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Michael Owen isn't the tallest of lads, but his height more than makes up for that.

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Give Your Heart To The Hawks

1 he apples hung until a wind at the equinox,

That heaped the beach with black weed, filled the dry grass

Under the old trees with rosy fruit.

In the morning Fayne Fraser gathered the sound ones into a

basket,

The bruised ones into a pan. One place they lay so thickly
She knelt to reach them.

Her husband's brother passing
Along the broken fence of the stubble-field,
His quick brown eyes took in one moving glance
A little gopher-snake at his feet flowing through the stubble
To gain the fence, and Fayne crouched after apples
With her mop of red hair like a glowing coal
Against the shadow in the garden. The small shapely reptile
Flowed into a thicket of dead thistle-stalks
Around a fence-post, but its tail was not hidden.
The young man drew it all out, and as the coil
Whipped over his wrist, smiled at it; he stepped carefully
Across the sag of the wire. When Fayne looked up
His hand was hidden; she looked over her shoulder
And twitched her sunburnt lips from small white teeth
To answer the spark of malice in his eyes, but turned
To the apples, intent again. Michael looked down
At her white neck, rarely touched by the sun,
But now the cinnabar-colored hair fell off from it;
And her shoulders in the light-blue shirt, and long legs like a boy's
Bare-ankled in blue-jean trousers, the country wear;
He stooped quietly and slipped the small cool snake
Up the blue-denim leg. Fayne screamed and writhed,
Clutching her thigh. 'Michael, you beast.' She stood up
And stroked her leg, with little sharp cries, the slender invader
Fell down her ankle.

Fayne snatched for it and missed;


Michael stood by rejoicing, his rather small

Finely cut features in a dance of delight;

Fayne with one sweep flung at his face

All the bruised and half-spoiled apples in the pan,

[...] Read more

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This Friendly World

R.E.M., Andy, Tony---This Friendly World
ANDY: Hi, Michael.
MICHAEL: Hi, Andy. Thanks for joining us. Do you
wanna ... you wanna sing a song together?
ANDY: Sure! Is it a sweet song?
MICHAEL: Yeah, it's real sweet.
ANDY: O.K.!
[They laugh.]
MICHAEL:
In this friendly, friendly world
With each day so full of joy
Why should any heart be lonely?
ANDY: My turn!
In this friendly, friendly world
With each night so full of dreams
Why should any heart be afraid?
The world is ...
MICHAEL ANDY:
... such a wonderful place
To wander through
When you've got someone you love
MICHAEL:
To wander along with you
ANDY: O.K., now take every second word! With ...
MICHAEL: ... the ...
ANDY: ... sky ...
MICHAEL: ... so ...
ANDY: ... full ...
MICHAEL: ... of ...
ANDY: ... stars
MICHAEL: And ...
ANDY: ... the ...
MICHAEL: ... river ...
ANDY: ... so ...
MICHAEL: ... full ...
ANDY: ... of ...
MICHAEL: ... song, Every ...
ANDY: ... heart ...
MICHAEL: ... should ...
ANDY: ... be ...
MICHAEL: ... so ...
ANDY: ... thankful
It's a friendly world! Don't you think so, Michael?
MICHAEL: Yup!
TONY: Oh yeah?! What's so friendly about it?!!
This is Tony Clifton, and, and I demand a part in
this song! I'm just as big a part of the movie as
these guys are! And, and I will not sit back while
some sought-after Colonel Kurtz wanna-be, uh, uh
has his day in the sun! I think he's enough

[...] Read more

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G.K. Chesterton

To St. Michael in Time of Peace

Michael, Michael: Michael of the Morning,
Michael of the Army of the Lord,
Stiffen thou the hand upon the still sword, Michael,
Folded and shut upon the sheathed sword, Michael,
Under the fullness of the white robes falling,
Gird us with the secret of the sword.

