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Moo.<br></td></tr></table> | | |
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Hello, I'm Zealot.<br>Since I am too lazy to do my own unique coding, I breezed through a tutorial.<br>Yeah, I'm an ItaxSasu type of person, this week, and if you have a problem I suggest that you don't tell me.<br>I'm really a nice person.<br>
You might know me as <b>Emu</b>, by the way.<br>
If you do, send a NeoMail.<br></td></tr></table> | | |
| Wrapped in a sheath of faux affection,
he finds his way out of the neglection,
Wrapped in a web of depleting hope,
That career he pursues,
That hope for fame, it's nothing new. Pulled that string back, hit the center,
He hit that spot, the world he entered,
He found that fame, that fame he sought,
He hid that pain, that pain he thought,
And his passion was nothing bought. Play the chord, hit the snare,
If he had it, he didn't care,
That life he led, it was his to lead,
That life that bled, it was his to bleed,
But Cobain's dead, so there's no need. More criticism! | | |
| Through encouragement, among those of my friends,
Looking through their mental windows, finally found their place,
And, among all those people who I’d like to meet,
And, among all those people who I’d like to beat,
Among them all’s a great talent for whatever they do best. And to this day I remember that cold of her white face,
And to this day I remember that cold death that I detest,
And to this day I wonder if my love was worth the price,
To pay God my life instead would be worth the pain. And from that sadist’s death, what’s there actually to gain?
I did my best and took the test, but again it was all wrong.
That great bruise on my mentality left me dumb, again.
Dumb and bruised, a prisoner within that iron mind. And with this, a poem, I could sit and sing another song,
But to what would that accomplish? Loneliness is all I’d find.
To fame and fortune, bid it farewell and flush it down the drain,
And from that sadist’s death, what’s there actually to gain? Please comment, criticize, help me out. | | |
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