Related quotes
Beginning of destruction
pride it’s all your fault
Pride it’s all your fault we in this mess
Pride it’s all your fault we are suffering
Pride it’s all your fault people are shedding blood
Pride it’s all your fault families are destroyed
Pride it’s all your fault people are so greedy and selfish
Pride it’s all your fault people have no love
Pride it’s all your fault are so jealous of each other
Pride it’s all your fault people are so lost
Pride it’s all your fault dying from this horrible diseases
Pride it’s all your fault we have so many orphans
Pride it’s all your fault people are betraying each other
Pride it’s all your fault are dying of hunger
Pride it’s all your fault fathers are sleeping with their children
Pride it’s all your fault people are so heartless
Pride it’s all your fault there is no peace, unity and harmony in this world
Pride it’s all your fault we have all this sorrow
Pride it’s all your fault God has rejected us
Pride it’s all your fault people are so evil
And they have decided to be in love with evil rather than good
You have ruined this world
You are to blame for all this misery
If lucifer did not have pride in his heart we wouldn’t be in this mess
Pride it all your fault! ! !
Vangile Mtyali
poem by Vangile Mtyali
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The hunger
the hunger thinks the rice
can chew both skin and bone
the hunger thinks it's nice
to eat although forlorn
the hunger thinks the corn
can swallow ears and eyes
deaf blind hunger born
self eaten within it dies
the hunger thinks the food
is just a body's unfair breath
the hunger knows the interlude
no food the body eats itself
the hunger thinks the body rotten
is just a place to survive and eat
the hunger of the lost and forgotten
makes its way to the last heart beat
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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23 (skidoo)
Moldy grows the fig.
I will eat it anyway,
the moldy old fig.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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D12
i agree
that if from the moldy
bread they
produce penicillin
what more from
'out of you '
can they bring?
you are not
the moldy bread
i supposed
i wish i am.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Corn Circles
Corn circles
Appearing all over the land
Corn circles
Appearing all over the land
Nobody knows where they come from
Nobody understands
Corn circles
Mysterious symbols in the fields
Corn circles
Mysterious symbols in the fields
No one knows - are they phony
Or maybe are they real?
Corn circles!
Corn circles!
Corn circles
Is somebody playing a trick?
Corn circles
Pixies, witches, hoaxers
Take your pick
Throw a few theories out there
See what sticks!
Corn circles!
Corn circles!
Corn circles
Patterns in the gold
Corn circles
Pretty patterns in the gold
Like something out of the future
Or something very old
Corn circles!
Corn circles!
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From Hunger
Its never your fault, sweet mother
That I was raised in the days
Of the house-husband craze
But the taste of your loving udder
Was replaced by another
Dried cow puss and rubber
And now a hunger still thrives
A hunger that Ive never satisfied
Im fumbling through life
From hunger
I writhe for someone
With a place I can hide my eyes
Im searching for a mighty heart
Housed with a mighty crest
And from this base of operation
I would pacify the nation
But then who would rely
On a boob such as i
Ill be anyones twit
For a mouthful of tittie
And still that hunger will thrive
A hunger that Ive never satisfied
Im fumbling through life
From hunger
I writhe for someone
With a place I can hide my eyes
And Ive got big eyes
For someone
With a place I can hide these eyes
And that aint all
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Women's song of the corn
How beautiful are the corn rows,
Stretching to the morning sun,
Stretching to the evening sun.
Very beautiful, the long rows of corn.
How beautiful is the white corn,
I husk it,
I grind it.
Very beautiful, my white corn.
How beautiful is the red corn,
I gather it and make fine meal,
I am glad doing this.
Very beautiful, my red corn.
How beautiful is the black corn,
I give it to my father,
To my mother,
I give it to my child.
Very beautiful, the black corn.
How beautiful is the mottled corn,
Like the sky with little clouds,
I eat it looking at the sky.
Very beautiful, my mottled corn.
poem by Amy Lowell
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Works Of Art
Corn Circles scattered across our land,
Are they by aliens, or by humans planned,
Patterns so intricate, they so amaze,
Is it a hostile message, or just a craze.
There seems no answer to this weird event,
No wonder the farmers, feel such torment,
Whether they appear from outer space,
Or are created by our own earthly race.
