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The only place you will be accepted is the place you make for yourself.

Holly Lisle in Fire In The Mist, 1992
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi

Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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That Which I Do Not Know

How do I know what I know?
I've accepted faith as my reward,
For understanding.
I've accepted the experience of stumbling...
And not allow defeat,
To stop an ability I have to get back on my feet!
I've accepted humiliation to assist in my self evaluation.
I've accepted criticsms of all kinds.
I've accepted heartbreak to mend any bitterness.
With a forgiveness that God will defend...
And correct misdeeds done!
How do I know what I know?
I know I did not bleed without pain!
I know I did not recover from wounds alone.
I know I don't have all the answers!
And that was the beginning...
Of knowing something I could not debate.
It is what it is.
And could not be what it is not!
How do I know what I know?
That which I do not know...
I do not!
And I will admit,
I am prepared to learn.
'That' I choose not to stop!
I am not living my life to hide from it!
Or deny what it has to offer.
I do observe some fantasizing pain.
I am not that advanced!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Pieces Now Connecting

So happy am I now to live,
To have a mind free.
And the pieces now connecting,
Did not come to fit...
To snuggle,
Perfectly for me to see.
Or feel deep.

Oh so happy am I to have a mind,
Peacefully freed.
And it didn't come to happen,
Easily accepted...
As I thought a peace of mind,
For me...
Would come to be.

I thought all troubles came to be expected.
And easily for me to accept.
I even thought my head was only made to ache.
And easily I accepted.
I thought my life was meant to fear,
And easily I accepted.
With a living in pain to gain...
To easily accept,
And...
To keep it near.

Oh so happy am I to have a mind,
Peacefully freed.
And it didn't come to happen,
Easily accepted...
As I thought a peace of mind,
Would come to be.
For me.

Yes so happy am I now to live,
To have a mind free.
And the pieces now connecting,
Did not come to fit...
To snuggle,
Perfectly for me to see.
Or feel deep.

But now...
Perfectly for me to see.
And I feel deep,
Is a peace...
Within me as it's meant,
To be.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Groove By Groove

A gift
......... is not a gift
..................until accepted

A gift
...........of me to you
..................if accepted

A gift
...........of you to me
..................if accepted

A gift
............of we
..................when accepted

That’s love (Our Love)

July 07,2008

poem by Ben Gieske
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Second Book

TIMES followed one another. Came a morn
I stood upon the brink of twenty years,
And looked before and after, as I stood
Woman and artist,–either incomplete,
Both credulous of completion. There I held
The whole creation in my little cup,
And smiled with thirsty lips before I drank,
'Good health to you and me, sweet neighbour mine
And all these peoples.'
I was glad, that day;
The June was in me, with its multitudes
Of nightingales all singing in the dark,
And rosebuds reddening where the calyx split.
I felt so young, so strong, so sure of God!
So glad, I could not choose be very wise!
And, old at twenty, was inclined to pull
My childhood backward in a childish jest
To see the face of't once more, and farewell!
In which fantastic mood I bounded forth
At early morning,–would not wait so long
As even to snatch my bonnet by the strings,
But, brushing a green trail across the lawn
With my gown in the dew, took will and way
Among the acacias of the shrubberies,
To fly my fancies in the open air
And keep my birthday, till my aunt awoke
To stop good dreams. Meanwhile I murmured on,
As honeyed bees keep humming to themselves;
'The worthiest poets have remained uncrowned
Till death has bleached their foreheads to the bone,
And so with me it must be, unless I prove
Unworthy of the grand adversity,–
And certainly I would not fail so much.
What, therefore, if I crown myself to-day
In sport, not pride, to learn the feel of it,
Before my brows be numb as Dante's own
To all the tender pricking of such leaves?
Such leaves? what leaves?'
I pulled the branches down,
To choose from.
'Not the bay! I choose no bay;
The fates deny us if we are overbold:
Nor myrtle–which means chiefly love; and love
Is something awful which one dare not touch
So early o' mornings. This verbena strains
The point of passionate fragrance; and hard by,
This guelder rose, at far too slight a beck
Of the wind, will toss about her flower-apples.
Ah–there's my choice,–that ivy on the wall,
That headlong ivy! not a leaf will grow

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
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The Course Of Time. Book X.

