Standing knee-deep in cold water, swiftly moving
Somehow I knew I lost something
Wading waist-deep I saw a book there, in the river
Waiting for me to find it there
I tried to read it, neck deep, treading water
The tide pulled me out to sea
Then with water in my eyes
The words began to rise from their place
They were beautiful and dread
I reached for them and fed on each phrase
They were honey on my lips
Then a bitter twist in my side
I knew they’d lay me in my grave
“Is there no one who could save me?” I cried
Sinking down deep through cold water and heavy silence
Shadows stirring in the gloom
What things lay sleeping down deep in the darkness?
Woke then to find me in my tomb
Then with water in my eyes
The words began to rise from their place
They were beautiful and dread
I reached for them and fed on each phrase
They were honey on my lips
Then a bitter twist in my side
I knew they’d lay me in my grave
“Is there no one who could save me?” I cried
When I lost all hope to look
someone took that heavy book from my hands
all its weight they set aside
after they had satisfied its demands
I felt white and black reverse
and the lifting of a curse from my heart
Then like one receiving sight
I beheld a brilliant light in the dark
Quote from a forum
“As INTJs we tend to function a bit like computational machines where we’ll analyse everything and tear stuff apart just to see how it work or if we think we can improve it. Sometimes in our robot like earnestness to figure out how things work we forget that we’re dealing with people, not machines “
Holy crap, there’s people out there who understand me.
Post with 1 note
This song is better than you.
Well, how do you do, Private William McBride,
Do you mind if I sit down here by your graveside?
And rest for awhile in the warm summer sun,
I’ve been walking all day, and I’m nearly done.
And I see by your gravestone you were only 19
When you joined the glorious fallen in 1916,
Well, I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean
Or, Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?
Did they Beat the drum slowly, did the play the pipes lowly?
Did the rifles fir o’er you as they lowered you down?
Did the bugles sound The Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?
And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some loyal heart is your memory enshrined?
And, though you died back in 1916,
To that loyal heart are you forever 19?
Or are you a stranger without even a name,
Forever enshrined behind some glass pane,
In an old photograph, torn and tattered and stained,
And fading to yellow in a brown leather frame?
The sun’s shining down on these green fields of France;
The warm wind blows gently, and the red poppies dance.
The trenches have vanished long under the plow;
No gas and no barbed wire, no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard that’s still No Man’s Land
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand
To man’s blind indifference to his fellow man.
And a whole generation who were butchered and damned.
And I can’t help but wonder, no Willie McBride,
Do all those who lie here know why they died?
Did you really believe them when they told you “The Cause?”
Did you really believe that this war would end wars?
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame
The killing, the dying, it was all done in vain,
For Willie McBride, it all happened again,
And again, and again, and again, and again.
Haven’t been on here in awhile…
But it’s 6 in the morning and I’ve got a long day ahead of me, so why not?
“Well once too often I’ve retreated into the depths of my despair…I built a barricade to block you on the road. But standing there with all of my possessions piled higher than a house, I felt closer to you than I ever have before.”
All I have for a moment is a song to pass the time, and a melody to keep me from worrying…..some simple progression to keep my fingers busy, and words that are sure to come back to me.
Now I’ve locked my actions in the groove of routine
So I can’t break free of this apathy
But I wait for a letter that is coming to me
She sends me pictures of the ocean in an envelope
So there still is hope
Yes, I can be healed
There is someone looking
For what I’ve concealed
In my secret drawer
In my pockets deep
You will find the reasons that I can’t sleep
And you will still want me
And you will still want me
Will you still want me?
Well, I say come for the week
You can sleep in my bed
And pass through my life like a dream through my head
It will be easy
I’ll make it easy
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If you didn’t like Sucker Punch, you should probably make sure you understood Sucker Punch. Hint - The first time we see Sweet Pea in the bordello, she’s dressed like Baby Doll (with the wig).
Audio post reblogged from Don't Bury Your Life Yet. with 4,334 notes - Played 36,143 times
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]ZELDA DUBSTEP O___O
Shaking my whole house.
Nbd.
Legally required to reblog.
Awesomeness ensued
oh the beauty.
holy shit, this is siiiiiick.
Source: mindlessdribble
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