2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 9

For today’s prompt, write a shady poem. I’ll leave the interpretation of this prompt up to you. It could be a poem that includes shadows and/or shading. It could be about a shady part of town or a shady person. Or well, something else.

Here’s my attempt:

“Shady spot”

Beneath every tree
is a shadow ready
to keep a reader and
book safe from the bright sun
on a lazy summer
day when the whole world
just wants a gentle breeze
to chase the heat away.


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425 thoughts on “2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 9

  1. LCaramanna

    brighter in the shade

    elegant Victorian homes
    standing serenely beneath ancient oaks
    presiding over manicured lawns
    safeguarded by leafy hedges
    a silver Mercedes in the garage
    not a soul in sight
    on the green side of town
    a pastel rainbow over
    the bridge from the seedy side of town
    where eclectic characters sprawl
    on crumbling front stoops
    in muscle shirts of primary colors
    inviting the ladies in red sashaying down the sidewalk
    to live brighter in the shade

  2. Rosemary Nissen-Wade

    Shadow Selves

    She is Ms Nasty,
    I am Ms Nice.
    I am all virtue,
    she is all vice.

    She’s in black leather,
    I’m frills and lace,
    yet some people tell us
    we ought to embrace.

    Do opposites attract?
    No, not in this case.
    And yet it’s so strange —
    we wear the same face.

    Although we feel
    so separate,
    we’re told it’s best
    to integrate.

    Will I allow
    myself to swear?
    Can she discard
    that surly air?

    We’ll have to do it
    bit by bit.
    In tentative swaps,
    we find the clothes fit!

  3. Michele Brenton

    Outside the lines.

    In colouring books,
    when you bothered to
    make your marks
    your crayonings always escaped,
    bursting through barriers,
    squiggling wherever they chose to go.

    Frowning teachers never tamed those
    bright scrawlings, nor
    contained, constrained what you were meant to be
    a true wild creature, untramelled and free.

  4. HannaAnna

    Shades of a Child

    Angry red cheeks
    Sad blue eyes
    Rainbow of happiness
    White sheet of fear
    Pink I love you

    I love every face he makes
    because he is my child
    But the most beautiful shade of emotion his face will ever wear
    is the peaceful, emptiness of any shade at all, as he sleeps

  5. HannaAnna

    The Savior

    He painted the emerald isles green
    and the azure sky blue
    He put every vibrant color of the rainbow into the first delicate flowers
    and still paints these breathtaking rainbows in the sky whenever the earth is washed clean by rain
    He created the dark and clear waters
    and your own beating heart
    He loved and died for you
    Remember the shades of all he has done

  6. taylor graham


    I drove her home in the late
    afternoon shadow of grassy hills,
    shadow of wind-birds on the ridges.
    We were lost without a map.

    At last we came out on the other
    side. Home. Now she shadows
    me from door to chair, from kitchen
    to gate to window. Lost

    without the place she came from.
    Tied to me by waking, sleep,
    and dinner-bowl, by voice and hand.
    Attached to me, my shadow.

  7. competitivewriter

    Ode to the 5 o’clock Shadow

    Like grass drenched in miracle grow
    Like a warm and wet moldy potato
    Here’s to the fuzz on my face
    To you – The 5’oclock shadow

    The grit’s 100 grain or so
    Bold as a black cup of joe
    A tribute to testosterone
    Magnificent 5 o’clock shadow

    Like cro-magnon man ages ago
    I can stand in the wind in 30 below
    Thanks to the dense facial forest
    The hearty and hardy 5’o clock shadow

    Your time is short, I’ll shave tomorrow
    I’ll become smooth and my skin will glow
    Until you return you soldiers of stubble
    Hoorah for the 5’oclock shadow!

  8. Michelle Hed

    Afternoon Bliss

    Underneath the Willow branches
    there is a cool spot
    to ease your mind

    one memory at a time
    while your body becomes boneless
    and the white noise of summer

    becomes a rhythmic lullaby
    nestling into your soul
    as you reach the blissful state

    between consciousnesses
    where you hover
    during the lazy haze of a summer afternoon.

  9. deringer1

    The Shade

    the curtain trembled, parted,
    and you glided in.
    they say I didn’t see you
    but I did.

    no one else would bother
    coming back to me
    only I can resurrect you
    from years of neglect

    you smile wearily
    and offer me a parisol
    of memories.

