Quotes like The poison seeps from of...

Fake Friend(Revised, In Line Form, Oh and Viewable

The poison seeps from of your eyes.
I can read your lies.
Pure and innocent are dead and gone.
Fake it just fake it.
Pretending your some thing your not.
In the end I win cause I have had been in the alleys.
I've slept in a abandon home to keep from catching cold.
Where were you then my fake friend?
Who do think your fooling?
Do you stop and try to give a ride?
So how bout it my fake friend.
Such a beautiful sharlton.
When I was getting beat up in the courts by five guys for protecting a races rights.
Where were you then my fake friend?
When my house burnt before my very own eyes.
Where were you then?
Hiding behind closed doors like so many times before.
Every thing has been standing still.
I knew the time would come when I would be done with it.
You can't help those who lead.
They'll follow no ones' road but there own.
Judge me not cause don't know how much ambition I truly got.
My fake friend you will not make your failings my own.
For each man women child breaks free of such tyranny.
This is to you my fake friend.

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

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Fake Friend(Revised, In Line Form, Oh and Viewable

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