I'll Meet You At The Cemetary Gates...Keats And Yeats Are On Your Side

I LOVE MORRISSEY..Meningitis This! *flips bird*

ahhhh Biology...my most beloved subject *sigh* if i here the word Meningitis again this year i will no doubt climb a bell tower with a semi automatic. meh. Vis comm folio due tommorow...surprisingly calm about it....no longer worried....*shrugs* maybe im ill....with MENINGITIS!!!!! LOL hehhehehehehe, ahhh comatose.....is there a more fun state of mind? God damn i love the Smiths......*sings*

FRANKLY, MR SHANKLY
Frankly, Mr Shankly, this position I've held
it pays my way and it corrodes my soul
I want to leave you will not miss me
I want to go down in musical history
Frankly, Mr Shankly, I'm a sickening wreck
I've got the 21st century breathing down my neck
I must move fast, you understand me
I want to go down in celluloid history Mr Shankly
Fame, fame, fatal fame
it can play hideous tricks on the brain
but still I rather be famous
than righteous or holy, any day, any day, any day
But sometimes I'd feel more fulfilled
making Christmas cards with the mentally ill
I want to live and I want to love
I want to catch something that I might be ashamed of
Frankly, Mr Shankly, this position I've held
it pays my way and it corrodes my soul oh,
I didn't realise that you wrote poetry
I didn't realise you wrote such bloody awful poetry Mr Shankly
Frankly, Mr Shankly, since you ask
you are a flatulent pain the arse
I do not mean to be so rude
but still, I must speak frankly, Mr Shankly, give us money

VICAR IN A TUTU
I was minding mind business
lifting some lead off
the roof of the Holy Name church
it was worth while living a laughable life just to set my eyes on a blistering sight
of a vicar in a tutu
he's not strange
he just wants to live his life this way
A scanty bit of a thing
with a decorative ring
that wouldn't cover the head of a child
as Rose collects the money in the canister
who comes sliding down the banister
the vicar in a tutu
he's not strange
he just wants to live his life this way
The monkish monsignor
with a head full of plaster said "my man, get your vile soul dry-cleaned"
as Rose counts the money in the canister
as natural as rain he dances again
my God
vicar in a tutu, oh yeah
The next day in the pulpit
with freedom and ease
combating ignorance, dust and disease
as Rose counts the money in the canister
as natural as rain he dances again and again and again
the fabric of a tutu
any man could get used to
and I am a living sign

well im outta here kids, im goin to Smith's you all by the end of the year lol just you wait!!!! Laters,
Emmy Fay

posted by Emmy Fay @ Thursday, May 26, 2005