September 2011
18 posts
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The Fire
When is it that the fire unites
Of tongue jumps spark, and into the light.
Embers swallowed by starving ears
Appears, beast hidden beneath woe
Those bathed of purple ought tremble; fear.
Those mayn’t roe over cries unheard.
Quiet need, flushed and inflamed,
Those disposed, revolution may reign.
To sit in solemn silence in a dull, dark dock, In a pestilential prison, with a life-long lock, Awaiting the sensation of a short, sharp shock, From a cheap and chippy chopper on a big black block. --- W S Gilbert
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SHENANIGANS
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