When the world cracked because of a sneer in heaven,
Leaving out for all time a scar upon the sky,
Thou didst rise up against the Horror in the highest,
Dragging down the highest that looked down on the Most High:
Rending from the seventh heaven the hell of exaltation
Down the seven heavens till the dark seas burn:
Thou that in thunder threwest down the Dragon
Knowest in what silence the Serpent can return.

Down through the universe the vast night falling
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the Morning!)
Far down the universe the deep calms calling
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the Sword!)
Bid us not forget in the baths of all forgetfulness,
In the sigh long drawn from the frenzy and the fretfulness
In the huge holy sempiternal silence
In the beginning was the Word.

When from the deeps of dying God astounded
Angels and devils who do all but die
Seeing Him fallen where thou couldst not follow,
Seeing Him mounted where thou couldst not fly,
Hand on the hilt, thou hast halted all thy legions
Waiting the Tetelestai and the acclaim,
Swords that salute Him dead and everlasting
God beyond God and greater than His Name.

Round us and over us the cold thoughts creeping
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the battle-cry!)
Round us and under us the thronged world sleeping
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the Charge!)
Guard us the Word; the trysting and the trusting
Edge upon the honour and the blade unrusting
Fine as the hair and tauter than the harpstring
Ready as when it rang upon the targe.

He that giveth peace unto us; not as the world giveth:
He that giveth law unto us; not as the scribes:
Shall he be softened for the softening of the cities
Patient in usury; delicate in bribes?
They that come to quiet us, saying the sword is broken,
Break man with famine, fetter them with gold,
Sell them as sheep; and He shall know the selling

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To St. Micheal in Time of Peace

Michael, Michael: Michael of the Morning,
Michael of the Army of the Lord,
Stiffen thou the hand upon the still sword, Michael,
Folded and shut upon the sheathed sword, Michael,
Under the fullness of the white robes falling,
Gird us with the secret of the sword.


When the world cracked because of a sneer in heaven,
Leaving out for all time a scar upon the sky,
Thou didst rise up against the Horror in the highest,
Dragging down the highest that looked down on the Most High:
Rending from the seventh heaven the hell of exaltation
Down the seven heavens till the dark seas burn:
Thou that in thunder threwest down the Dragon
Knowest in what silence the Serpent can return.


Down through the universe the vast night falling
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the Morning!)
Far down the universe the deep calms calling
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the Sword!)
Bid us not forget in the baths of all forgetfulness,
In the sigh long drawn from the frenzy and the fretfulness
In the huge holy sempiternal silence
In the beginning was the Word.


When from the deeps of dying God astounded
Angels and devils who do all but die
Seeing Him fallen where thou couldst not follow,
Seeing Him mounted where thou couldst not fly,
Hand on the hilt, thou hast halted all thy legions
Waiting the Tetelestai and the acclaim,
Swords that salute Him dead and everlasting
God beyond God and greater than His Name.


Round us and over us the cold thoughts creeping
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the battle-cry!)
Round us and under us the thronged world sleeping
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the Charge!)
Guard us the Word; the trysting and the trusting
Edge upon the honour and the blade unrusting
Fine as the hair and tauter than the harpstring
Ready as when it rang upon the targe.


He that giveth peace unto us; not as the world giveth:
He that giveth law unto us; not as the scribes:

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Byron

The Vision of Judgment

I

Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate:
His keys were rusty, and the lock was dull,
So little trouble had been given of late;
Not that the place by any means was full,
But since the Gallic era 'eight-eight'
The devils had ta'en a longer, stronger pull,
And 'a pull altogether,' as they say
At sea — which drew most souls another way.

II

The angels all were singing out of tune,
And hoarse with having little else to do,
Excepting to wind up the sun and moon,
Or curb a runaway young star or two,
Or wild colt of a comet, which too soon
Broke out of bounds o'er th' ethereal blue,
Splitting some planet with its playful tail,
As boats are sometimes by a wanton whale.

III

The guardian seraphs had retired on high,
Finding their charges past all care below;
Terrestrial business fill'd nought in the sky
Save the recording angel's black bureau;
Who found, indeed, the facts to multiply
With such rapidity of vice and woe,
That he had stripp'd off both his wings in quills,
And yet was in arrear of human ills.