  10. randalljweiss

    “Yoga Class”

    Monday evening at the Y, I roll
    out a mat, attend to breath.
    Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.
    Surya Namaskara begins
    up down back down forward.
    Up. Rising toward the sun.
    Shadow follows each Asana.
    Switch legs. Repeat.
    Attend to breath.
    Shadow follows each Asana.
    Attend to breath.
    Attend to breath.
    Shadow follows each Asana.
    Shadow. Breath.
    Flowing shadow breath.


  11. lady maggie

    Love’s Occultation
       In terms of whose gets credit for whom’s blamed
       our bed lies in the eye of the eclipse,
       with moonlight at her darkest in your hips
       and me left blinded by the circles flamed.
       For whom’s intents whose purpose dies defamed,
       our dance composes swirls on glides in flips
       through open space.   Raw unveiled passion slips
       along deep crevices on satin framed.
       Oh wait.   No, my mistake.   That’s just a cloud
       and one I should’ve known’s not come as mine,
       yet looking up to you’s as disallowed
       as much as if our orbits stood in line,
       so I’ll fall to the shadows of the crowd
       without the silhouette of your design.

  12. Sara McNulty

    April 9, 2012 – Day 9
    Write a shady poem

    Shady in Shadows

    So nondescript
    a demeanor,
    so beigely dressed
    in khakis,
    young man strolls–
    a ghost–
    blending into crowds

    watching soccer practice
    from a fence.
    Little girls, innocent,
    kicking legs
    high in the air
    while he
    in dark shadows waits.

  13. Mystical-Poet

    Virtuosi of Shade

    beneath the boundary of the world
    lurking beyond the stygian darkness
    of their murky secluded sanctum
    lies a psychedelic octopi garden
    vitreous humor within large lidded eyes
    nuances of tutti-frutti tangerine crackle
    a dab of butterscotch confetti tango
    reminiscent of polychromatic vitreosity
    camouflage’s royalty, flip-flopping hues at will
    disappearing amidst their kingdom
    of shaded coral altars and waving sea fans
    deliberate spider-like stealth
    creeping among sea grass forests
    ambushing prey with resolute exquisiteness
    inborn capacity to regenerate lost limbs
    like mythological dragons retraced
    discarded remnants of
    armored crustacean victims
    lie outside their lair

    ~ Randy Bell ~

  14. Miss R.


    It’s comfortable here in the shade
    Where the shadows grow
    Longer, deeper, darker
    And I begin to slip away
    From myself into their grasp,
    Swaying in time with
    Their smooth, hypnotic dance,
    Oblivious to the teeth that line
    Their jagged, reaching edges.
    Perhaps the time has come
    For me to push past these
    Shadowy jaws and squint up
    At the blazing sun,
    Its rays imparting
    Painful redemption.

  15. claudsy

    Last one for the day.

    Getting Home

    Shy, elusive, scuttling from leaf to leaf,
    She listens, wary, knowing missteps cost
    More than her own life, her children’s.
    Twig snap!

    Freeze; eyeballs only, scan for foes.
    Birdsong allows for exhale amid
    Thundering heartbeats; too long,
    Gone too long, but close, very close.

    Another length of ground gained,
    Fast beneath the canopy, taking
    Advantage of each dark haven
    That hides the path home.

    One tree between her and sanctuary,
    She gathers strength and speeds toward
    Those she nurtures within the hollow
    Of her heart and beneath the pawpaw.

    Safe, all safe!

    Little ones gather round, nudging, seeking.
    Onto the floor she spits out seeds, gathered
    with care for this second feeding of the day.
    She’ll endure fear and fatigue to mother them all.

  16. claudsy

    The last stanza didn’t copy over. This is the whole poem.


    She came in from the green field,
    Ready but not willing to yield
    To his warmed hands that awaited,
    Nor would she stand, breath abated.

    Instead, she called a long wavering note,
    Seeming to cast her sole possible vote,
    Concerning continual molesters of his ilk,
    Saying “No!” to his stripping of her milk.

    No anger answered her call, only sweet talk
    To reassue her of his rightness, “No need to balk.”
    She listened to his whispers, guided to her stall.
    Once there she relaxed, finally willing to give all.

  17. claudsy


    She came in from the green field,
    Ready but not willing to yield
    To his warmed hands that awaited,
    Nor would she stand, breath abated.

