Monday, June 13, 2011

Decapitation Classic #3

So I think I'm just going to dump Decapitation Classic in toto onto this blog here. It's happier here, I daresay.

What am I talking about? Here's an entry that explains it. And here are two more of the, ahem, 'poems'.

“A City is Destroyed”

A city is destroyed in every part:
Pregnant women artists come here to appear angular
Serving naked in Paris, then adhere fully to the devil,
but only white is right, and streets bright as gold
Metal, charming and full of energy almost under the eyes
Of the summer sun, one or two of rest in the chair
Or consider a new eye color to judge the world
According to its feet with female characters in the knee
To avoid elimination from the Slider to work free.
Better yet, in lottery revenues and the fear of God
Some people say, "The secret devil here and abroad
Dusts the Bible before going past the door."
But for those brave people who sacrifice their pride,
It seems a shame, gold, silver and precious stones.

I have shoes that are Marie Antoinette,
And walk on hot stones and burning sun.
We would set about to shoot him, and I got very light
And magic, and jumping rope to reduce the occupation.
But often your mind, as well as the deck, is empty,
with the ceiling removed pink light can not skim through.
We care little for the church records: we had visited Paris
Where they discuss the cutting of the Saints
And women without the veil here in the clouds:
scores of women, most are young and happy, and patient.
All disappear from the window and fly to the site
Representative for the fire, His name seems to have escaped
With their deeds, the four pillars falling on horns,
And a pillar of stone in Egypt, and the twisted snake.

When we entered the door to pay for a night,
An angel seemed to play the guitar, and I'm sure
The dolls vary greatly; their device is more interesting items
In any system of celestial beings, the environment and land
Are well guarded, as are children under the trees before them.
what a wonderful victory here, and I can not understand.
If it was under the shirt, he was transferred by air to the right,
And her thin face wore the old meetings in the gates.
Three main colors hang in disputes over the environment,
Even the shadow of snow in Russia now only leads to the meat.
With arms spread and mouth open wide, all is great boredom.
the right mix to pull, mouth open when the clock started.
Fly girl, rich colors and dust, and the link with cabbage white.
including a really good horse, and a really good woman
who can give the child a fear of horses.

He turned around, without making any progress,
While fifty of the dolls were a window period.
As it will end up trying to understand Infinity,
I must admit that I got up quickly.
His example seemed to melt into the walls,
Setting the black river in his hands.
It was big and dark, and solved our problems seriously
In my eyes, I felt cold in my bones.
How many people smile for a day, eyes full of tears' colors?
Point your face from us, risk his hat in public,
Show a very sensitive issue behind her bald head.
He was very nice and love the country illegally
His name was written in blood without epitaph.
The candles are still hot in his grave.
"I want my ashes to rest on the bank of the Seine
At the heart of the French people that love you."
Details about 'A City is Destroyed' can be found here.

“The Death of Jesus”

Now, the death of Jesus: I and others should fight for God.
It's a miracle, but close our eyes and breathe: body parts down to the eye.
It was night, when teachers come to know from birth on our roads.
However, hate can not eat; he can not force them to try.
New forms allow any sun to know. I fear teachers. But do not fear me.
Stop God and use a voice. Ready to talk about wolves, because we have guns.
A series of falling glass we see around us. Other pipelines and dreams of profit.
Perhaps a depreciation, for the murder of snow is full of fear.
Weapons? No knife to kill a wolf howling in front of Rome.
Blood will dance with your fingers, follow your fingers deep down.
He and I are a large Bowie knife through security, through the mirror I think.
I do not understand men in the basket, creating a problem.
I cry because I see things have changed: I threw away the sun.
Flash has won the way they should; the left fingers were burned in the blood.
Smile and say, we witnessed the suffering of my heart.
Discomfort and pain with a smile. And a quiet, elegant gentleman died.
Details about 'The Death of Jesus' can be found here.

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