The pain in this Poem brings joy to me! The suffering it holds and betrayal of one's heart! It is a sweet taste in my mouth to watch a suffering love triangle take place. So Crimson loves Emmy and Amy loves Crimson. I would love to see how this love ends. Will it end in a even more sweet taste. I might as well get involve between these 2's emotion and twist it to my own doing. HA! HA! HA! HA! The Forum Demon has a new mission.
In a moment you destroy my love and desire Like a squirrel burning on a funeral pyre It whimpers and eats nuts while sitting on fire While time keeps on turning, a motorcar tyre Of hope and of love of the ghosts in the myre That come down our way and their woos never tire Woo woo whoooo woo-woo whoooooo woo wire And all that this does is keeps lifting us higher Till you come and crush any hope to inspire This heart that cannot help but dream and admire Your face and your body, your heart is a liar That seems to be off to the next highest buyer Can't help it, I have to, yes I must inquire Why you've gone and thrown me into the deep fryer Again, while my heart shouts like it's a town cryer "Crimson! Come back! With your eyes of Sapphire!" And lo, I write this, like a lonely young squire Admiring her prince who is playing the sire I'll get in the bath tonight with my hair dryer Not stopping to care that the dangling wire Is coming in with it implying a dire Event in my life is about to transpire You come in too late but you are a vampire Apparently So it's alright I guess
Crimson, you have not been on all day, and there are words I've yet to say.
You owe me a fiver, you're not a muff diver, give me your saliva I'm Lady Godiva. I'm your organizer, your voice synthesizer, your rose tinted vizer, your horse tranquilizer. I'll make your teeth whiter, your slight of hand slighter, break your new typewriter and make your purse lighter. While I'm not a minor my boobies are finer by far than the shiners you'd find in a diner. So when a subscriber to New Advertiser lights an atomizer while sipping his tizer, Beware, for not far behind is Beleren... and he's trying to sell you a new vaporizer.
Dragon of the that is Cold
Icy Dragon. In my opinion, is finer than Ronald Reagan. Or Donald Duck, But that is irrelevant and quite a digression. If we were to take all Icedragon's scripts (In Ruby and other things too I am sure) And lay them all end to end They would reach from Beijing to somewhere not too far from Beijing Because scripts are actually quite small when you print them on toilet paper. Sorry.
A poem for Nelderson is quite a conundrum Said Amy, alone with a pipe. (puff puff puff) For all of the lyrics are often ho hum And sadly the rhyming is tripe. (and you see) He's a good friend for sure but I do not know much Of this man of which stands before me (which is why) I'll sneak in his room for a look or a touch And make his room jiggle with glee (bim bam boom!) And lo, when the African swallow returns From a place that is not Timbuktoo (or Bahrain) I'll smother his food with slugs, snails and worms And cover his body in goo
This post has been edited by Amy Pond: Mar 17 2012, 11:09 PM
While taking a stroll down to Waterloo station I stumbled across a guy called Vindication. Is he a vindicator Or been vindicated? Regardless the train never came but I waited Eventually the tanoy above me did ring The guardsman, in monotone tune did he sing:
"The 10:42 down to old London town Is late, and might not show at all. A strange gentleman is standing on the line The train guard is having a ball. I think if we drove one at high speed down there It might knock the guy off the tracks, We'd do it quite honestly without a care If not for THE MAN on our backs."
So waited I did, till the clock struck past two And lonely me twiddled my thumbs Not sure what to do I walked home instead And even gave change to the bums. And lo, on the way, on the tracks I did see A curious sight, it has to be said The 10:42 had gone past after all And now Vindication is dead.
This post has been edited by Amy Pond: Mar 18 2012, 02:37 PM
Radscythe Is very much like the edge of a knife I think, for I can't think of words to describe him
I think he's a him but I can't quite remember But as members go he's a saint.
I can't name a reason why raisins in buns Can't all point to Radscythe on Sundays, Other than as the Boomtown Rats point out That Mondays are not to be liked (not by all) And if you disagree then I'm sure I would not Be disappointed in the slightest.
A pope for all seasons? That's one of the reasons that Radscythe is good at the thing that he does Which is very important I'm sure And perfectly reasonable as the subject ...of a poem.
This post has been edited by Amy Pond: Mar 19 2012, 05:13 PM