The Current

We live in the current.
UPDATED by newspapers, 
falling forward through time,
reminded of Brown’s mishaps,
pulled through the sway,
notified of new circumstances,
deeper amongst each other,
new facebook friends added
then thrown outwards for a 
To be called back to work,
Resume the flow with each other,
We live in the current.

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So you grew?

So did I. 

It seemed it would never go,

That life lasted forever,

and maybe it does, 

If you’re reading this,

You’re not dead.

That’s just an assumption though,

For who can say

That the dead don’t read,

speak, or be?

Not one of us, for none of us know death.

And some say they can communicate with those deceased.

Some people see ghosts.

We don’t know where the end is.

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DISCLAIMER: you might punch your mum in the face after/during listening

The Vlubbery Blob

The vallajuated vlumptuor of unreported glumptuos taste,
Transferred inexplicably large amounts of heroin across the northern alps.
To find a certain man was why, this valumptuos blob tore through the sky
It planted itself and its beak upon rooted, grassland and shrubs and foxes and hornets.

No one knows yet how today, it managed that journey,
All the way.

He sailed to kingdom come and back, to find this man he followed his tracks.
An evil mansion, tall as a house, stood forebodingly in front of the valumptuous
And half heartedly, disheartendly it sobbed, “can i go through with this and see the guy
Who I have travelled for and not once caught eye,
Oh God I must see him die!
I cannot forgive this wonderful guy.”

So forward he slobbed, feeling sick as a dog, for he knew not what perils for him lay in stock.
A creaky door opened, entering a beam of light,
Where too blubbery blob blocky’s eyes were in sight.
A fast roll attempt, a varjuvalated roar!
"This man’s eyes will be seeing no mooarh!"
But he found himself entered, to a bottomless draw.

He lay in cold starck wasteland, invisible along with his pitch black surroundings.
Noises, thumps, muffled crumps could be pictured along with his tomb.
For whence would he be retrieved with glee and moulded and shaped and crafted
And fly to those northern alps once more, where forever he would be plastered

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The wash conserves its guilt inside the sordid container in which I found the artery of all inside the ground’s decay. The complete abduction of a citizen will never fully take place lest the Zargul empire from the planet Jupiter come down and say it’s alright. Never again will Zulf defeat the arbitrary hero of a never-forgotten time, upon which my hardly ending rhyme was always a question upon his mind. But rhyme doesn’t always matter and the mid can further itself in flattering conversations with abominations so dark and deep down they urge themselves up to crush the weak, the wicked, the fools and finally rest upon their unearthed tools. Did Hideo Kojima say this was ok? playing metal gear solid through the middle of the day oh I’m sure he leads legions of young ones astray, but what does it matter lest the man get his pay. In seething artichokal evidence of random acts of benevolence I will find it hard to recompense knowing my sins were never proved in evidence. We now take all the prevalence in assuming we are deligates in an assumption based on renaissance where my mind won’t fit the edge of it’s a new town, another one, a new round, go bother one. The edge is fine this time and I’m here.

Please take this hat to commandeer.  

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uplifting melodies to warm your tired souls, or rest your waking bones.
link to my newgrounds page. check it for more!

if you want to use this or any other songs of mine, let me know!

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