica neurotica
N.P.
dedicated to meff
let the world go to hell
Its like Russian roulette to you
Sweat running cold you cant face growing old
Its a personal threat to you
the world is a cage for your impotent rage
but dont let it get to you
neurotica exotica hypnotica
It's psychotica chaotica neurotica
N.P.
dedicated to meff
Robi
Bluelighter
I stood up the best I could to their disgusting stupidity and brutality,but I did not ,of course,manage to beat them at their own game.It was a fight to the bitter end,one in which I was not defending ideals or beliefs but simply my own self. G. Grosz