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the clown stares at me from the past like a thorn in my side/
i hide/
i never thought IT could expose my hidden secrets/
i thought my mum told me when i was young that i could keep it/
weeping/
the clown asks me whats worse in the world today/
terrorism, poverty, or the way that our youth decay/
afraid/
understanding is a poor man's only friend/
the end/
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You stupid bint,
Professing yer love,
For a stupid flower,
Even dressing so.
Well yeah cry,
Hope it's thorny,
Can't you see?
It's pretty dead,
Brains.
But hey who cares,
Cos maybe i'll just,
Well,
Pluck you off,
yer petal neck,
Put it to show,
The wilting freak.
Er, or something, like that. The concept is better than the piece, obviously..
Some good pieces. Like poizonivy's in particular.
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I like that you focused on the rose V.
And for everyone else, its not a clown its a Harlequin.
They have their own identity.
-
Such dramatic influences prepertrayed my whole social life
And scenes of horror not only is moral strife
But the sense my life to appear nice
Roses of faith, only touches my face
Because hope is only so far, my destiny, my fate
Not tears of joy, but tears of hurt
Agonizing my heart already from the first
My gentle lips no longer meet wit yours
I can now honestly say why i left
Your self and your wrong Turns,
You were just a door.....
I lay in piece...
-
standing paralell to the coffin as i whisper my final thoughts
tears strolling down the side of my face, when i take a pause
gasping for breath,who woodve known death, wood influense so greatly
now regretting not showing passion, and saying i love you, daily
staring into your eyes, as your involuntarily staring back into mine
it seems impossible to possibly hold back from a cry
why wood you leave, aqt this time, and in this way
no matter what happens in the future, youll be on my mind, everyday
a quick key
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Pain
Sorrow
Anguish
Grief
Remorse
Misery
Saddness
And Suffering
Becomes One When
Her Tears Touch The
Rose Petals...
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^lmao, you cant be serious......
anywho's this is my interpretation, its from the perspective of her
and whats she's thinking in the picture
She could only sing caustic canticles and cut flowers,
but she was the prettiest girl in the county,
she said that there is no interesting yellow
and she smiled only when a certain lad called her Candy.
The boy was buried in her garden, the pretty one was never sad.
He wore a yellow waistcoat when his scared horse threw him down,
no lips have kissed her ever since,
no mouth has said I want you,
her joy a sense of missing yellow,
her beauty a crown of cherubic shadow over the yellow son.
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Life of heartache,
Heart of pain.
Eyes of water,
Tears of rain.
Past of sorrow,
Furture of misery.
Soul of borrow,
Love of nothing.
Cries of reality,
Loss of sleep.
Plees of hope,
Roses of weep.
Enemies of friends,
Passion of envy.
End of start,
Stares of everything.
Kiss of stone,
Breath of last.
Touch of cold,
Blink of death.
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She cries all the time cause no one feels her pain,
She cries all the time cause she got only herself to blame,
She cries all the time, now shes a clown depressed,
Her soul undressed.
Sooner or later, tears become blood,
The toxic thoughts come out with the flood,
She still wearing the mask of a clown,
Putting the act on to conceal her frown,
And with this saddess she will surely drown,
Who would thought that she might have betterd days,
But the black and white thoughts just add weights.