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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 10-June 22:31:01 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 135453
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Conningsby Close
[time] => 2007-06-22 20:12:48
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Ying yang, you are and you know. Your ways aren’t the stars Just a dot on the infinite skies Erased, as your god spits upon it. Hoary your pale fortune stands as the Drunken glass so empty so eventual. To easy papa said cruel is sexy. So why don’t you stay ingénue person, As my heart still remains inhospitable. Egog, egog oh egog Juvenile such lips become. Chicken little sometimes knows What his talking about. Lickin’ his wings, throwing bones up the clouds As he waits for the great gig in the sky. King, king… down the Road turn the coming Left go straight and turn Left again… a motel stands your way. The nails will come one with black flesh. The wooden cross will taste like silver It will carry you and on and on again Till we reach and know Conningsby Close. [comments] => 0 [counter] => 155 [topic] => 51 [informant] => somedude [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 4 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Event )
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