IV

His business so augmented of late years,
That he was forced, against his will no doubt,
(Just like those cherubs, earthly ministers,)
For some resource to turn himself about,
And claim the help of his celestial peers,
To aid him ere he should be quite worn out
By the increased demand for his remarks:
Six angels and twelve saints were named his clerks.

V

This was a handsome board — at least for heaven;
And yet they had even then enough to do,
So many conqueror's cars were daily driven,
So many kingdoms fitted up anew;

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Vision of Judgment, The

I

Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate:
His keys were rusty, and the lock was dull,
So little trouble had been given of late;
Not that the place by any means was full,
But since the Gallic era 'eight-eight'
The devils had ta'en a longer, stronger pull,
And 'a pull altogether,' as they say
At sea — which drew most souls another way.

II

The angels all were singing out of tune,
And hoarse with having little else to do,
Excepting to wind up the sun and moon,
Or curb a runaway young star or two,
Or wild colt of a comet, which too soon
Broke out of bounds o'er th' ethereal blue,
Splitting some planet with its playful tail,
As boats are sometimes by a wanton whale.

III

The guardian seraphs had retired on high,
Finding their charges past all care below;
Terrestrial business fill'd nought in the sky
Save the recording angel's black bureau;
Who found, indeed, the facts to multiply
With such rapidity of vice and woe,
That he had stripp'd off both his wings in quills,
And yet was in arrear of human ills.

IV

His business so augmented of late years,
That he was forced, against his will no doubt,
(Just like those cherubs, earthly ministers,)
For some resource to turn himself about,
And claim the help of his celestial peers,
To aid him ere he should be quite worn out
By the increased demand for his remarks:
Six angels and twelve saints were named his clerks.

V

This was a handsome board — at least for heaven;
And yet they had even then enough to do,
So many conqueror's cars were daily driven,
So many kingdoms fitted up anew;

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Dear Michael

She wrote dear michael
Youll probably never get this letter
Michael, I wrote you a hundred times before
Knowing how I feel
Ill write a hundred more
Dear michael, every time your records on
(michael michael)
Michael, I close my eyes and sing along
Dreaming youre singing to me.
(ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh)
And then she wrote:
(ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh)
Michael, I love you
I held the tears back long as I can
(ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh)
Im sealing my feelings in this envelope
(ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh)
cause I wanna be more than just your number one fan
Im gonna answer your letter
(michael michael)
Ill start beginning with the abcs of loving you
(I love ya)
(she wrote)
(michael michael)
(I love ya)
Your letter really touched my heart
(she wrote)
Ive been dreaming of meeting the picture
That you send along, signed with all your love
(michael michael)
(I wrote ya)
(she wrote)
Im gonna write you back, ouuh, I promess you that
(wont you write me back? , please write me back)
Girl, I think I love you
(michael michael)
Hurry, hurry mister postman, take my letter, tell her I love her
(she wrote)
(wont you write me back, please write me back)
(michael michael)
(she wrote)
Hurry, hurry mister postman, take my letter tell her I love her
(wont you write me back, please write me back)
(michael michael)
Yeah,
(I wrote you)
(she wrote)
Im gonna write you back
I promess you that...

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John Milton

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

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Cuckhold

Two unsuspecting gentlemen were sitting in a room, conspicuous for its opulence and comfortable because of its color. John was reading a newspaper, contemplating the morbid style of journalistic writing, while Michael was staring intensely, as if he was in a trance, like one stares at a fire. The silence of the room gave John a potent feeling of loneliness, so he broke the quietude.

John: The problem with life is that it is so lifeless. Can't we just live? Or must we always live under the tyranny of compulsion.

Michael gave a furtive glance and proceeded to look mesmerized and emotionless.

John: What is this dreadful look? Clearly you have found a cure for the world's economic disease and have lost it?

Michael was displeased with the topic of politics and John knew this. Michael was forced to talk, to change the subject, he confessed.

