Turn around bright eyes,
And be cut down.
Victory is ours for the taking,
Says the collector of bread.
Tomorrow is a moon and skull;
This valley will be taken,
By the throwing of well-placed stones.
Yesterday is a moon and skull;
The bones of our graveyards are behind.
My Western Civ teach used to throw parties, For the students, help them break the windows With rocks, there was a secret door to...
Her perfume, her slinky dress, and her voice, Draw me in, but less the things she says: she’s Not a woman of many words, not for me, ...
He became happy and clutched his heart, Feared the looming scaffolds above, He broke into a sweat, began to leaf Through his Bible...
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