Post by Cloudmuffin - - on May 25, 2011 16:57:30 GMT -7
Come save me from
walking off a windowsill
Or I'll sleep in the rain
Don't you remember
when I was a bird
And you were a map?
ArriaAnd now he drags
down miles in america
Briefcase in hand
The stove is
creeping up his spine again
Can't get enough trash
6.5 MonthsHe took the days for pageant
Became mad as rabbits
LoupWith bushels of bad habits
Who could ask for more?
Yeah, who could have more
Arctic x GreyHis arms were the branches
of a Christmas tree
Preached the devil in the belfry
He checked in to be learn his clothes
Had been thieved
at the train stationPale sand fades with age into a white so clean it seems to shine with it's own inner blue lightThe rope hung
his other branch
And at the end was a dog
called Bambi
Who was chewing on
his parliaments
When he tried to save
the calendar business
He tried to save the calender businessAge provides color, turning the alabster to glistening sky saphire and sunset purple.He took the days for pageant
And became mad as rabbits
Pup (femme)With bushels of bad habits
Who could ask for more?
Who could have moreArria is like a small chunk of clay. She is rather unmolded, uncreated. She's just like any other pup, adorable, niave, carefree. Nothing but her future can decide what she becomes. Her future, and her rolemodels. For now she is simply a little girl, not yet coming into her older - more expreianced - self. Orphaned, she has been left the perfect little gift for anyone wanting to spread a little goodness - or evil. She is a neutral, completely and utterly undecided. Her morals? You tell her. At six and a half months, Arria has no idea what she is, or what she is supposed to be. Her virtues, her perception of right and wrong, of good versus evil, are completely unformed. She is the clay, now who will be her potter?The poor son of
a humble chimney sweep
Fell to a cheap crowd
So stay asleep and
put on that cursive type
You know we live in a toyArria has lived a life just like any other normal pup her age. She was born to a femme. Her mother wasn't part of a pack though, simply traveling with Arria's father. She was born into a litter of two - counting herself. Her sister was a sickly pup however, and died a few weeks after her birth. No one was suprised. Fortunatly, Arria happened to be a good bit more hardy than her sister. She didn't so much as sneeze. However, she was definitly a trouble maker. Her first trip out of the den left her with quils embedded in her snout - porcupine quils. And somehow, every venture after that also turned into something dangerous. She simply attracted misadventure. Shortly after her six month mark, her parents died protecting her from a hungry grizzly. It wasn't worth much though, since the little pup could hardly provide for herself. She is left wandering, surviving off the forgotten scraps of other beasties meals.You know that Paul Cates
Bought himself a trumpet
from the Salvation Army
Well, but there ain't no
sunshine in his song
We must reinvent love,
reinvent love,
reinvent loveI hum soft songs of encouragement to myself as I plod along. My pillers carrty me at quite some pace if I do say so myself. I can smell my next meal, not far off. My slender bottle pops open, salivating tongue slipping between the crevices of my pearlie whites, hanging off one side of my face like a comique relief for my horrifying state. Mud clings to my sandy palet, caked on so thick you have to look closely to see that all my bones are prominant. I hardly notice though. What's to notice? I happen to be alive, which is more than my dam could say for herself, or even my sire. I can still do a little pixie dance with my stubby pills, still lap and giggle with my maw. And how do I know that ever little she-dog doesn't live just this way? As far as I know, i'm better off than everyone else - dead.
I giggle as I near my meal. It comes into focus quickly, a mangled bird all askew - parts here parts there. Small tendrils of meat still cling to the frail bone. Eagerly I dart foward and lap them up. The taste is grotesque on my little pink tongue, but I gobble up every morsel obliviously. Unsatisfied - but completely okay with such - I tred onward, a smile lapping at my features. A lizard strikes a fancy to my path, and I gallop after it, oversized puppy paws leaving dull dents in the dry earth beneath me. The lizard is terrified, not knowing how little danger I truly posses. It races up a tree. Saddened at the loss of my new companion I momuntarily watch it from the ground, white eyes pleading with the creature to return. The green thing glares at me with such anger that I quickly return to my path, only saddened for a moment. The sun is up and the sky is a deep blue. What's to be sad about?He tooks days for pageant
And became made as rabbits
With a bushel of bad habits
Who could ask for more?
Whoe could have more
In a year or two
We must reinvent love
Reinvent love
Reinvent love
Reinvent love
Reinvent love
