On the first day of Christmas
My girlfriend gave to me:
An Ostrich with a Goatee.
On the second day of Christmas
My girlfriend gave to me:
Two Used Tissues
And an Ostrich with a Goatee.
On the third day of Christmas
My girlfriend gave to me:
Three Jumpers
Two Used Tissues
And an Ostrich with a Goatee.
On the fourth day of Christmas
My Girlfriend gave to me:
Four Kegs of Beer
Three Jumpers
Two Used Tissues
And an Ostrich with a Goatee.
On the fifth day of Christmas
My Girlfriend gave to me:
Five Magazines.
Four Kegs of Beer
Three Jumpers
Two Used Tissues
And an Ostrich with a Goatee.
On the sixth day of Christmas
My Girlfriend gave to me:
Six Massive Diggers;
Five Magazines.
Four Kegs of Beer
Three Jumpers
Two Used Tissues
And an Ostrich with a Goatee.
On the seventh day of Christmas
My Girlfriend gave to me:
Seven Packs of Pringles
Six Massive Diggers;
Five Magazines.
Four Kegs of Beer
Three Jumpers
Two Used Tissues
And an Ostrich with a Goatee.
On the eighth day of Christmas
My Girlfriend gave to me:
Eight Mouldy Mushrooms
Seven Packs of Pringles
Six Massive Diggers;
Five Magazines.
Four Kegs of Beer
Three Jumpers
Two Used Tissues
And an Ostrich with a Goatee.
On the ninth day of Christmas
My Girlfriend gave to me:
Nine Monkeys Bowling
Eight Mouldy Mushrooms
Seven Packs of Pringles
Six Massive Diggers;
Five Magazines.
Four Kegs of Beer
Three Jumpers
Two Used Tissues
And an Ostrich with a Goatee.
On the tenth day of Christmas
My Girlfriend gave to me:
Ten Drunken Hipsters
Nine Monkeys Bowling
Eight Mouldy Mushrooms
Seven Packs of Pringles
Six Massive Diggers;
Five Magazines.
Four Kegs of Beer
Three Jumpers
Two Used Tissues
And an Ostrich with a Goatee.
On the eleventh day of Christmas
My Girlfriend gave to me:
Eleven Games of FIFA
Ten Drunken Hipsters
Nine Monkeys Bowling
Eight Mouldy Mushrooms
Seven Packs of Pringles
Six Massive Diggers;
Five Magazines.
Four Kegs of Beer
Three Jumpers
Two Used Tissues
And an Ostrich with a Goatee.
On the twelfth day of Christmas
My Girlfriend gave to me:
Twelve Pretty Roses
Eleven Games of FIFA
Ten Drunken Hipsters
Nine Monkeys Bowling
Eight Mouldy Mushrooms
Seven Packs of Pringles
Six Massive Diggers;
Five Magazines.
Four Kegs of Beer
Three Jumpers
Two Used Tissues
And an Ostrich with a Goatee.
After receiving this mountain of gifts,
I still cannot decide whether they are
The produce of my girlfriend's subtle love
Or a symptom of her insanity.
Tuesday, 16 December 2014
Saturday, 13 December 2014
Fanbase Philosophy
Have you ever been lost in a world of your own?
I know I have, many a time.
When I let the story unfold, be it
By means of the printed word or
Received by my own ears.
I become lost in a world of intricate storytelling,
Adrift in a sea of fantastical knowledge
Known only to me and the others who love the same things as I.
Time unknown to me begins to speed up.
Hours become minutes, minutes become seconds,
And before I know it, days, weeks, months have passed.
And if I were ever offered a chance at escaping this joyous maze, I would reject it.
Being eternally stranded in the perfect world is fine by me,
Even though it is composed from the imagination of mankind.
But when I am torn away from this world, it is hard for me to adjust to normal life
Outside my world of which is still going on.
I sometimes forget this and try to compromise by living my world all of the time.
Everyone has their own little world in which to create their own reality,
And this helps to create their personality.
Everyone has their own tastes, and views on things
Which is what makes us unique and extraordinary.
But we are influenced by the works of others, and I must say
That without the past to direct and guide us,
The present and the future would be much poorer than they are now.
I know I have, many a time.
When I let the story unfold, be it
By means of the printed word or
Received by my own ears.
