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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 10-June 21:36:35 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 38096
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Old Timer
[time] => 2004-03-10 12:03:40
[hometext] => kinda reminds me of me,(wait It Is me)
[bodytext] => In an old box car, on an old wooden track, In the middle of nowhere, flat on my back... Holes In my shoes,not a comb for my hair, pockets full of dust, and I just don't care... My jeans are torn,my face Is a mess, the beard I grow, likens to a nest... My teeth all out, my eye's kinda dim, the color of yellow, take's to my skin... My feet they hurt, my bone's they ach, got a real bad feeling I'm about to break... My heart grows tired,my soul grows cold, is this what it's like, getting and growing old? The mind works slower, and not like it should, I think It once did, or was it once could... It,s time this body, took It a rest. there,s no more vigor,no more zest... In an old box car,on an old wooden track, I ponder existance, flat on my back TSW 11-22-99 [comments] => 3 [counter] => 145 [topic] => 39 [informant] => tsw [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 0 [associated] => [topicname] => Grief )
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