God of my fathers! holy, just, and good!
My God! my Father! my unfailing Hope!
Jehovah! let the incense of my praise,
Accepted, burn before thy mercy seat,
And in thy presence burn both day and night.
Maker! Preserver! my Redeemer! God!
Whom have I in the heavens but Thee alone?
On earth, but Thee, whom should I praise, whom love?
For Thou hast brought me hitherto, upheld
By thy omnipotence; and from thy grace,
Unbought, unmerited, though not unsought—
The wells of thy salvation, hast refreshed
My spirit, watering it, at morn and even!
And by thy Spirit, which thou freely givest
To whom thou wilt, hast led my venturous song,
Over the vale, and mountain tract, the light
And shade of man; into the burning deep
Descending now, and now circling the mount,
Where highest sits Divinity enthroned;
Rolling along the tide of fluent thought,
The tide of moral, natural, divine;
Gazing on past, and present, and again,
On rapid pinion borne, outstripping Time,
In long excursion, wandering through the groves
Unfading, and the endless avenues,
That shade the landscape of eternity;
And talking there with holy angels met,
And future men, in glorious vision seen!
Nor unrewarded have I watched at night,
And heard the drowsy sound of neighbouring sleep;
New thought, new imagery, new scenes of bliss
And glory, unrehearsed by mortal tongue,
Which, unrevealed, I trembling, turned and left,
Bursting at once upon my ravished eye,
With joy unspeakable, have filled my soul,
And made my cup run over with delight;
Though in my face, the blasts of adverse winds,
While boldly circumnavigating man,
Winds seeming adverse, though perhaps not so,
Have beat severely; disregarded beat,
When I behind me heard the voice of God,
And his propitious Spirit say,—Fear not.
God of my fathers! ever present God!
This offering more inspire, sustain, accept;
Highest, if numbers answer to the theme;
Best answering if thy Spirit dictate most.
Jehovah! breathe upon my soul; my heart
Enlarge; my faith increase; increase my hope;
My thoughts exalt; my fancy sanctify,
And all my passions, that I near thy throne

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Pollok
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The Ghost - Book IV

Coxcombs, who vainly make pretence
To something of exalted sense
'Bove other men, and, gravely wise,
Affect those pleasures to despise,
Which, merely to the eye confined,
Bring no improvement to the mind,
Rail at all pomp; they would not go
For millions to a puppet-show,
Nor can forgive the mighty crime
Of countenancing pantomime;
No, not at Covent Garden, where,
Without a head for play or player,
Or, could a head be found most fit,
Without one player to second it,
They must, obeying Folly's call,
Thrive by mere show, or not at all
With these grave fops, who, (bless their brains!)
Most cruel to themselves, take pains
For wretchedness, and would be thought
Much wiser than a wise man ought,
For his own happiness, to be;
Who what they hear, and what they see,
And what they smell, and taste, and feel,
Distrust, till Reason sets her seal,
And, by long trains of consequences
Insured, gives sanction to the senses;
Who would not (Heaven forbid it!) waste
One hour in what the world calls Taste,
Nor fondly deign to laugh or cry,
Unless they know some reason why;
With these grave fops, whose system seems
To give up certainty for dreams,
The eye of man is understood
As for no other purpose good
Than as a door, through which, of course,
Their passage crowding, objects force,
A downright usher, to admit
New-comers to the court of Wit:
(Good Gravity! forbear thy spleen;
When I say Wit, I Wisdom mean)
Where (such the practice of the court,
Which legal precedents support)
Not one idea is allow'd
To pass unquestion'd in the crowd,
But ere it can obtain the grace
Of holding in the brain a place,
Before the chief in congregation
Must stand a strict examination.
Not such as those, who physic twirl,
Full fraught with death, from every curl;

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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Put Me First

I accepted
that you did not put me first.
But you kept
putting me last. All the time.
Last
was the last place I wanted to be.
I once wanted
to be put first. By someone. Sometime.