    Instead, she called a long wavering note,
    Seeming to cast her sole possible vote,
    Concerning continual molesters of his ilk,
    Saying “No!” to his stripping of her milk.

  18. Bruce Niedt

    Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a persona poem (one of my favorite kinds). So here is my persona poem about a shady character:

    Identity Thief

    I slip from shadow to shadow,
    just beyond the corner of your eye
    and when the moment presents,
    I slip into your virtual pocket
    and pick it of numbers,
    the digits that make you you –
    social security, credit card, phone.

    I am havoc, I am paranoia,
    I am the beast of deceit ,
    and you are my prey.
    You’ll sink in credit quicksand
    while I use your persona
    for a taste of the high life.

    Sooner or later, you’ll sort it out,
    perhaps with some damage done,
    but by the time you catch up,
    I will have moved on, a trail of receipts,
    overdrafts, and past due bills in my wake,
    as I slither into the shadows
    of anonymity, and begin again.

  19. laurie kolp


    I found your old journal hanging
    in the branches of our shady oak
    where you once took refuge

    with worn pages scribbled upon
    words undecipherable
    their meanings misunderstood

    like you.

  20. Walt Wojtanik


    Shade only gets so dark,
    and after that, it is stark blackness.
    The void of space without stars
    becomes a vacuum of light;
    nothing bright comes of it.
    And who gives a wit anyway?
    Dark is the absence of light,
    and without light, dark’s shade
    is all-encompassing.
    Blindly going where no man
    has seen before. Sucked
    into the endless night.

  21. J.lynn Sheridan

    “The silent law”

    He was a tad uncomfortable at the St. Louis wedding.

    Well, who wasn’t? You and me sitting there, me picking
    at the food while you had a little champagne and I had
    an Amaretto on the rocks and cake when the band played
    the Stones and those two sultry bridesmaids hobbled in
    on crutches.

    There should have been a mandatory silence but the tan
    Texan from Chicago who flew them all there stirred the
    crowd’s jubilee muzzling the outsiders’ whispers.

    All they want to do is eat, drink, and talk clan.
    It’s the same at every family event.

    A silent law.

    You know. I know it. He knows it.

    Mr. Uncomfortable might barely know some of his cousins
    but you can’t cut out the family, or worse, invite some and
    not others.

    It’s clan suicide.

    He cowered alone at a round table in the corner spinning
    a gold band around his finger watching the girls through
    the mosaic mirrors on the walls through his bloated
    Rocky Balboa eyes.

    (inspired by Nutmeg)

  22. ina

    This is a first draft and it’s a tough subject to write about to boot, so I apologize for any incoherencies (is that even a word?) – ina

    After The Burn Unit

    The monster lives,
    blood red mass of scales
    gorging whenever it can escape
    the shadowed corners of your life,
    feeding on too bright light: a
    sneer a week of sustenance,
    a stare and quick glance
    away let it drop to your back,
    tick-like, probiscus in your
    spine, as you relive the stare over
    month after month.
    Once salt showers on the wound
    that had been your body
    and the endless feeling of fire
    were the worst you could imagine.
    But now, a patchwork of skin, pins
    in bones, a glass eye,
    you hobble through the world,
    one monster leering from the eyes
    of strangers, the other
    in your mirror.

  23. Jane Shlensky

    Character Study

    “A shady character won’t meet your eyes,”
    my father tells us all. “He’ll look around
    for things to steal, while his mouth weaves
    a tale to keep you occupied. He’ll be
    so charming, making mental lists of all
    he plans to take next time he comes,
    when you won’t be at home, of course.
    And you won’t think him ill, imagining him
    your friend. Don’t be confused; stay alert
    for you can feel his shifting eyes slide across
    your skin, his very nature overcast in shade
    with everyone he meets. Steer clear. Steer clear.”

  24. MDoctor


    Under the shade
    of the great oak tree,
    sat a young boy,
    as pleased as could be.
    A natural roof hung
    above his head,
    a earthly floor
    acted as his bed.
    He was the king of
    the great oak tree,
    the birds were his servants
    in his great royalty.

  25. Domino


    Summer afternoon
    I’m up in a tree
    I am pretending
    there’s no one but me.