Michael: I am in love! Just last month or was it longer ago? I met a woman, who I swear to the sweet Virgin Mary, whose heart beats the scarlet blood of Juliet directly into her voluptuous lips. Her brown eyes remind me of a hidden cave, containing a treasure of passion and an amulet of life. Her dainty little hands have the purity of a child's but the sensuality of a woman's. Her walk is so delicate, not even the tender blades of grass bend under her feet. Her mind is so elevated; it's as if the wings of an angel carry it. Her breasts are as fruitful as watermelons and her voice as sincere as this confession.
My only wish is to kiss her lips, caress her cheeks, and smell her long ebony colored hair. I wish to brush my nose against her nose, bury my soul into the grave of her soul, live by her not with her and even die next to her.

John: Certainly you're on to something. Women have a remarkable quality of bringing out the worst in good men. You are so moral Michael, it's charming to hear you utter words of one of life's most mortal sins; lust.

Tears came down Michael's face at hearing such detestable language.

Michael: It isn't lust! It's love. My heart melts into sweet wine and I feel drunk at every coy gesture she makes. My soul skips like a child on a summer day every time she laughs. She is nature. Nature is she. She is art expressed through the body and a body expressed by the soul, she is complete, marvelous, magnificent, delicate, fragile, and strong; she is beauty.

Michael's countenance revealed a soul drunk with dreams, no rational man would believe a word he said, but a child, with its curious mind, would stop and be enchanted with his incantations, even though a child might not understand what he was saying.

Michael: Her beauty makes Cleopatra conscious of her imperfections, her rosette cheeks make a garden of roses shrivel with jealousy, the gleam in her eyes pierce harder than the rays of the sun, her smile makes the moon feel loved, her spirit causes quarrels between all the Saints, her melancholy robs sentimentalist of their tears. She is the river of life, the ocean of life and all its force!

John: Michael you're committing the common sin of blasphemy, so common even Jesus fell to its error. Who is this demi-god you speak so reverently about?

Michael: She is mystery clothed in a brown body. She is the symbol of all mysticism, she is the sorrow painted on the Madonna's face, she is the love contained in the beatitudes of Christ, she is the obsession in Shakespeare's sonnets, she is the Beatrice of Dante's Divine Comedy; she is the blue of the ocean, the green in emeralds, the purity of pearls, the fire of the sun, the power of mother nature… O! She is so beautiful!

John: Ok! Who is she?

Michael: A married woman

At this utterance Michael's body collapsed in to the sofa he was sitting in, as if he had just been exorcised. John gave an incredulous look and grinned. He reveled in other people's misery; it was the source of his happiness. He loved seeing morality whiter away… it gave him a keens sense of reality.

Ding Dong! A doorbell rang and protruded into John's thought.

John: We aren't expecting any guests?

With avidity, John quickly fled to answer the door expecting an uninvited guest, while Michael laid listlessly dwelling. John opened the door, let out a quiet "O my Lord, " and fainted. Michael's face metamorphosed from a pallid listlessness to a fiery smile; he transformed from a Christian to a Pagan; he grew Cuckold horns…

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I Just Cant Stop Loving You

Written and composed by michael jackson.
I just want to lay next to you for awhile
You look so beautiful tonight
Your eyes are so lovely
Your mouth is so sweet
A lot of people misunderstand me
Thats because they dont
Know me at all
I just want to touch you
And hold you
I need you
God I need you
I love you so much
[michael]
Each time the wind blows
I hear your voice so
I call your name . . .
Whispers at morning
Our love is dawning
Heavens glad you came . . .
You know how I feel
This thing cant go wrong
Im so proud to say I love you
Your loves got me high
I long to get by
This time is forever
Love is the answer
[siedah]
I hear your voice now
You are my choice now
The love you bring
Heavens in my heart
At your call
I hear harps,
And angels sing
You know how I feel
This thing cant go wrong
I cant live my life
Without you
[michael]
I just cant hold on
[siedah]
I feel we belong
[michael]
My life aint worth living
If I cant be with you
[both]
I just cant stop loving you
I just cant stop loving you
And if I stop . . .

