"Pain is nothing to scream about," he cried.
A mortal.
A shell of a man after the dues of the day.
An individual.
Alone in a world of thousands.
An enity.
Befolded by the eagle's flight.
Escape.
Venture into a world where man and machine become one.
A brief silence.
Up and above the roar of the vehicle.
To soar.
Into self-destiny governed only by his spirit.
Encapsulation.
As the night begins to fall upon his weary head.
Nature.
In touch with the Earth as the trees touch the red dusk above.
Aroma.
As the mist of the evening dew falls on the road.
Refreshment.
As his soul and spirit are cleansed by the wind in his face.
Destiny.
For no one can follow the soul within.
A cool breeze.
Freezes his mind as the heat of the night radiates into his body.
Exhiliration.
To soar with the eagle and still be on the ground.
Euphoria.
A natural high only he and his machine can create...
Resentment.
For his time has come to return to his home.
Confinement.
For those who he fears await him.
It's another day.
The world still looks upon him as it did before.
Discrimination.
Alienation; non-conformity.
It all reverts back.
For the soul is what matters.
In spirit.
Never to part with the eagle.
Never to be seperated.
Never again.
She turns on the T.V. weather station,
She trusts them oh so much.
She watches while doing bathroom sanitation,
With a toilet brush.
The weatherman says, "Look, it's snowing."
She runs outside to see.
Meanwhile the commode is overflowing,
And shorts out the T.V.!!!
The house we know "our boys" are from,
Stunk like Kingdom Come!!
No one knows what you'll find inside,
It smells like someone here has died!!
Let's see what's behind this door,
Piles of dog shit on the floor.
Newspapers, magazines, paper bags,
A box of filthy, greasy rags.
A T.V., a radio, a record player,
Let's dig down another layer.
Worn out shoes and several clocks,
A suitcase full of dirty socks.
A ream of piss-soaked typing paper,
Wrapped in plastic to hold the vapor!
Cans, bottles and mayonnase jars,
Cigarette butts and broken cigars.
The avalanche of books that could have killed you,
Stopped by the couch, covered up in mildew.
Plants in the bathroom have no blooms,
You can't blame them; they can't stand the fumes!
Now the kitchen; let's take a peek,
From under the refrigerator comes a reek
Rotten food is all that I see,
Lord have mercy, it's sanitation grade Z!!
Now let's see what we have missed,
Over where the cat has pissed.
A delapidated old reclounge chair,
A mildew covered creme eclair.
In the corner, what could it be?
A ten-year old Christmas tree?
Go outside away from the odor,
Watch out for that Volkswagen motor.
Collecting junk, they have the knack,
They've even filled their Pontiac.
Everything in this house is old,
Covered up in mildew-mold!
Driving by it is an eyesore,
But they keep bringing in more.
'Till one day the pages turned,
The dirty old house had burned.
The city came, the house condemned,
But this ain't the very end..
What is left ain't worth the trouble,
Digging through the burned out rubble.
Junk and trash they'll always save,
Until they're buried in their grave.
Come and see, it's sure to entice all,
Just don't forget to bring some Lysol!!
The man sold sugar and honey,
But he started to loose his money.
He said, "I need some reassurance,"
"To claim my insurance,"
"Give me a suggestion, dear Sonny."
His son said, "That's an easy chore,"
"Pour kerosene on the floor,"
"Take a match, make a scratch,"
"And no more candy store!!"
Drivin' down the road in your brand new car,
What do you do? You light up a cigar.
You get ashes on the dashboard and all over your feet,
And the next thing you know you've done burned up the seat!!
On August 8, 1988 a man named A.B. Aytes left his 8th story
apartment around 8:00 A.M. to take the 8th train on an 88 mile
journey to Batersville. The train broke down 8 times while on
the trip, so he didn't arrive until sometime around 8:00 P.M..
Mr. Aytes promptly went to the automobile rental place and rented
a budget 8-year old Olds Delta 88 for $8.00 per day. He then had
the $8.00 special at the Route 88 Cafe and rented a room at the
Super 8 Motel. He stayed in room number 8.
Around 8:00 A.M. the next day, Mr. Aytes drove 8 miles to the
horse race track where he bet $8.00 on horse number 8. He won
$800,000. He was thrilled. He went to the local bar and bought 8
drinks for everyone. He carried on all day until about 8:00 P.M.,
then he went back to his motel room, exhausted.
The next day, the maids found Mr. Aytes dead in his room. The
coroner's report stated: A one Mr. A.B. Aytes, 88, died around
8:00 A.M.. No obvious cause of death; so it must have been
something that he ate.
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