crazed with helplessness,i cursed god and
wept,wondering if he wept also.
But then,what use his tears,if his help was denied me ?
My own sobering had frightened the gulls
THEY DEPARTED...and in the terrible silence i
UNDERSTOOD THE true breadth of the word "ISOLATION".
Don't push me cause I'm close to the edge
I'm trying not to lose my head,
It's like a jungle sometimes it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
It's like a jungle sometimes it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
Remember, remember the Fifth of November,
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
I know of no reason
Why the Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t'was his intent
To blow up the King and Parli'ment.
Three-score barrels of powder below
To prove old England's overthrow;
By God's providence he was catch'd
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holla boys, Holla boys, let the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!
And what should we do with him? Burn him!
In Hell at least the gulls are contented.
For my part,I begged that they should take my eyes,
thus sparing me furthur horrors.
Unheeded,I stood in the surf and wept,
unable to bear my cicumstances.
Eventually,tears ceased.
My misfortunes were small:I was alive...
...And I knew that life had no worse news
to offer me.
"A container of ashes might one day be thrown from the sky, which could burn the land and boil the oceans."
“Well, a witch doctor
did bless me once.
I had saved his village.
He said Africa would never allow me to die”.
NightOwl II: But the country's disintegrating. What's happened to America? What's happened to the American dream?.
The Comedian: It came true.
Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a bygone vexation stands vivified, and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition! The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me simply add that it's my very good honour to meet you and you may call me V.