    No nosy sisters,
    nor brothers so mean.
    Just me and my book
    and the light tempered green

    The sun shifting softly
    through wind-waving leaves.
    Just me and Ali Baba
    and his forty thieves.

  26. posmic


    In a quiet bend
    along Wegee Creek

    (a funny name,
    a good place
    to dip your toes,
    maybe watch
    some water striders
    for a while)

    there is a monument
    to 26 people who died.

    Wegee, Pipe, Cumberland
    rising to meet the Ohio,
    taking houses, refrigerators,
    bodies caught in the wall
    of water and mud.

    A baby in a bathtub,
    like Moses in his basket,
    plucked out like him,
    made whole.

    Homes and lives
    torn in half. How do you
    rebuild what you
    barely even had?

    This is the Ohio of
    men in undershirts
    and pickup trucks;
    women holding
    everything together,
    shirttail relatives,
    all things shared,
    relationships, homes,
    families in arrangements
    other than what’s on paper.

    small and pleasant
    sun and shadow
    blink and you’ll miss it

  27. Sharon

    Shades of Gray

    Twice told
    A story old
    Yet new
    With each retelling.
    Shades of red
    In your head
    Whatever is he selling?
    You smile
    And think a while
    And tears start to welling.
    You recall
    You knew it all
    Color shades to gray and bells start to knelling.

  28. DanielAri


    and in the year of our lord, seventy something, San Diego
    stood proud as The Jolly Green Giant, casting its shadow
    across the land, and where it fell was Tijuana. A cadre
    of us crossed to meet with the daemon sprouts trans-
    planted there, not only the gambling, salacious offers
    and contraband, but also how everything cost what you
    would pay: economies arm-wrestle and the winning one
    demands that the other say “tio,” but I digress. I looked
    as poor as I was, but Darren was a collegiate rooster—
    and ferried our friend Mary Jane around town and into
    the red door where dice, liquor and women swallowed
    us like a hot bath. When the whistle blew and, on cue,
    the police sauntered in, we were their rubber duckies.
    One officer faced Darren and I. The look he gave to me
    suggested there was always room on the force for one
    more. With two of our gang in the pokey and four of us
    regrouped in the town square under the sore dawn,
    we pooled our money. I volunteered to take in the bail,
    figuring I had already built some rapport, and I could
    honestly tell them we really could pay nothing more.


  29. cindishipley

    My friend Mara says she lives in
    the beauty of her sister’s shadow.
    I say age averages things out.
    A door once opened now slams shut.
    I try to take off the years like

    clothing, I look in the mirror
    and am glad I don’t do it too
    often. It is better I think,
    to try to forget what you are
    and remember who you once were.

    Why does age wear better on men?
    I think of peacocks and then the
    color deepens as it gets old,
    but with what a profound
    stupidity they flutter their

    feathers. Now men on the street look
    through me and I feel invisible.
    But age does not take away the
    desire– only habit does.
    Why don’t they see me as I was?

    I used to hate lewd looks men gave
    but now I’d pay for the pleasure.
    Where are all the male prostitutes?
    You’d think that would be big business.
    Aging is a scary thing, not

    because you become closer to
    death, but because no one sees you
    except as the butt of a joke.

  30. Jane Shlensky

    A little blank verse for a Monday.

    In Dogwood Shade

    In dogwood shade, I loved to watch the farm—
    across a glade, a pond, into the yard
    where I could see my mother search for me,

    and scan acres around for evidence
    that I was there, going from questioning
    to outright worry, panic setting in.

    Had drowning been my fate? Or was I lost
    in deep forest, alone with childish fears,
    or had I been abducted, God forbid?

    Once worst imaginings arrived, I could
    not go straight home or answer when she called,
    for angry punishments came from such fears.

    And so I waited, guilty, just behind
    a fan of dogwood falling, curtaining
    me from her view and saw that she loved me

    and longed for my return, searching the yard
    and pond, and casting looks toward the woods
    where, wayward child, I stood in dogwood shade

    letting the sunlight sprinkle through the leaves
    pretending to be anything I chose—
    but not a mother with a child like me.

  31. Acheron


    The sun appeared
    Drenching my pale skin
    In long, hot kisses
    That woke memories
    Of passionate spring.
    Until I, reddened with
    A pleasantly scorched
    Body blush, removed
    Myself to the arms of
    A shaded tree, watching
    That heat of that caress
    Move, now stroking
    Others in my garden.

