Hit Title Date Added
Memo Day 2008
A soldier is boots.
There not spit shinny.
Yet we all grow old.
Whispers of essence.
Floating cloud presence.
Illusive reality sings.
These dreams of things.
Crack Baby With Aids
Just born into life,
Tomorrow, if only ripe.
Cry baby cry more.
There is no open door.
Birds Sky
Green, yellow, blue with red.
Tiny little bird, by my bed.
Yell, talk, peep and flirt.
Over the place of my birth.
Me Poewhit
Here, I sit with my friends, [ THE POETS ].
WINE-my love-enraptures me.
Only to tell thee-my friends.
I love you all - 'past love'.
## A Story Of Hobo - A - And QuestıOns 4
Things in the life of HOBO-A were looking upward for a change.
Odd -jobs and fighting the devil in the bottle. HOBO-A was in
the park, sitting on a bench, with a new Bible he bought the other
day. The sun had a halo glow of life, with, future radiance in the
Illusive winds cascade.
Rain imparts wayward folly.
Ramparts of crying souls.
Innocence embraces travesty.
Loves Ocean
So the waves move.
We all find our groove.
Some with the silver spoon.
Looking wayward at noon.
## A Story Of Hobo - A - Timeout 15
With a story, comes perspective of the story. Here in scope, we
find two entities of life. A dominion of stance has formed with HOBO-A and the friend. Each embracing life, in the context of experience. Transposing those contexts, into a manifestation of being. The
audience of the world taking notice of manners.
Modern Folly
Guests gather around the water hole. Intoxicating
drinks, elevate grandiose aspirations. Band-aids
sound a melodious song upon the right hands.
Idols, on the magic eye, spouts images of

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