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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 18:20:21 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 46129
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => $£$£$£$£$
[time] => 2004-05-04 10:41:41
[hometext] => Ironically true, but there is but 50 years till there will be no natural sourse of oxygen, and then we call GreenPeace tree huggers.
[bodytext] => Youre the winner, hes the loser Warped and twisted, the truth ventures further Lost are we, the soul surveyor Disipated too, are our dreams of grandure Trapped, like the rats aboard the sinking ship The fake names Corporation, the real ones death Never will the field be green as did they once Now we look grey, as do the concrete above Roads and Trafic lights, replace the old world Paid for by the corporation, death and all Give into the lure of money, so our children can breath through the gas masks And read Ironically how the corporation destoyed the forrests, printed on the paper, that they made from them. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 157 [topic] => 41 [informant] => 01_zanzebar [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 2 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => political )
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