  32. Beth Rodgers

    As a little girl
    I wished I could fly.
    To have been Peter Pan’s shadow
    Would have been close enough
    As I would have moved
    Effortlessly through the air
    Mimicking his every motion
    Summoning my courage to battle
    My fear of heights
    And wish upon a star
    For my dream to come true.

  33. JRSimmang

    His thoughts are usually in charcoal black
    and eggshell white,
    a single line dividing this from that.
    One tall vine,
    snaking its way from bottom to top,
    ignoring the laws of nature,
    seeking to deny the sun,
    sits blithely on the blank sheet,
    shattered and unreal.
    He wonders why.
    Why can the world be so bright,
    yet the lasting impression on his page
    weaves in and out of perpetual darkness? He sits and stares,
    hands in hands,
    wringing, waiting, knotting together.
    The light strikes him.
    His pencil, quick to rectify,
    drags out and out,
    spilling bright,
    splashing light’s antonym,
    wrenching life from death.
    And he sighs, his questions finally answered.
    He stands, dusts off his hands,
    and closes his window.

  34. LCaramanna

    window shades

    melancholy mood hangs heavy
    mischievous marauders
    plunder blue sky pleasure
    hold hostage sunshine splendor
    storm clouds shroud my springtime world
    in shades of gray
    raindrops douse desire to frolic in the garden
    confine inside
    pull the window shades
    put some music on
    fireplace flames dance to an upbeat song
    cookies in the oven
    cocoa in my cup
    shelter from the storm
    behind my window shades

  35. PSC in CT

    Fish out of Water

    picture this fledgling
    perched, prepared for flight,
    puzzled by the shade roosting
    on her shoulder; in over her head and
    can’t fathom why she’s weighted down,
    coming apart, falling out when she should be
    linked in; all atwitter over expectations; seeing
    clearly aloft, wide open sky – inviting, enticing,
    befuddled still, by fear of flying

  36. Hannah


    I watch as my pulse beats,
    steadily in my wrist,
    I imagine the racing river
    blood as it pools
    and surges steadily.
    My breath is a shadow,
    on this heightening day,
    each push and pull
    tainted by my expectancy.
    Plans loom long, vacantly
    in an unreachable space.
    Thwarted, replaced too readily
    with the dazing hue
    of someone else’s day;
    leaking into mine,
    seeping through the cracks,
    gray matter infused
    with a design not meant for me.
    Relinquishing creativity
    for the realm thrust upon me;
    I retreat into this one moment.
    Watching my pulse meditatively
    as it rushes, hushing my thoughts;
    relaying, displaying real meaning
    hidden source piercing the negativity.
    Reminding me why, again,
    that I shouldn’t attach too deeply
    blood-binding to pre-laid plans.

    © H.G. @ P.A. 4/9/12

    1. Hannah

      I feel torn as I’ve not had the time that I desire for crafting and delving into other’s poems this week. I apologize for any missed comment(s), please know that I’m grateful and hopefully the end of this week will shape-up leaving more space for my heart’s desires. Warm smiles, none-the-less. 🙂

      1. Marie Elena

        Aww, Sweetie … your poem says it all (in a creatively Hannah way).

        My too-busy day keeps going by the wayside as I keep being drawn back here. I MUST get things done here at home while I have the day to do them. And here it is, after noon …. and I’ve accomplished little.

        Over-n-out (for now) 😉

          1. Marie Elena

            I KNEW it! I KNEW it!

            You’re just like my dad. When I was young, he used to call me back from wherever I was headed (on bike, foot, whatever…) only to ask me, “How far do you think you would have been if you hadn’t come back here?”

            UGH!! 😀 !

          2. Hannah

            I love reading the “talk,” between you two today!! This brightens my shadow mood immensely!!

            Smiles to the two of you!

          3. Walt Wojtanik

            I used to do that to my kid brother Ken. I’d wait until he got half way down the block and I’d wave him home. When he got to the edge of the driveway I’d say, “See you later!”

          4. Marie Elena

            Hannah, I can’t bear the thought of you in a “shadow”mood. Glad our silliness can help bring a little sunshine! <3

            Walt, you are incorrigible. 😀

        1. Hannah

          I’m so glad that you could hear it and that you understand. The day has a way of slipping from fingers like silky material, hard to grasp some days!