I accepted that you
did not put me first.
But last
was a place, that I could not, bear to be.
Last was a place,
that ones true love, cannot placed be.
Ones true love,
is someone we run to, have to see.

I accepted that you did not
put me first.
But you
did not love me enough my love.
You neglected me,
rejected me, when me you did not see.
Therefore you
are going to lose my love.

Do not
forever try my sacrifice love.
Or else
I shall die, when I say goodbye, my love.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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To Play the Games

In a special place, in peace they met, they met again.
Far, far from the curse of violence, a place of peace.
Cultivated to propagate comraderie,
Through peaceful competition, garnering good will.
They came to play, from all places, to play the games.
With outstretched hand, they met,
broad warm, warm open smiles.
Renewing memories, they embraced,
light hearts, of past fond rapport.
Renewed friendships, and welcoming new friends.

Shadows of animosity, none to be found.
For the games it was, they came to play.
In contention peaceful, winter, summer,
they would play the games.
In these games, races to be run.
Feats of strength and skill performed.
Team and individual challenges.
Competition always fierce, without question.
Still winners all, losers not accepted.

With heart ‘n’ soul, all would compete.
Yet competition, ever friendly, always fair.
Without malice, losses accepted, but with grin.
Mutual admiration competitors shared.
The dedication required to attain excellence, all aware.
For all must fall, before they excelled.
Winners, runner’s up, last to complete the task.
To all, applause awarded.
With mixed emotion the norm, awards accepted.
Pride, humility, honor, apparent in all.
Respect for homelands represented, manifest,
whenever, they played the games.
Came the day, the games ceased.
Judgments rendered, awards all claimed.
Time at last to tread the homeward path.
Fond farewells, smiles ‘n’ tears mixed.
‘Til to play the games, they meet once more.

20Feb10

poem by Kurt Hearth
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Paradise Lost: Book X

Thus they in lowliest plight repentant stood
Praying, for from the Mercie-seat above
Prevenient Grace descending had remov'd
The stonie from thir hearts, and made new flesh
Regenerat grow instead, that sighs now breath'd
Unutterable, which the Spirit of prayer
Inspir'd, and wing'd for Heav'n with speedier flight
Then loudest Oratorie: yet thir port
Not of mean suiters, nor important less
Seem'd thir Petition, then when th' ancient Pair
In Fables old, less ancient yet then these,
Deucalion and chaste Pyrrha to restore
The Race of Mankind drownd, before the Shrine
Of Themis stood devout. To Heav'n thir prayers
Flew up, nor missed the way, by envious windes
Blow'n vagabond or frustrate: in they passd
Dimentionless through Heav'nly dores; then clad
With incense, where the Golden Altar fum'd,
By thir great Intercessor, came in sight
Before the Fathers Throne: Them the glad Son
Presenting, thus to intercede began.
See Father, what first fruits on Earth are sprung
From thy implanted Grace in Man, these Sighs
And Prayers, which in this Golden Censer, mixt
With Incense, I thy Priest before thee bring,
Fruits of more pleasing savour from thy seed
Sow'n with contrition in his heart, then those
Which his own hand manuring all the Trees
Of Paradise could have produc't, ere fall'n
From innocence. Now therefore bend thine eare
To supplication, heare his sighs though mute;
Unskilful with what words to pray, let mee
Interpret for him, mee his Advocate
And propitiation, all his works on mee
Good or not good ingraft, my Merit those
Shall perfet, and for these my Death shall pay.
Accept me, and in mee from these receave
The smell of peace toward Mankinde, let him live
Before thee reconcil'd, at least his days
Numberd, though sad, till Death, his doom (which I
To mitigate thus plead, not to reverse)
To better life shall yeeld him, where with mee
All my redeemd may dwell in joy and bliss,
Made one with me as I with thee am one.
To whom the Father, without Cloud, serene.
All thy request for Man, accepted Son,
Obtain, all thy request was my Decree:
But longer in that Paradise to dwell,
The Law I gave to Nature him forbids:
Those pure immortal Elements that know

