Through The RainI want to ride a horse through the rainIf it helpsWash away the scorns I give myselfNo one has to be perfectBut if some of this filth staysIt will grow onto meI can breathe in the rainWith the power of four hoovesI can call over the hillsAnd fall back from the thunder in responseJust take a momentTo redirect the wind and capture the lightningI'm not a farmer of stormsBut they fill my harvest of wordsAnd make buoyant my bloodAs passion is bled onto the booksI will take a steed and rideThrough the rainSoak my coat and shoesSo I can come homeAnd taste a little warmth
UnrequitedIt's not a pain that sucks everything down into dark oblivionNor a thorn in your eyeAnd it's not a hole in your bloodstream eitherBut it makes my vision worse every dayAll the colors of life seem to disappearAnd I can only see one thingAnd it multiplies everywhereLike this spiraling kaleidoscopeTaunting and kindly smiling backMy hands can do nothing in comparisonMy words can't reach through that skull of reasonIt's far more complexThat scene of serenityUntainted by the trump-load of ignoranceHas kept me on my seat for a continuum of never-have-beensAnd if it is put down, the walls fall inIt has been divined fro
Composed by A HeroWhen I was a freshman in high school, I thought that being an individual was very important; in fact it was something I held onto very dearly. Back then, I tried to be cool by wearing things that were just different, but not completely screaming for attention. I had taken my winter gloves and cut the fingers off right at the first knuckle. I thought that wearing my hair the way it dried naturally after a shower looked fine and I didn't need to look like a floozy who wore it straightened all the time. My red Converse were getting old and holes had popped out of the sides already, but I was wearing them until they fell apart as I walked. I made
Monkey Bread (just for laughs)"Oh, for Good John's sake, don't make a celebrity of yourself," I blurted across the room. Ira was making a fool of himself as he made jokes with all of the ladies while he was tipsy. He set his hat in a quirky way and said something so slurred it amazed me that these women followed him."I wuzz a-thinkin' te meself, if maybe I tookszz-me a li'l jaunt-ee I might find uzz a lot of gold off someswhereszz." This strange connection of vowels and consonants was followed by a wheezy cackle. He could hardly speak legibly; I'd never heard him sounding worse. Ira was either in a very good mood, or something was seriously troubling him and getting dru
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