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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 14:59:21 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 142835
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => It's like cathcing bullets with your bare hands.
[time] => 2008-05-31 14:53:23
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Say what you will, and then just hunt for the kill. It's out there somewhere, lurking ready and prepared. To take these lives, they say this is how it thrives. Hunt for the cure, the only thing good and pure. The harder to find, the tighter the bind, So sell it to those in need, so the monster we will no longer feed. Save these souls, don't make them pay the toll. Of what others have done, and then turned around and run. It's like cathing bullets with your bare hands. Almost impossible, almost laughable. But still we all hope, to pull in this rope. This rope of disease, this monster if you please. Someday we will catch it, unless we all just sit. Sit and watch the sun, just to turn around and run. It's like cathing bullets with your bare hands. Almost impossible, almost laughable. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 220 [topic] => 75 [informant] => xxILoveTheSilencexx [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => anguished )
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