If you want to know how to fly high, I can go now To a place where all the concubines Meet and converse with them, marvel at their pale skin Wonder how
I rode my bicycle past your window last night I roller skated to your door at daylight It almost seems like you're avoiding me I'm okay alone but you'
One, two One, three, three He wants you to put this plate of crumbs Back into the refrigerator When you do, he wants you to make sure To bring this plate
Ties that bind, Knots that fail or A scrimshaw carved in soap instead of bone Humankind as the sailor Embarking without hope of a safe way home Keep
In the dire obscurity of another dark February, there lowers a fog of uncertainty On a thin gasp of wind known only to me. My shivering sigh spreads a
She was born in an oil-drum South side of Chicago When East St. Louis was not far away She'd lace knives to her boots and go down to the riverbed Skate
Here, we see the two Miss Leavens; each girl was 16 years old. Kylie died in a car crash in Iowa, Harriet in an 1815 portrait from Connecticut. Harriet
There once were two utopian societies Pavonia, land of the peacocks And Swaanendael, valley of the swans Both have trade Miserably There, behind every
They say not far away, In fact upon that hill They say that there's a little girl there still She wasn't raised like the other kids Miss Lynn, the Snow
By some freak of fortune, she fainted while baking in the kitchen, overturning all her airy schemes, for great and small and akk things in-between; for
doomsday averted, oh if doomsday averted, oh oh oh doomsday averted, oh doomsday averted, oh doomsday averted, oh if doomsday averted, oh oh oh
This letter you get it, You burn it, Forget it It's not what I meant to say You might think me a scapegrace Really a fugitive in decay I exist here on
This is "The Story of My Captivity by Savages," or "How I Learned to Fight" by Eliza Elizabeth Cook, age 13 Writ in my own hand
I never want to be seen as cheap, But I saw the tears in his eyes And I thought, "That's sweet." I tried on all of my little jokes. I muscle in, throw
A happy start a sad, sad ending For every minute of the story See as their wills are broke and bending Save the good girls in their glory A primary academy
I carry a secret message That I must give to you. It concerns suspicious blessings, Now i am sure you'll know what to do But if it should be some bad
He lives under the banyon tree When I'm in trouble, he helps me I hear him creep through the leaves at night His flesh is pink, but his fur is bright
Ooh, it's scrambled eggs what he says He accuses me of treachery Got the nine lies, got the wide eyes Got a failing grade in chemistry If you count back