          Thanks so much for stopping to talk with me and lifting my heart with your friendliness! 🙂

    2. Catherine Lee

      Drawn to these lines: “someone else’s day / leaking into mine” and “a design not meant for me.” And warm smiles to you, too! I’ve felt off my game all week, so I can relate to not having enough time to hang out here. 🙂

      1. Hannah

        I so appreciate you stopping to tell me that these lines resonate with you and also that you can relate to how I’m feeling. It really does help! BTW I grew up with Bob Ross, also, I used to love watching him. Thanks, Catherine!

  37. Catherine Lee

    The Joy of Painting

    He paints my shade,
    A figure disembodied
    From my unfinished face.

    A heavy hand slaps
    Raw umber and ochre
    Onto white canvas cheeks.

    Damn the happy colors
    Pooling beneath
    My happy tree lashes.

    There are no mistakes,
    Only accidents.

  38. Walt Wojtanik


    Dahmer intrigued him,
    the intricacies of a twisted mind
    found a dwelling inside the living hell
    of his head. Dread and darkness

    were the graffiti of his brain gone bad.
    His parents were sad when his incarceration
    began without the threat of capital puinishment.
    They were sadder still when he chose to kill

    the neighbor’s dog (along with the neighbors
    for good measure) taking a sick perverted pleasure
    in their demise. Reviled and despised,
    a rotten stain on an otherwise decent name.

    His father took the blame for straying
    from the righteous path, stalking the valley of death,
    or at least giving it its label. A pathology
    that offered neither regret or remorse

    just a course to damnation, a trip-tik
    on the highway to hell. He’d have done well
    to expel those thoughts and embrace
    the love as offered, but his coffers were bankrupt,

    a corrupted waste of humanity tettering
    on the brink of an irreversible insanity.

  39. Buddah Moskowitz

    The Conspiracy Theorist Speaks
    (with apologies to Robert Lee Brewer)

    How does he do it?
    What is the mystery,
    that missing piece of logic,
    that would provide
    the answer?

    I check in
    everyday in April
    to see what
    I’m writing about,
    and somedays
    I look at the prompt,
    and think
    “This can’t be
    a planned-

    Looks like
    he just made it
    up on the spot.”

    He says
    he plans all the prompts
    for the month
    in advance,
    yet everyday
    he magically
    comes up with a
    perfect poem
    to match
    the prompt.

    I’ll bet he gathers
    his unpublished poetry,
    gets 30 of them
    writes prompts based
    on those existing poems
    and then presents
    prompt and poem

    I bet
    there’s something
    shady going on

    I bet.

  40. dextrousdigits

    The world has beat him up
    a lad seeking mom’s suckling,
    he heads for the shady part of town
    with wounds to lick
    annd prowess to exhibit

    1. Walt Wojtanik


      I’ll take my mud caked hacienda
      on s u n b a k e d d e s e r t l a n d.
      I’d prefer your smiling hut too, I’m
      Giving you your postagestampyard,
      but I’m taking the tree in lieu of this cactus.

  41. Walt Wojtanik

    DARK SIDE OF THE MOON (A Found Poem)

    I’ve been mad for fucking years;
    been over the edge working me buns off…
    I know, I’ve been mad like most of us
    (even if you’re not mad…)

    All you touch and all you see,
    a race toward an early grave
    is all your life will ever be.
    Waiting for someone

    or something to show you the way.
    You are young; life is long.
    There is time to kill today,
    plans that either come to naught,

    or are half a page of scribbled lines.
    Hanging on in quiet desperation,
    it came as a heavy blow,
    yelling and screaming and telling him

    “Grab that cash with both hands”.
    It is the root of all evil,
    but we sorted the matter out.
    I was really drunk at the time!

    “Listen son, don’t give me that do goody good
    bullshit”, said the man with the gun,
    God only knows it’s not what we choose,
    but which is which and who is who?

    There’s room for you inside;
    only a difference of opinion.
    Good manners don’t cost nothin, eh?
    Got to keep the loonies on the path

    And if with dark forebodings
    your head explodes, raise the blade.
    Make the change. Lock the door and
    throw away the key. The old man died.

    All you hate,
    all you distrust,
    all that you deal
    beg, borrow or steal…

    There is no dark side of the moon!
    It’s really a matter of fact it’s all dark.


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