I don't know what this is supposed to convey, but if you're calling me a banana peel, well, that's not very nithe, NilsFG. On my birthday, at that. For shame. >: |NilsFG wrote:![]()
I'm A Failure...
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feral witchchild
- Posts: 2021
- Joined: Wed Aug 06, 2008 9:49 am
Re: I'm A Failure...
collige wrote:some stay dry and others feel the pain.
Re: I'm A Failure...
The logo,feral witchchild wrote:I don't know what this is supposed to convey, but if you're calling me a banana peel, well, that's not very nithe, NilsFG. On my birthday, at that. For shame. >: |NilsFG wrote:![]()
, is legendary. You should know that when you visit this place Re: I'm A Failure...
Heroes
I did not see Lannes at Ratisbon
nor MacLennan at Auldearn
nor Gillies MacBain at Culloden,
but I saw an Englishman in Egypt.
A poor little chap with chubby cheeks
and knees grinding each other,
pimply unattractive face -
garment of the bravest spirit.
He was not a bit "in the pub
in the time of the fists being closed,"
but a lion against the breast of battle,
in the morose wounding showers.
His hour came with the shells,
with the notched iron splinters,
in the smoke and flame,
in the shaking and terror of the battlefield.
Word came to him in the bullet shower
that he should be a hero briskly,
and he was that while he lasted
but it wasn't much time he got.
He kept his guns to the tanks,
bucking with tearing crashing screech,
until he himself got, about the stomach,
that biff that put him to the ground,
mouth down in sand and gravel,
without a chirp from his ugly high-pitched voice.
No cross or medal was put to his
chest or to his name or to his family;
there were not many of his troop alive,
and if there were their word would not be strong.
And at any rate, if a battle post stands
many are knocked down because of him,
not expecting fame, not wanting a medal
or any froth from the mouth of the field of slaughter.
I did not see Lannes at Ratisbon
nor MacLennan at Auldearn
nor Gillies MacBain at Culloden,
but I saw an Englishman in Egypt.
A poor little chap with chubby cheeks
and knees grinding each other,
pimply unattractive face -
garment of the bravest spirit.
He was not a bit "in the pub
in the time of the fists being closed,"
but a lion against the breast of battle,
in the morose wounding showers.
His hour came with the shells,
with the notched iron splinters,
in the smoke and flame,
in the shaking and terror of the battlefield.
Word came to him in the bullet shower
that he should be a hero briskly,
and he was that while he lasted
but it wasn't much time he got.
He kept his guns to the tanks,
bucking with tearing crashing screech,
until he himself got, about the stomach,
that biff that put him to the ground,
mouth down in sand and gravel,
without a chirp from his ugly high-pitched voice.
No cross or medal was put to his
chest or to his name or to his family;
there were not many of his troop alive,
and if there were their word would not be strong.
And at any rate, if a battle post stands
many are knocked down because of him,
not expecting fame, not wanting a medal
or any froth from the mouth of the field of slaughter.
Last edited by Firkles on Fri Jan 08, 2010 3:09 am, edited 1 time in total.
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djelements
- Posts: 6830
- Joined: Mon Oct 01, 2007 11:25 pm
- Location: First dsf male lesbian/Savannah, GA
Re: I'm A Failure...
Me too, it's alright.
http://soundcloud.com/helixdelay
kejk wrote:I prefer the pooper
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