[...] Read more

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Michael: A Pastoral Poem

If from the public way you turn your steps
Up the tumultuous brook of Greenhead Ghyll,
You will suppose that with an upright path
Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent
The pastoral mountains front you, face to face.
But, courage! for around that boisterous brook
The mountains have all opened out themselves,
And made a hidden valley of their own.
No habitation can be seen; but they
Who journey thither find themselves alone
With a few sheep, with rocks and stones, and kites
That overhead are sailing in the sky.
It is in truth an utter solitude;
Nor should I have made mention of this Dell
But for one object which you might pass by,
Might see and notice not. Beside the brook
Appears a straggling heap of unhewn stones!
And to that simple object appertains
A story--unenriched with strange events,
Yet not unfit, I deem, for the fireside,
Or for the summer shade. It was the first
Of those domestic tales that spake to me
Of shepherds, dwellers in the valleys, men
Whom I already loved; not verily
For their own sakes, but for the fields and hills
Where was their occupation and abode.
And hence this Tale, while I was yet a Boy
Careless of books, yet having felt the power
Of Nature, by the gentle agency
Of natural objects, led me on to feel
For passions that were not my own, and think
(At random and imperfectly indeed)
On man, the heart of man, and human life.
Therefore, although it be a history
Homely and rude, I will relate the same
For the delight of a few natural hearts;
And, with yet fonder feeling, for the sake
Of youthful Poets, who among these hills
Will be my second self when I am gone.
UPON the forest-side in Grasmere Vale
There dwelt a Shepherd, Michael was his name;
An old man, stout of heart, and strong of limb.
His bodily frame had been from youth to age
Of an unusual strength: his mind was keen,
Intense, and frugal, apt for all affairs,
And in his shepherd's calling he was prompt
And watchful more than ordinary men.
Hence had he learned the meaning of all winds,
Of blasts of every tone; and, oftentimes,
When others heeded not, He heard the South

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John Milton

Paradise Lost: Book 11

Undoubtedly he will relent, and turn
From his displeasure; in whose look serene,
When angry most he seemed and most severe,
What else but favour, grace, and mercy, shone?
So spake our father penitent; nor Eve
Felt less remorse: they, forthwith to the place
Repairing where he judged them, prostrate fell
Before him reverent; and both confessed
Humbly their faults, and pardon begged; with tears
Watering the ground, and with their sighs the air
Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign
Of sorrow unfeigned, and humiliation meek.
Thus they, in lowliest plight, repentant stood
Praying; for from the mercy-seat above
Prevenient grace descending had removed
The stony from their hearts, and made new flesh
Regenerate grow instead; that sighs now breathed
Unutterable; which the Spirit of prayer
Inspired, and winged for Heaven with speedier flight
Than loudest oratory: Yet their port
Not of mean suitors; nor important less
Seemed their petition, than when the ancient pair
In fables old, less ancient yet than these,
Deucalion and chaste Pyrrha, to restore
The race of mankind drowned, before the shrine
Of Themis stood devout. To Heaven their prayers
Flew up, nor missed the way, by envious winds
Blown vagabond or frustrate: in they passed
Dimensionless through heavenly doors; then clad
With incense, where the golden altar fumed,
By their great intercessour, came in sight
Before the Father's 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 mixed
With incense, I thy priest before thee bring;
Fruits of more pleasing savour, from thy seed
Sown with contrition in his heart, than those
Which, his own hand manuring, all the trees
Of Paradise could have produced, ere fallen
From innocence. Now therefore, bend thine ear
To supplication; hear his sighs, though mute;
Unskilful with what words to pray, let me
Interpret for him; me, his advocate
And propitiation; all his works on me,
Good, or not good, ingraft; my merit those
Shall perfect, and for these my death shall pay.
Accept me; and, in me, from these receive
The smell of peace toward mankind: let him live

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I Like You The Way You Are (Don't Change Your Love)

