The Shankill Butchers ride tonight. You better shut your windows tight. They're sharpening their cleavers and their knives. And taking all their whiskey by the pint.
Get the rocks in the box. Get the water right down to your socks. This bulkhead's built of fallen brethren bones. . We all do what we can. We endure our fellow man.
Big mountain, wide river. There's an ancient pull. These tree trunks, these stream beds. Leave our bellies full. . They sing out:. I am going to stand my ground.
This is the story of your red right ankle. And how it came to meet your leg. And how the muscle, bone, and sinews tangled. And how the skin was softly shed.
O Philomena. you in a tawdry gown. lean to your window. let slip a ribbon down. A cure to your boredom. if only you'd let me go down. down down. . Long summer days.
One engine barely makes it away. One engine barely makes it away. Hold on, they're breaking their bonds. Hold on they're breaking their bonds. One engine barely makes it awayAnd the martyr line.
In matching blue raincoats. Our shoes were our show boats. We kicked around. From stairway to station. We made a sensation. With the gadabout crowd. And oh, what a bargain.
There are angels in your angles. There's a low moon caught in your tangles. There's a ticking at the sill. There's a purr of a pigeon to break the still of day.
Sweet Anabelle. As seen reclining on an ocean swell. As the waves do lather up to lay her down. 'Til she's fast and sleeping. . Oh well. I guess I'm something of a ne'er-do-well.
They've come to find you, Odalisque. As the light dies horribly. On a fire escape, you walk. All rare and resolved to drop. . And when they find you, Odalisque.
My mother was a Chinese trapeze artist in pre-war Paris. Smuggling bombs for the underground. And she met my father at a fete in Aix-en-Provence. He was disguised as a Russian cadet in the employ of the Axis.
You belong to the gang and you say you can't break away. But I'm here with my hands on my heart. And our families can't agree, I'm your brother's sworn enemy.
o we already wrecked the rental car. And I've already lost my way. But feet entombed in this cursed bar. Today, anyway. So lay me down on the cobblestone.
We are two mariners. Our ship's sole survivors. In this belly of a whale. It's ribs are ceiling beams. It's guts are carpeting. I guess we have some time to kill.
I want you, thin fingers. I wanted you, thin fingernails. And when you bend backwards. I wanted you, I needed you, ohh. To make me better. . I'll love you in springtime.
The Rake:. I have snipped your wingspan. My precious captive swan. Here all clipped of kickstand. Your spirit won't last long. . Don't you lift a finger.
There is a city by the sea. A gentle company. I don't suppose you want to. And as it tells its sorry tale. In harrowing detail. Its hollowness will haunt you.
My name is Leslie Anne Levine. My mother birthed me down a dry ravine. My mother birthed me far too soon. Born at nine and dead at noon. . Fifteen years gone now, I still wander this parapet.
My name is Leslie Anne Levine. My mother birthed me down a dry ravine. My mother birthed me far too soon. Born at nine and dead at noon. . Fifteen years gone now, I still wander this parapet.
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