One day the fields are all high with corn,
Next day one finds a design is born,
But they really are such works of art,
Even if someone is trying to outsmart,
Us all!
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Wanting, not the want is the cause.
Hunger for porridge, hunger for desserts,
Or hunger for wine makes one steal.
Hunger for shelter, hunger for power,
Or hunger for sex makes one steal.
Hunger dies not. So is the stealing.
19.04.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Harvest Song
I am a reaper whose muscles set at sundown. All my oats are cradled.
But I am too chilled, and too fatigued to bind them.
And I hunger.
I crack a grain between my teeth. I do not taste it.
I have been in the fields all day. My throat is dry.
I hunger.
My eyes are caked with dust of oatfields at harvest-time.
I am a blind man who stares across the hills, seeking stack'd fields of other harvesters.
It would be good to see them . . crook'd, split, and iron-ring'd handles of the scythes. It would be good to see them, dust-caked and blind. I hunger.
(Dusk is a strange fear'd sheath their blades are dull'd in.)
My throat is dry. And should I call, a cracked grain like the oats...eoho--
I fear to call. What should they hear me, and offer me their grain, oats, or wheat, or corn? I have been in the fields all day. I fear I could not taste it. I fear knowledge of my hunger.
My ears are caked with dust of oatfields at harvest-time.
I am a deaf man who strains to hear the calls of other harvesters whose throats are also dry.
It would be good to hear their songs . . reapers of the sweet-stalk'd cane, cutters of the corn...even though their throats cracked and the strangeness of their voices deafened me.
I hunger. My throat is dry. Now that the sun has set and I am chilled, I fear to call. (Eoho, my brothers!)
I am a reaper. (Eoho!) All my oats are cradled.
But I am too fatigued to bind them. And I hunger.
I crack a grain. It has no taste to it.
My throat is dry...
O my brothers, I beat my palms, still soft, against the stubble of my harvesting. (You beat your soft palms, too.) My pain is sweet. Sweeter than the oats or wheat or corn. It will not bring me knowledge of my hunger.
poem by Jean Toomer
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It's My Fault
Everything is my fault
I am guilty for everything
Even for loving you
Which of course was a bad thing
You broke my heart
Not only with one girl but three girls
It's my fault
I am not everything you want and need
It's my fault
I can't be like her
I am sorry
It's My fault
poem by Makayla Straight
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I am not hungry
I am not hungry
Hunger is not mine
I am free from hunger.
Hunger is a butterfly
Come to it and welcome it
Wonderland you reach
Without hunger
You could not move an inch
And how you changed yourself
Hunger will tell
Wait a minute.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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No Fault In Women
No fault in women, to refuse
The offer which they most would chuse.
--No fault: in women, to confess
How tedious they are in their dress;
--No fault in women, to lay on
The tincture of vermilion;
And there to give the cheek a dye
Of white, where Nature doth deny.
--No fault in women, to make show
Of largeness, when they're nothing so;
When, true it is, the outside swells
With inward buckram, little else.
--No fault in women, though they be
But seldom from suspicion free;
--No fault in womankind at all,
If they but slip, and never fall.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Stinky, Moldy Cheese
In my house there is a slice...
Of stinky cheese
In my house there is some chedder
Though staying far from it might be better
In my house there's a piece
Of stinky, moldy mozzarela cheese
In my house there are many things
But nothing can top stinky, moldy cheese
There is a whisperer who tells me many things
'Hey miss...'
'Don't go near the swiss! '
You're so lucky this cheese...
Isn't yours
poem by Kristy Wisser
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Its Moldy Now
[parody of hold me now by the thompson twins]
I had a pizza,
Covered with cheese.
I wrapped it all up in aluminum foil,
Stuck it back in the freeze.
Look at my crust now,
See what I mean.
Its getting all wrinkled,
And my pepperoni is hairy and green.
Ah, cause its moldy now,
It got moldy fast.
How can i
Make leftovers last, make leftovers last?
I was so hungry,
What could I do?
I finished the pizza
And topped it all off with some mystery stew.
Now I feel kinda queasy,
Yeah, yeah, what can I say?
So I called my physician
To wish him that hed make a house call today.
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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