MICAHEL JACKSON feat. BRITNEY SPEARS
the way you make me feel
(Live at Michael Jackson's 30th Anniversary Concert Tribute)
MICHAEL:
Hey pretty baby with the high heels on
You give me fever like I've never, ever known
I feel your fever from miles around
I'll pick you up in my car and we'll paint the town
Just kiss me baby and tell me twice
That you're the one for
MICHAEL:
The way you make me feel, babe
You really turn me on
You knock me off of my feet
Hee
My lonely days are gone
Ooh
[MICHAEL] (BRITNEY):
(I like the feeling you're giving me)
(Just hold me closer baby, I'm in ecstasy)
[Oh, I'll be working from nine to five]
[To buy you things to keep you by my side]
(I never felt so in love before)
(Just promise baby, you'll love me forevermore)
[(I swear I'm keeping you satisfied)]
[(Cuz you're the one for me)]
[MICHAEL] (BRITNEY):
[The way you make me feel]
(The way you make me feel)
[You really turn me on]
(You really turn me on)
[You knock me off of my feet]
[Now baby, hee]
(You knock me off of my feet)
[My lonely days are gone]
(My lonely days are gone)
[Ooh]
[MICHAEL] (BRITNEY):
[Go on girl]
(I never felt so in love before)
[Promise baby, you'll love me forevermore]
(I swear I'm keeping you satisfied)
[(Cuz you're the one for me)]
[MICHAEL] (BRITNEY):
[The way you make me feel]
(The way you make me feel)
[(You really turn me on)]
(You really turn me on)
[(You knock me off of my feet darling)]
[Now baby, hee]

[...] Read more

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Angels Sing As God Receives Michael Jackson

angels in myriads sing
as God Jesus receives
soul Michael Jackson’s
into eternity his heaven

in America when Michael Jackson promoted
conservation ‘Earth Song’ save peace themes
Michael was sin politically targeted slandered
then Salem witch hunt nationally discredited

‘We Are The World’ Michael's innocent vision
piano keys poverty black white bones slaughtered
Illuminati enraged plots vile character bite incision
Illuminati hates God love people earth save vision

‘We Are The World’ this our beautified earth save vision

“We are the world We are the children....
Send them your heart So they'll know that someone cares...
As God has shown us by turning stone to bread
So we all must lend a helping hand”

Illuminati plots sows new world order dark enslavement seeds

Illuminati will do anything to destroy
innocent Michael’s legacy influence
executed killed to order not by martyr gun
interesting trying to trace where attacks

upon innocent Michael’s character originated
evidence indicates evil smear campaign of lies
a national priority by several cult organizations
mist mind demons sow hate agenda public arena

this world has slandered attacked and killed
peace makers for thousands of years continuous
when will peace have a chance reign glorious?
like a child enlightened minds promote pious

random fusing might simply bring into meaning
neutralization of different voices violence hating
Michael the two of us need live on earth no more
we spoke words peace love in air from God we bore

‘Earth Song’ by Michael Jackson carry us to heaven’s door

“What about sunrise?
What about rain?
What about all the things?
That you said we were to gain

[...] Read more

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Ambrose Bierce

Another Plan

Editor Owen, of San Jose,
Commonly known as 'our friend J.J.'
Weary of scribbling for daily bread,
Weary of writing what nobody read,
Slept one day at his desk and dreamed
That an angel before him stood and beamed
With compassionate eyes upon him there.

Editor Owen is not so fair
In feature, expression, form or limb
But glances like that are familiar to him;
And so, to arrive by the shortest route
At his visitor's will he said, simply: 'Toot.'
'Editor Owen,' the angel said,
'Scribble no more for your daily bread.
Your intellect staggers and falls and bleeds,
Weary of writing what nobody reads.
Eschew now the quill-in the coming years
Homilize man through his idle ears.
Go lecture!' 'Just what I intended to do,'
Said Owen. The angel looked pained and flew.

Editor Owen, of San Jose,
Commonly known as 'our friend J.J.'
Scribbling no more to supply his needs,
Weary of writing what nobody reads,
Passes of life each golden year
Speaking what nobody comes to hear.