[...] Read more

poem by John Milton
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Up and down

The accepted are rejected
And the rejected are accepted
In due course. Curse not
If you are not now accepted.
28.04.2002, Pakd

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Breakthrough

I wish I was speaking to influence,
The undoing of perceptions.
And commanded distribution,
Of everything new, accepted and believed.

I wish we all had invested,
Our priorities in uplifting all humanity.
To realize the true wealth we have...
Is not in the value placed on 'things'.
But who we are as human beings.

I wish I was speaking to influence,
The undoing of perceptions.
And commanded distribution,
Of everything new, accepted and believed.

I wish one day we all should awaken...
To witness pieces released from us,
That kept us in limitation debating a fate.
And with eyes opened,
There was a feeling of escape.
A breakthrough we knew we could not forsake.

I wish I was speaking to influence,
The undoing of perceptions.
And commanded distribution,
Of everything new, accepted and believed.
But then again...
I do remember,
How long it took for the deceit I sought...
To leave me...to see what it is to be clearly seen.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My Life to Live

I've been connected!
To every aspect of my life.
I myself accepted.
Regardless of who thought that wrong,
Or right!
From birth I've known the path I walk.
And stubbornly I kept my aim.
I was prepared for rumors and the talk...
Long before my name change,
To label and brand...
The quality of my game!
Played by my command!

Oh yes!
I've been connected!
To every aspect of my life.
I myself accepted.
I've been connected!
To every aspect of my life.
I myself accepted.
Regardless of who thought that wrong,
Or right!
This is my life to live!

What is it on my resumé,
You find it difficult to believe?
Hmmm...?
And I am just getting started!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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This Is the Kind of Life

We all interpret life,
On our own terms.
What is accepted...
Rejected and neglected,
Is a process that is taught.
This 'show and tell' conditioning,
Is learned and consciously sought!

We are born to believe,
What is fed to us.
This 'feeding' is received...
And what is perceived,
We with others retrieve with like minds!
Preferring to find those of the same kind,
With like 'experiences' shared without fear!

And fear keeps us all indoctrinated to accept doubt!
Isn't that what marketing peace is about?
With the realization it will never be found...
As we rely on the production of conflict and confusion,
To always be identified!
Knowing that as well as we do.
And hoping this in our lives stays around!

We all interpret life,
On our own terms.
What is accepted...
Rejected and neglected,
Is a process that is taught.
This 'show and tell' conditioning,
Is learned and consciously sought!
And is kept alive to thrive...
In comfort zones,
Until the day we die!

Leaving those who defy these 'truths'...
Spilling their guts out in confession booths.
Or squeezing themselves to sit in pews...
As they listen to hypocrites from pulpits preach,
To leech on minds already screwed and confused!

And this is the kind of life,
We all have come to love!
Listening to teachings,
That 'demons' from hell have no wings...
Allowing to be demoralized on Sunday,
Learning more about the devil...
As we hear these 'disciples' sing!

And this is the kind of life,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Black Hills: Sacred Tribal Land

Behold great and noble Government
Constitutional United States of America
gave the land to the tribe in perpetuity
gave back that which was already
theirs sacred tribal land of ancestors

that which was most precious birthright
which could not be bought owned sold
bestowed in ceremony upon parchment
but the white man spoke with fork tongue
broke treaty for yellow flakes of lust dirt

Treaty of Fort Laramie in 1868 confirmed
Lakota Sioux ownership of the Black Hills
to Cheyenne and Lakota these Black Hills
an island of trees in a sea of grass prairie
is axis mundi the sacred center of the world