I become lost in a world of intricate storytelling,
Adrift in a sea of fantastical knowledge
Known only to me and the others who love the same things as I.
Time unknown to me begins to speed up.
Hours become minutes, minutes become seconds,
And before I know it, days, weeks, months have passed.
And if I were ever offered a chance at escaping this joyous maze, I would reject it.
Being eternally stranded in the perfect world is fine by me,
Even though it is composed from the imagination of mankind.
But when I am torn away from this world, it is hard for me to adjust to normal life
Outside my world of which is still going on.
I sometimes forget this and try to compromise by living my world all of the time.
Everyone has their own little world in which to create their own reality,
And this helps to create their personality.
Everyone has their own tastes, and views on things
Which is what makes us unique and extraordinary.
But we are influenced by the works of others, and I must say
That without the past to direct and guide us,
The present and the future would be much poorer than they are now.
Election
And once again we come full circle
Around upon this time again,
When everything informative about this country
Is clouded and obscured by the main
Citizens of the nation.
Why? Why must everything be so problematic?
Created by these long winded speeches of theirs.
These villains talk of fair and just concepts,
But as soon as they reach power, they throw aside
Everything they supposedly believed in,
Replacing the promises with a harsher epitomal regime.
It is beyond clear that power corrupts,
And therefore I ask you; is it worth it?
We'll all just be disappointed another four years.
I cannot begin to comprehend the futility of
The action being thrust upon us.
So I can only sit back and hope for a brighter future.
Around upon this time again,
When everything informative about this country
Is clouded and obscured by the main
Citizens of the nation.
Why? Why must everything be so problematic?
Created by these long winded speeches of theirs.
These villains talk of fair and just concepts,
But as soon as they reach power, they throw aside
Everything they supposedly believed in,
Replacing the promises with a harsher epitomal regime.
It is beyond clear that power corrupts,
And therefore I ask you; is it worth it?
We'll all just be disappointed another four years.
I cannot begin to comprehend the futility of
The action being thrust upon us.
So I can only sit back and hope for a brighter future.
Planet Ember
Coloured lights. Loud music. Unidentifiable conversation.
All of which make up the atmosphere of this alien world.
Inhabitants live in their own bubbles
While the universe around them washes over their faces,
Passes by and is ignored, like it has never existed.
Defining moments flow past as a stream,
Though few are ever picked out by the bubble people
Unless it happens to concern them and them alone.
Communication between bubbles is non existent
Unlike communication between themselves,
So the bubble people can only obtain knowledge held within,
Unless they take flight into the unknown,
And reach and hope to dream
Of knowledge beyond their comprehension,
Though how can they fly if they refuse to jump?
A seemingly social bubble are the foundations
Of an antisocial universe.
Each is unknowingly oblivious to the next,
And without intentions the water flow stops
Until the bubble people are drowned by their own misdeeds,
With no one to help them, as there is no one there.
Soar out to touch the unknown bubbles,
And start anew with the knowledge you gain,
But never lose sight of bubbles where you have been
In fear of the flow stopping altogether
We must all unite; all peoples, one dream.
All of which make up the atmosphere of this alien world.
Inhabitants live in their own bubbles
While the universe around them washes over their faces,
Passes by and is ignored, like it has never existed.
Defining moments flow past as a stream,
Though few are ever picked out by the bubble people
Unless it happens to concern them and them alone.
Communication between bubbles is non existent
Unlike communication between themselves,
So the bubble people can only obtain knowledge held within,
Unless they take flight into the unknown,
And reach and hope to dream
Of knowledge beyond their comprehension,
Though how can they fly if they refuse to jump?
A seemingly social bubble are the foundations
Of an antisocial universe.
Each is unknowingly oblivious to the next,
And without intentions the water flow stops
Until the bubble people are drowned by their own misdeeds,
With no one to help them, as there is no one there.
Soar out to touch the unknown bubbles,
And start anew with the knowledge you gain,
But never lose sight of bubbles where you have been
In fear of the flow stopping altogether
We must all unite; all peoples, one dream.
The New American Soldier
He jogs along to keep fit and trim
And has the ego the size of a whale,
Thinks about nothing but the win
And drowns his sorrows if he should fail
He is the New American Soldier.
