Waiting
Sitting on the old swing He sits on his porch Reading an old, old book With glasses and a torch It is the dead of night He waits for her return She is due any minute For her, he does yearn Been...
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Sitting on the old swing He sits on his porch Reading an old, old book With glasses and a torch It is the dead of night He waits for her return She is due any minute For her, he does yearn Been...
He's lots and lots of stories No longer can be told, Left to sit and fester Gather dust and mould, Muddle, fuddle, fudge them up Now warped and all squewhiff, Changed, repeated, dressed, laid...
Dusty old man with his trousers, torn, Sits on the steps of the church , forlorn, The pain on his face matches the cut on his wrist, Where it looks like a watch, once may have exist, His shirt...
#bestofopuss/Toms This will be my last harvest, boy, the last i'll ever see, For I can feel my maker, boy, a-looking hard at me.
Confined inside my wheeled chair, The ghosts of friends surround me, Gunshots, screaming, cannon fire, The echoes still confound me.
I've been thinking about life recently, It's brushed by in a haze, I keep remembering all the happy times, Each year a different faze.
"Ngài tự giam mình kỹ hơn, dường như ngài còn cài then lòng mình lại và do đó gia đình nghĩ về ngài như một người đã chết.
I was there: Afghanistan, with the mujhagidine. I remember gaunt-looking soviet soldiers inhaling short drags of cheap cigarettes with blankets of snow bedding down great mountains.
Why dontcha come sit down next to me and feel the heat for a while For a whiskey I'll tell ya what's hidden beneath my smile As a boy I fell into the wrong crowd, thinking it a laugh They made me...
My get up and go, Just got up and went. I had some this morning, But now its just spent. A sign of my age some of you say, Two fingers. Up yours. I've the devil to pay.
This will be my last harvest, boy, the last i'll ever see, For I can feel my maker, boy, a-looking hard at me.
Skipped school Would'nt listen. Pointed fingers Names sticking. Loser Non mover Low life With a pocket knife. Long days making short stacks Cash in hand Evading tax. No prospects Devils reject.
He rolled one up, then kicked back in the sunshine. The night before had certainly been a "fun time". "Nice one Sarge", the first voice said.
I feel the piercing coils of metal whizz past my face. The adrenaline pumping through my body paralyses the world around me. I see the bullets spin through the air.