Major General George Armstrong Custer
of 7th US Cavalry fame led an expedition
into sacred Black Hills in1874 Yellow Hair
discovered gold in French Creek gold fever
locusts thousands of miners swept into Hills

gold rush1875–1878 sparks Black Hills War
the last major Indian War on the Great Plains
Battles Powder River, Rosebud, Little Bighorn
Yellow Hair Custer 270 men killed 5 cavalry
companies were annihilated without survivors

in violation of the Treaty of Fort Laramie the
United States steals the Black Hills in 1876
after defeating the Cheyenne Lakota Arapaho
gold silver mines strike pay dirt Iron Horse comes
post Bighorn defeat army seizes horses weapons

of friendly agency Indians; January 1877 Crazy
Horse fights on at the Battle of Wolf Mountain
but shame surrenders follow two-thirds of all
Lakota; had settled at Indian agencies accepted
rations accepted subsistence life and did not fight

but the Lakota never accepted the validity of the
United States appropriation of the Black Hills and
continue to try to reclaim their property; July 1980
United States v. Sioux Nation of Indians; verdict
Supreme Stealing Court of the United States ruled

the Black Hills were illegally stolen; payment for
inconvenience caused? An offer of initial offering

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Friend's Suicides

A friend has commited suicide
many friends has left behind
many friends I use to hang around
but one major friend has gone

My one and only friend,
She has gone for along time
She made everyone cry
She made her friends do it
but never been listened

A friend has commited suicide
Many friends has left behind
Many friends I use to hang around
but one major friend has gone, and so am I

She left me behind
No-one didnt want her alive
she accepted death will do anything for her
she didnt believe everyone is going to be with her
she believe in suicide is the only way out

I, myself should go
many hated me for a reason
I learn what I did to learn
I will follow what I learn from them
hating is the people can think of

Friends should be loved and accepted
many suicide is for everything
but not for love and hate, it can be everything
this is why people and friends go
They accepted death is the only way out for them

poem by Hunter Kejick
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Unusual Love

Our desires flew like birds in the mornings
When we were waked by the bells of dreams
Hypnotized and ready for another round of living

We would walk down the street of a foreign city mesmerized
By our own history seen on the streets and in the gardens
Filled with exotic flowers and the grass; you loved the grass

You said you would teach me everything
I never found out really what but I accepted you as mentor
To learn whatever might be

I accepted the usual, but unusual, ways of life
And lived a life I never thought I would.
It became a typhoon passing through paradise.

You accepted my gifts but perhaps not my ideas
I thought I knew you
Although I hardly knew if I knew myself;

I learned to accept your unusual, but usual, ways
Your strange thoughts about living and dreaming and mixing living with dreams
I learned to like your usual ways of presenting unusual desires

What about psychology?
There is no way to analyze the working of the brain machine,
Working billions of cells, transmitters, and neutrons

Flying, fighting, competing
How do ideas come to life?
That was another hard question.

I was not able to find out anything about anything,
Except that I was alive and felt alive and yet felt dead as well;
I watched rain, fog, horses, birds, and trees, and I watched the blue;

I really loved watching the blue every day;
You loved the same, although maybe for different reasons;
Maybe we loved each other for different reasons too.

Did we hate each other?
I felt I hated you not a few times.
Did you hate me? Maybe you did as well sometimes

And maybe you still hate me
When you think of that July when the blue was everywhere
With the white dot in the middle, shining like the first time

When everything was green
And you were glistening in the middle of the blue, the green, the summer,

[...] Read more

poem by Dejan Stojanovic
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Through the eyes of a Field Coronet (Epic)

Introduction

In the kaki coloured tent in Umbilo he writes
his life’s story while women, children and babies are dying,
slowly but surely are obliterated, he see how his nation is suffering
while the events are notched into his mind.

Lying even heavier on him is the treason
of some other Afrikaners who for own gain
have delivered him, to imprisonment in this place of hatred
and thoughts go through him to write a book.

