a wise crank is a wise crack

spirits are a wise crank
spirits are a wise crack of a crank
a wise crack is a wise crank
a wise crack is a wise soul
a crack soul,a crack spirit,a wise crack
a crack spirit is a crack soul
a spirit is a spirit of a crack soul

a shadow is a shadow of a shadowy
a shadow is a shadowy of a wise crack
a shadowy is a shadowy of science
a shadow science is a shadowy of a shadowy
science is a shadow of a wise crack
science is a wise crank
a wise crack is a wise science

minus the soul,plus the body

my way or the highway
my way or the heartache
my way or minus the highway
my way or minus the heartache
minus the heartache,minus the highway
minus the soul,minus the heartache
minus the soul,plus the soul

minus the soul,plus the heartache
the mind,body is a plus of the soul
minus the soul,minus the body,plus the mind
plus the mind,plus the body,minus the soul
minus the soul is plus the body
the soul is at peace with the mind
the soul is at peace with the body

fake souls

In this hyper materialist era
We find ourselves in
Is there such a thing as a true soul?

Or have we all become
Nothing but fake souls
The rights to our souls
Long ago sold

To the evil masters of the universe
The secret programmers
Of this cosmic video game
We all live in

And our dear leader
Donald Trump
Has a fake soul

As he acts like he is robot
Trying to fake real human emotions
And usually failing miserably

The colour of my soul

by viyer

I am a star in the sky, I shudder as I gaze at the earth

Not long past I belonged there, but I am indeed free today

One with the stars and the sky, staring down at the ground and rye

Steeped in profound elation, for it is indeed the end of my damnation!

The colour of my soul is one with the sky

Shaped by the eternal goodness of the rye

Bexhill, 1866

Now, when the catkins of the hazel swing
Wither'd above the leafy nook wherein
The chaffinch breasts her five blue speckled eggs,
All round the thorn grows fragrant, white with may,
And underneath the fresh wild hyacinthbed
Shimmers like water in the whispering wind;
Now, on this sweet still gloaming of the spring,
Within my cottage by the sea, I sit,
Thinking of yonder city where I dwelt,
Wherein I sicken'd, and whereof I learn'
So much that dwells like music on my brain,
A melancholy happiness is mine!

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