Updates: Media (lyrics) has a new layout. I could never figure out how to lay it out, but it's easier to navigate now. I'm still working on a better duplicate Mamblog mod. I'm trying to make submittions easier but the poetry form died for some reason. Quizzes are also on their way from the old site. Joomla content isn't very code friendly so I'm having to rewrite old code. You can still click on News > AH v21 > Screen if you wish to use the quizzes.
my life a lie, my story a book
one that my little boy cousin took
took to his class, his friends and he
used it to make a pot of tea.
tea? No wait, i heard a joke
what happened to the little girl whose leg you broke?
she fell from the steeple on top of a spike
that drove through her heart with all of its might
the humor in that i must not tell
for all through her life she often fell
fell from the cradle her mother rocked
fell from the window that was supposedly locked
fell from the bike she learned to ride
this story i tell is all a lie.
...one for each person i came to know
for the bat hath told me so
this bat i speak of is make of wood
and came to me in my sleep
he took my tooth and gave me a quarter
i've fallen on top of a carnival booth
the little children who played in there
are now crumpled atop of their silken blonde hair
they gave me a look as awful as you,
they came to my side and to the sky i flew
up to the moon i passed on my way
a big little ship, i asked, "could i stay?"
but reluctant are they, for they have little food
caboom....it's for free.
money is something a poor girl lacks
the scars are like railroad tracks on her back
she looks to the left, she looks to the right
she pushes the cart with all of her might
the street she does cross with many a groan
she thinks about all of the wonderful homes
a home she would have the size of a town
she loves little daises, she'd cover the ground
she'd own such a dress with sparkle and lace
and own such a doll with a beautiful face
she opens her eyes for she senses the curb
this wonderful dream she now must disturb
she pushes the cart with all of her might
to hold back the tears she puts up a fight
she keeps on her way but where will she go
for she has not a place that she can call home.
Maybe he's an escaped convict
Who wants some solitude
In his unforgiving life.
Then one night
He screams out in fright
As the killer above
Comes down below
And asks him to dance;
With his swishy hips
And lisp in his voice
His kisses him
Square on the mouth.
God and religion are tall tales told by a child who came through town.
A fibber, a liar, an imaginative boy who told a story with holes.
What proof have you about this person, a magician in our minds?
He is not real, though some do feel he lurks between our toes.
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