Prologue

The Afrikaner nation sprouted
from Dutchmen,
who fought decades without defeat
against the super power Spain

mixed with French Huguenots
who left their homes and belongings,
with the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
Associate this then with the fact

that these people fought formidable
for seven generations
against every onslaught that they got
from savages en wild animals

becoming marksmen, riding
and taming wild horses
with one bullet per day
to hunt a wild antelope,

who migrated right across the country
over hills in mass protest
and then you have
the most formidable adversary
and then let them fight

in a natural wilderness
where the hunter,
the sniper and horseman excels
and any enemy is at a lost.

Let them then also be patriotic
into their souls,
believe in and read
out of the word of God

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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Prince Of Darkness

My place is of the sun and this place is of the dark
And I do not feel the romance I do not catch the spark
My place is of the sun and this place is of the dark
And I do not feel the romance I do not catch the spark
I dont know when I noticed life was life at my expense
The words of my heart lined up like prisoners on a fence
The dreams came in like needy children tugging at my sleeve
I said I have no way of feeding you, so leave
But there was a time I asked my father for a dollar
And he gave it a ten dollar raise
And when I needed my mother and I called her
She stayed with me for days
Now someones on the telephone, desperate in his pain
Someones on the bathroom floor doing her cocaine
Someones got his finger on the button in some room
No one can convince me we arent gluttons for our doom
But I tried to make this place my place
I asked for providence to smile upon me with his sweet face
Yeah but Ill tell you
My place is of the sun and this place is of the dark
And I do not feel the romance I do not catch the spark
My place is of the sun and this place is of the dark
(by grace, my sight grows stronger)
And I do not feel the romance I will not be
(and I will not be a pawn for the prince of darkness any longer)
Maybe theres no haven in this world for tender age
My heart beat like the wings of wild birds in a cage
My greatest hope my greatest cause to grieve
And my heart flew from its cage and it bled upon my sleeve
Oh the cries of passion were like wounds that needed healing
I couldnt hear them for the thunder
I was half the naked distance between hell and heavens ceiling
And he almost pulled me under
Now someones on the telephone, desperate in his pain
Someones on the bathroom floor doing her cocaine
Someones got his finger on the button in some room
No one can convince me we arent gluttons for our doom
But I tried to make this place my place
I asked for providence to smile upon me with his sweet face
But Ill tell you
My place is of the sun and this place is of the dark
And I do not feel the romance I do not catch the spark
My place is of the sun and this place is of the dark
(by grace, my sight grows stronger)
And I do not feel the romance I do not catch the spark
(grows stronger)
By grace
(my place is of the sun)
My sight
(and this place is of the dark)

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song performed by Indigo Girls
Added by Lucian Velea
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Scared Of Girls

An introverted kinda soul,
The earth did open,
Swallow whole,
Careenin,
Careenin,
Careenin,
Careenin,
Her next of kin who lived in sin,
Was asking God to let her in,
Careenin,
Careenin,
Careenin,
Careenin,
Im a man, a liar,
Guaranteed in your bed,
I gotta place it on the rack,
Got a place inside it,
Got a place inside it,
Got a place inside it,
An extroverted kinda girl,
Did tour the world with mc5,
Careenin,
Careenin,
Careenin,
Careenin,
Her younger sister, had a blister
Where I kissed her on her thigh
Careenin,
Careenin,
Careenin,
Careenin,
Im a man a liar
Guaranteed in your bed,
I gotta place it on the rack,
Got a place inside it,
Im a man a liar
Guaranteed in your bed,
I gotta place it on the rack,
Got a place inside it,
Got a place inside it,
Got a place inside it,
Im a man a liar
Get into your bed,
I gotta place it on the rack,
Got a place inside it,
Im a man a liar
Guaranteed in your bed,
I gotta place it on the rack,
I got a place inside it,
Im a man a liar

[...] Read more

song performed by Placebo
Added by Lucian Velea
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