For the sake of money
burtschips
Posts: 734
And so, sitting alone,
by the telephone,
waiting for something to happen.
To smoke - no fuck that.
Getting chilly, shirt on.
Growth spurt like the swaying stump,
but we hump - no seeds dropped but nuts flying.
I'm trying, for humour,
coming sooner than I think to the brink,
got no sink - wash in the bath.
It's all a fucking hassle in my castle,
it's just that, when they steal all your money everything is the same.
And when they steal all your money everything is still the same.
Everything comes to an end.
Nothing stays the same.
Nothing ever ends.
If say, you have say, something to say say, like everything is everything say,
then say it to the forum,
but just do it with a little decorum.
And sway like trunks that stretch sonorously sky high.
And are men and women so different, more or less calculating?
Disgusting, mistrusting?
Who the fuck knows, dribblers?
Those blinded and deafened,
blood clotted, bigoted, garrotted,
by its ups and downs,
like tussled clowns.
Red nosed, steamy eyed,
bluetoothed, mobile goofs.
Licking open wounds
inflicted with white hot spears,
in a sizzled spatulated indeterminable fear -
a loathing wariness.
Glazed under lemon drizzled sponge.
And that is why sitting alone by the telephone waiting for something to happen,
they steal all your money and everything is the same. Still.
by the telephone,
waiting for something to happen.
To smoke - no fuck that.
Getting chilly, shirt on.
Growth spurt like the swaying stump,
but we hump - no seeds dropped but nuts flying.
I'm trying, for humour,
coming sooner than I think to the brink,
got no sink - wash in the bath.
It's all a fucking hassle in my castle,
it's just that, when they steal all your money everything is the same.
And when they steal all your money everything is still the same.
Everything comes to an end.
Nothing stays the same.
Nothing ever ends.
If say, you have say, something to say say, like everything is everything say,
then say it to the forum,
but just do it with a little decorum.
And sway like trunks that stretch sonorously sky high.
And are men and women so different, more or less calculating?
Disgusting, mistrusting?
Who the fuck knows, dribblers?
Those blinded and deafened,
blood clotted, bigoted, garrotted,
by its ups and downs,
like tussled clowns.
Red nosed, steamy eyed,
bluetoothed, mobile goofs.
Licking open wounds
inflicted with white hot spears,
in a sizzled spatulated indeterminable fear -
a loathing wariness.
Glazed under lemon drizzled sponge.
And that is why sitting alone by the telephone waiting for something to happen,
they steal all your money and everything is the same. Still.
Salut baloo
Post edited by Unknown User on
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Comments
it only makes today worse.
it only makes today worse.
i like the whole poem, but i like that part the best.