Write your every sad thought down for me.
I will put it back there WiTh My MaD;
Neither one of us should be so sad.
Underneath a sun that doesn’t shine;
Suddenly we’re done before our time.
Yours is one that listens not but speaks..
Mine is one that listens not and sleeps.
Daydreaming. 16 hours a day.
No one knew to chase these dreams away?
Through the pale grey tunnel, to the sea..
Living is the most alive we’ll be.
]]>Trudging through the hardened snow the softness of our souls will show
Like something better yet is always near
I found a heart the same as mine it floated through the hand of time
Ignoring every rule the world had made
But dreams are far too keen to last – the heart departed just as fast
And now it feels like there is only pain.
A mind is like a kind of drum – the beat repeats till day is done
And shortly then the body wears the shame.
We have to carry on regardless – life is cold and Love is heartless.
Every step we take prolongs the game.
Nothing ever feels like it is new.
And so.. We never think; we only do.
]]>The weasel was late for Pilates
But knew that the eagle was sore
He stopped and offered Maltesers
And they lay hand in hand on the floor.
The following week a potato
Was posted through eagles green door
He knew that this meant there was trouble
So he ran to the shop by the shore
He picked up a thousand burritos
And carried them under his wing
He met his poor weasel at prison (again)
Fed him, and fixed everything.
THE END.
]]>Sometimes chef’s they make mistakes
They chew your chips and lick your steaks
But Snails are not someone to mess with
This snail had been truly tested.
He shook the batter from his shell
And showered off that vinegar smell
He marched on down (well, as snails do)
To the fruit stall run by Mr Kazoo
‘Drop that melon and listen here
I woke up and was battered in beer,
It’s not right and I’m making a stand
Grab your biggest strawberry and put it in my hand.’
Mr Kazoo he knew the deal
He knew how being battered could feel
He gave a nod a went out back
Returning soon with a huge rucksack
‘Now, this is something I’ve been brewing
For if someone’s having trouble pooing
The biggest, bestest, fruit born merry
The world’s only ex-lax strawberry.’
The Snail he shivered, then he smiled
He said ‘Can you mind my shell for a while?’
And in its place he put the sack;
Turned with a nod, and marched on back.
By now the time was just past noon
The chef was whistling an Irish tune
The Snail crept in and filled his broth
With the strangest fruit he’d ever heard of
He went out front and changed the sign
To read ‘Free broth! (For valentines!)’
The people flooded in to eat
And chef, well, he was rushed off his feet.
The people came and the people ate
Each person smiling and clearing their plate
But soon enough the smiles would crumble –
There came a most unpleasant rumble
A mass surround sound churning groan
That made the people curl and moan
It made the chef put down his ladle
And witness the horror on every table
The chef ran round with paper towels
But was overwhelmed by the strength of bowels
The people screaming ‘Don’t eat the food!’
Meant Chef had to quit and be a toilet cleaning dude.
The snail he clapped and cheered and danced
He skipped and frolicked, laughed and pranced
And if he started feeling bad
He’d remember the near-death morning he’d had.
Now, revenge is not a thing of pride
Not something nice people exercise
But if ever you’re offered a gourmet platter
Remember the tale, and just eat the batter.
My veggie senses know somehow
It cannot be of much importance
When there’s a posh lion – arm wrestling a porpoise.
His girlfriend’s there, but he tries to hide her
(She fits quite neatly behind his cider)
He struggles sliding left and right
But in the end – gives up the fight.
Now if you’ve ever seen a porpoise
You might have been inclined to nortuss (that’s ‘notice’, in a very strong Northern accent)
They do not have the best of arms
But heck they’ll win you with their charms.
He flirted left, he flirted right
He winked and whistled through the night
The lion just couldn’t concentrate
So he downed his pint and he cleared his plate
The shame was far too much to handle
His tiny girlfriend blew out the candle
(Behind which she’d hidden; after the pint)
And she ran off with porpoise – to fly a kite
Reminded sadly of the summer rain
Lion dug out his top hat again
He troffled down to Tim-buk-tu
(Troffling’s what posh lions do)
And there he spent the rest of time
Just staring at his hand, and sucking on a lime.
And so the story comes with a lesson –
There is no use – for posh aggression.
THE END.
]]>The serpent drinking beer,
Beside them sat the tortoise queen;
A finger in her ear
Although the finger was not hers
She let it do its thing
And when the panda bear appeared
It pointed and said ‘sing!’
The panda dropped his shopping bags
And smoothly shook his hips
He sang a song about the sea
And one about some chips
By now the purple fish was tired
(The serpent licked his eyes)
And so the queen retired to bed
To bake some toenail pies.
Gross.
THE END
x
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