He stands there, with a feeling of pride,
In his battle armour, opaque to reflection,
Amongst his fellow soldiers he begins to find
The battle cry aiding a warrior's perception,
He is the New American Soldier.
As he storms the battlefield with his head held high
He collides with the enemy in a violent battle,
But fight so hard, he knows the end is nigh,
Inevitably when his bones begin to rattle,
He is the New American Soldier.
He knows that nothing, even death with stop him reaching his goal
As the dead and wounded are taken from this place
And the New American Soldier is thrown into a hole.
The survivors cannot bear to look him in the face,
He is the New American Soldier.
And though his role is over and done
He must rise from his grave and come back stronger,
So that next time the battle is not lost, but won
And the guilt he feels troubles him no longer,
I am the New American Soldier.
And has the ego the size of a whale,
Thinks about nothing but the win
And drowns his sorrows if he should fail
He is the New American Soldier.
He stands there, with a feeling of pride,
In his battle armour, opaque to reflection,
Amongst his fellow soldiers he begins to find
The battle cry aiding a warrior's perception,
He is the New American Soldier.
As he storms the battlefield with his head held high
He collides with the enemy in a violent battle,
But fight so hard, he knows the end is nigh,
Inevitably when his bones begin to rattle,
He is the New American Soldier.
He knows that nothing, even death with stop him reaching his goal
As the dead and wounded are taken from this place
And the New American Soldier is thrown into a hole.
The survivors cannot bear to look him in the face,
He is the New American Soldier.
And though his role is over and done
He must rise from his grave and come back stronger,
So that next time the battle is not lost, but won
And the guilt he feels troubles him no longer,
I am the New American Soldier.
Wednesday, 10 December 2014
The Match
Any other day of the week it is deserted.
But not today.
As we drive past, I am in awe of its size
And its solitary existence.
But not today, as I make my way
To the match.
As I stroll along the roadside path
Upon which I come across many a trader,
I stop and look at the produce on offer
All sports related, why shouldn't it be?
But not today, as I make my way
To the match.
Going on, I hear the cries ring out
From these vendors.
I give in and buy a programme
Bursting with helpful information.
But I hold back from reading,
As I am going to the match.
Repeated cries are all I need,
And I fall upon the processed meats
Upon which the people do feed.
But I decide to steer clear and take heed,
As I am going to the match.
Upon entering the building,
The smell of urine and beer
Penetrates my nostrils.
And the people are huddled together,
Gathered around the television.
Don't they know they are at the match?
As I struggle through the crowd,
I begin to hear the roar of the fans; loud
But emotionless at first.
It is only when I step into the stands
That their passions wash over me,
And I realise I am at the match.
The game begins and at once
I am drowned in a sea of chanting and jeering.
And the cries of old are made obsolete,
By the rowdy, boisterous humour
Of the dogmatic disciples of the teams.
It feels good to be at the match.
But not today.
As we drive past, I am in awe of its size
And its solitary existence.
But not today, as I make my way
To the match.
As I stroll along the roadside path
Upon which I come across many a trader,
I stop and look at the produce on offer
All sports related, why shouldn't it be?
But not today, as I make my way
To the match.
Going on, I hear the cries ring out
From these vendors.
I give in and buy a programme
Bursting with helpful information.
But I hold back from reading,
As I am going to the match.
Repeated cries are all I need,
And I fall upon the processed meats
Upon which the people do feed.
But I decide to steer clear and take heed,
As I am going to the match.
Upon entering the building,
The smell of urine and beer
Penetrates my nostrils.
And the people are huddled together,
Gathered around the television.
Don't they know they are at the match?
As I struggle through the crowd,
I begin to hear the roar of the fans; loud
But emotionless at first.
It is only when I step into the stands
That their passions wash over me,
And I realise I am at the match.
The game begins and at once
I am drowned in a sea of chanting and jeering.
And the cries of old are made obsolete,
By the rowdy, boisterous humour
Of the dogmatic disciples of the teams.
It feels good to be at the match.
Life is an Elegy
Life is an Elegy, a never ending cycle of despair
Foretold and prophecised by the network community,
And at the top; pretentious bastards all who bear
The losses of our fabled integrity
But never have respect, they don't care
About other humans being below; power has no decency.
Life is an Elegy, a sadist forceful trick,
Composed from nothingness to torture me
And utilised by those with hate as solid as brick.
