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GHETTO GOSPLE. You aren't born to please anyone, neither accepted by everybody. But your purpose is to make sure you live good making better thangs, making thangs better.
The Black Death was a sad little boy. He'd no friends, no family, or neighbours. He met with rats, they liked him lots, their hearts sure did belabour. They spread the word, and soon they carried, A little boy named Black Death. The rats they call
*This is a poem based on the black plague that spread through Europe in the mid-14th century. It started in Dorset and spread throughout the land. It touched the souls of old and young and in between The women and Children'll kiss the p
Im sitting in my house and weighing the options. If I go out, I may get sick, but I have a death wish anyway so bring it on. If I stay in this house any longer I am going to turn into Jack Nicholson. I want to see my boy,
Harvester, they whisper as she passes, Her bone white mask upon her face, They cast pale rose scented ashes, In hopes that she'll leave it in place.
The horse he drives before him, Is the pale shade of the dawn, But on wheels of darkness, His sickly green carriage is drawn. The hooves raise boils from the earth, The wheels leave tracks like scars,
The feeling of sadness takes over one's own mind With no invitation nor permission with just one ambition To take over my kind... your kind For it's a worldwide plague with no recognition An invasion of the mind
plague spreads all across the world when you think of plague, you think of it as a widespread that's potency and deadly virus infection that pierces your immune system
How? How can I let my emotions Come back into play When they have destroyed me
There exists a contorted little being,
You seep away Into my reserve of affection That iconic muscle subject to pains of my own obsession A first glance through a marked window Couldn’t mask the feeling of the clock running slow