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Geoffrey Chaucer

The Friar's Tale

This worthy limitour, this noble Frere,
He made always a manner louring cheer* *countenance
Upon the Sompnour; but for honesty* *courtesy
No villain word as yet to him spake he:
But at the last he said unto the Wife:
'Dame,' quoth he, 'God give you right good life,
Ye have here touched, all so may I the,* *thrive
In school matter a greate difficulty.
Ye have said muche thing right well, I say;
But, Dame, here as we ride by the way,
Us needeth not but for to speak of game,
And leave authorities, in Godde's name,
To preaching, and to school eke of clergy.
But if it like unto this company,
I will you of a Sompnour tell a game;
Pardie, ye may well knowe by the name,
That of a Sompnour may no good be said;
I pray that none of you be *evil paid;* *dissatisfied*
A Sompnour is a runner up and down
With mandements* for fornicatioun, *mandates, summonses*
And is y-beat at every towne's end.'
Then spake our Host; 'Ah, sir, ye should be hend* *civil, gentle
And courteous, as a man of your estate;
In company we will have no debate:
Tell us your tale, and let the Sompnour be.'
'Nay,' quoth the Sompnour, 'let him say by me
What so him list; when it comes to my lot,
By God, I shall him quiten* every groat! *pay him off
I shall him telle what a great honour
It is to be a flattering limitour
And his office I shall him tell y-wis'.
Our Host answered, 'Peace, no more of this.'
And afterward he said unto the frere,
'Tell forth your tale, mine owen master dear.'


THE TALE.


Whilom* there was dwelling in my country *once on a time
An archdeacon, a man of high degree,
That boldely did execution,
In punishing of fornication,
Of witchecraft, and eke of bawdery,
Of defamation, and adultery,
Of churche-reeves,* and of testaments, *churchwardens
Of contracts, and of lack of sacraments,
And eke of many another manner* crime, *sort of
Which needeth not rehearsen at this time,
Of usury, and simony also;

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Dulce Et Decorum Est Pro Patria Mori

In 'Dulce Decorum Est' grim realities has Owen told?
Images he witness bore cut into nerve retina of eyeballs?
“Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots.

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five Nines that dropped behind.”

Wilfred was a conscientious objector, who never believed
in war. Owen believed he had no right to protest against war,
if he had never fought in it. Wilfred wrote realistic anti-war

poems. “Dulce et Decorum Est” is a protest against war.
The lie “Dulce et Decorum Est pro patria mori” Owen denounces
declaring it is not sweet and honourable to die for your country.

Stark grim dark is contrast between false lie and truth reality
powerfully in an account of friend dying soldier demonstrated
Symptoms of chlorine or phosgene gas are correctly described

The 'misty panes and thick green light, As under a green sea, I saw
him drowning' are accurate descriptions of poison gas covering battlefield Owen haunted by agony memory horrific deaths declares 'In all my dreams

before my helpless sight He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning' attests. Words 'gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs describes, gassed lungs filled with fluid, producing similar effects, as when a person drowns

in water. ‘Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! An ecstasy of fumbling’ intones
instant cinematic descriptive reality, suddenly reader you must bear witness, to secret scientific weapons research horrors humankinds worst deeds

“If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin,
If you could hear at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs (Owen declares)

My friend, you would not tell with such zest
The old lie: Dulce et Decorum Est pro patria mori”

because it is not sweet nor honourable to die such deaths


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Auld Maitland

There lived a king in southern land,
King Edward hight his name;
Unwordily he wore the crown,
Till fifty years were gane.

He had a sister's son o's ain,
Was large of blood and bane;
And afterward, when he came up,
Young Edward hight his name.

One day he came before the king,
And kneel'd low on his knee:
'A boon, a boon, my good uncle,
I crave to ask of thee!

'At our lang wars, in fair Scotland,
I fain ha'e wish'd to be,
If fifteen hundred waled wight men
You'll grant to ride with me.'

'Thou shall ha'e thae, thou shall ha'e mae;
I say it sickerlie;
And I myself, an auld gray man,
Array'd your host shall see.'