So I am cast down under the waves, and I see
That I am a beached whale, landed and forced to stick
To the ground, while these tricksters giggle with glee.
Life is an Elegy, do not get me wrong,
A one way train ride that spirals out of control
People cannot live together, they sing, but only a song
Of sadness and rage. Our hearts are black as coal
And yet we still press on for however long
It takes us to get along.
For we are the human race, and we like to fuck up our lives.
Foretold and prophecised by the network community,
And at the top; pretentious bastards all who bear
The losses of our fabled integrity
But never have respect, they don't care
About other humans being below; power has no decency.
Life is an Elegy, a sadist forceful trick,
Composed from nothingness to torture me
And utilised by those with hate as solid as brick.
So I am cast down under the waves, and I see
That I am a beached whale, landed and forced to stick
To the ground, while these tricksters giggle with glee.
Life is an Elegy, do not get me wrong,
A one way train ride that spirals out of control
People cannot live together, they sing, but only a song
Of sadness and rage. Our hearts are black as coal
And yet we still press on for however long
It takes us to get along.
For we are the human race, and we like to fuck up our lives.
Fag Ash Lane
Now as I pass them in the street
I feel strongly about how much they sicken me,
But it also creates a sadness within me as we meet.
How they can do this to themselves is beyond my knowledge
And it is a real pain,
To walk past them here, down on Fag Ash Lane.
The smell of the smoke is just obnoxious
And I am in pain, as I walk past them on Fag Ash Lane
So I hold my breath, desperately trying
To cut off the polluted air from my lungs.
But the image has formed in my mind
Of these people decaying slowly, and inevitably lying
In the earth. Dead.
And as I wander down streets bearing name
I think, 'There is no other like Fag Ash Lane'.
For it is a walking graveyard,
As I see nothing but strolling corpses
Wasting away into nothing.
And for me it is hard to comprehend how
These people can squander their lives for simple pleasure.
I feel strongly about how much they sicken me,
But it also creates a sadness within me as we meet.
How they can do this to themselves is beyond my knowledge
And it is a real pain,
To walk past them here, down on Fag Ash Lane.
The smell of the smoke is just obnoxious
And I am in pain, as I walk past them on Fag Ash Lane
So I hold my breath, desperately trying
To cut off the polluted air from my lungs.
But the image has formed in my mind
Of these people decaying slowly, and inevitably lying
In the earth. Dead.
And as I wander down streets bearing name
I think, 'There is no other like Fag Ash Lane'.
For it is a walking graveyard,
As I see nothing but strolling corpses
Wasting away into nothing.
And for me it is hard to comprehend how
These people can squander their lives for simple pleasure.
Candle
Lit at first light,
It blazes with hope
And gives us a bright
Path to follow; not a slope.
Giving us light in the dark
Flickering, but never going out
When we most need it; protection in the park
From villains, armed and stout.
And I see this light among
A million million others blazing,
Of which only some have been sung,
The songs that they bring to the amazing
World and its people.
Though to be seen, it's like fighting in treacle.
And the candle continues to burn
We realise that it's beginning to wane,
The hard truth that we must all learn
Is that we have to forget pain.
Hard to forget though; it's inevitable
When the wax melts away,
Leaving the candle unsociable,
We don't prompt it to stay
Much of the time, but we know in our hearts
Once the candle was fervent, bright
But not anymore; as unpredictable as a game of darts.
Now blown out, the light.
But though the light is extinguished and gone
The formidable candle still lives on.
It blazes with hope
And gives us a bright
Path to follow; not a slope.
Giving us light in the dark
Flickering, but never going out
When we most need it; protection in the park
From villains, armed and stout.
And I see this light among
A million million others blazing,
Of which only some have been sung,
The songs that they bring to the amazing
World and its people.
Though to be seen, it's like fighting in treacle.
And the candle continues to burn
We realise that it's beginning to wane,
The hard truth that we must all learn
Is that we have to forget pain.
Hard to forget though; it's inevitable
When the wax melts away,
Leaving the candle unsociable,
We don't prompt it to stay
Much of the time, but we know in our hearts
Once the candle was fervent, bright
But not anymore; as unpredictable as a game of darts.
Now blown out, the light.
But though the light is extinguished and gone
The formidable candle still lives on.
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