Please take me away. Far from this place. Leaving me here. Take me away. . To the furthest star in the sky. Take me away. To the deepest cave of the night.
People moving about the town upside down, you know why. Little bits of coloured glass in the sky. Children pushing mummy down to the park in a pram. Look out - the pavement's changing to jam.
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Exhausted by all this conjecture, our hero gets the chance in a lifetime to meet his hero: Death.. Death is wearing a light disguise, he made the outfit himself..
News:. A well-known Bognor restaurant-owner disappeared. early this morning.. Last seen in a mouse-brown overcoat,. suitably camouflaged,. they saw him catch a train..
Came the night a mist dissolved the trees. And in the broken light colours fly, fading by.. Pale and cold as figures fill the glade. Grey is the web they spin, on and on, and on and on..
John Pebble of Styx Enterprises. "Get 'em out by Friday!. You don't get paid till the last one's well on his way.. Get 'em out by Friday!. It's important that we keep to schedule, there must be no delay.".
Sunday at six when they close both the gates. A widowed pair, still sitting there. Wonder if they're late for church. And it's cold so they fasten their coats.
The sky is overcast and as rael looks back a dark cloud is descending like a balloon into times square. it rests on the ground and shapes itself into a hard edged flat surface, which solidifies.
As daybreak breaks the mist upon the earth. It came to pass that beauty settled there forever more. And as the steam clings close to things to come. It came to pass that solid rock did part for humble life.
See my hand is moving. Touching all that's real. And once it stroked love's body. Now it claws the past. . The scent of a flower. The colours of the morning.
Holy mother of God. You've got to go faster than that to get to the top. Dirty old mountain all covered in smoke. She can turn you to stone so you better start doing it right.
There is lambswool under my naked feet. The wool is soft and warm. Gives off some kind of heat. A salamander scurries into flame to be destroyed. Imaginary creatures are trapped in birth.
The scattered pages of a book by the sea. Held by the sand and washed by the waves. A shadow forms cast by a cloud,. Skimming by as eyes of the past, but the rising tide.
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He panics, feels around for a stone and hurls it at the brightest point. The sound of breaking glass echoes around the cave. As his vision is restored he catches sight of two golden gloves about one foot in diameter hovering away down the tunnel. When they disappear a resounding crack sears across the roof, and it collapses all around him. Our hero is trapped once again..
Am I very wrong. To hide behind the glare of an open minded stare?. Am I very wrong. To wander in the fear of a never ending lie. . Am I very wrong. To try to close my ears to the sound they play so loud?.
The winter's bitterness is lost. It's the fireside warmth that comforts me. The peace for all my thoughts. . The night brings shadows to the street. It's the time for dreams of things to come.
And I've nearly found a place to call my own. . Waking gently feel her presence near. Devil shattered, warmth is everywhere. I am only a child of hers, my guardian goddess.
Taken in, taken in again. Wrapped around the finger. Of some fair-weather friend. Caught up in the promises. Left out in the end. . No pride, taken for a ride.