King Edward rade, King Edward ran--
I wish him dool and pyne!
Till he had fifteen hundred men
Assembled on the Tyne.

And thrice as many at Berwicke
Were all for battle bound,
[Who, marching forth with false Dunbar,
A ready welcome found.]

They lighted on the banks of Tweed,
And blew their coals sae het,
And fired the Merse and Teviotdale,
All in an evening late.

As they fared up o'er Lammermoor,
They burn'd baith up and down,
Until they came to a darksome house,
Some call it Leader-Town.

'Wha hauds this house?' young Edward cried,
'Or wha gi'est o'er to me?'
A gray-hair'd knight set up his head,
And crackit right crousely:

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The Bird of Jesus

IT was pure indeed,
The air we breathed in, the light we saw,
I and my brother, when we played that day,
Or piped to one another; then there came
Two young lads of an age with one another,
And with us two, and these two played with us,
And went away.

Each had a bearing that was like a prince's,
Yet they were simple lads and had the kindness
Of our own folk lads simple and unknowing:
Then, afterwards, we went to visit them.

Theirs was a village that was not far off,
But out of reach towards elbow, not towards hand:
And what was there were houses
Houses and some trees
And it was like a place within a fold.

We found the lads,
And found them still as simple and unknowing,
And played with them: we played outside the stall
Where worked the father of the wiser lad
Not brothers were the boys, but cousins' children.

There was a pit:
We brought back clay and sat beside the stall,
And made birds out of clay; and then my brother
Took up his bird and flung it in the air:
His playmate did as he,
And clay fell down upon the face of clay.

And then I took
The shavings of the board the carpenter
Was working on, and flung them in the air,
And watched them streaming down.

There would be nought to tell
Had not the wiser of the lads took up
The clay he shaped: a little bird it was;
He tossed it from his hand up to his head;
The bird stayed in the air.

O what delight we had
To see it fly and pause, that little bird,
Sinking to earth sometimes, and sometimes rising
As though to fly into the very sun;
At last it spread out wings and flew, and flew,
Flew to the sun.

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Michael

"There's something in your face, Michael, I've seen it all the day;
There's something quare that wasn't there when first ye wint away. . . ."

"It's just the Army life, mother, the drill, the left and right,
That puts the stiffinin' in yer spine and locks yer jaw up tight. . . ."

"There's something in your eyes, Michael, an' how they stare and stare --
You're lookin' at me now, me boy, as if I wasn't there. . . ."

"It's just the things I've seen, mother, the sights that come and come,
A bit o' broken, bloody pulp that used to be a chum. . . ."

"There's something on your heart, Michael, that makes ye wake at night,
And often when I hear ye moan, I trimble in me fright. . . ."

"It's just a man I killed, mother, a mother's son like me;
It seems he's always hauntin' me, he'll never let me be. . . ."

"But maybe he was bad, Michael, maybe it was right
To kill the inimy you hate in fair and honest fight. . . ."

"I did not hate at all, mother; he never did me harm;
I think he was a lad like me, who worked upon a farm. . . ."

"And what's it all about, Michael; why did you have to go,
A quiet, peaceful lad like you, and we were happy so? . . ."

"It's thim that's up above, mother, it's thim that sits an' rules;
We've got to fight the wars they make, it's us as are the fools. . . ."

"And what will be the end, Michael, and what's the use, I say,
Of fightin' if whoever wins it's us that's got to pay? . . ."

"Oh, it will be the end, mother, when lads like him and me,
That sweat to feed the ones above, decide that we'll be free. . . ."

"And when will that day come, Michael, and when will fightin' cease,
And simple folks may till their soil and live and love in peace? . . ."

"It's coming soon and soon, mother, it's nearer every day,
When only men who work and sweat will have a word to say;
When all who earn their honest bread in every land and soil
Will claim the Brotherhood of Man, the Comradeship of Toil;
When we, the Workers, all demand: `What are we fighting for?' . . .
Then, then we'll end that stupid crime, that devil's madness -- War."

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