internal-bleeding blogspot.com

Blood Red Sky

Friday, March 7, 2008. The Future is Here. Theres the broken steeple. Whose fundamentals I once clung to. Hanging like Jesus himself. From the crutch of rusted redemption. Whos redeeming qualities proved futile. To the French Revolution. Was it the Romantic Era that captured me? Or the gore of Realism? I cannot tell you my friend. All good things must end. All good men will bend the rules. In those times of desperation. All Im saying is look out for those. Who will swear on their mothers grave.

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shoot me down,baby!

Going On 16 years of life. I go with the flow,baby. Truthful To My Fwens oF Unity. Sunday, March 11, 2007. Saturday, January 27, 2007. Its a month now since i post. aint got the time write bout my fairytales. its fun! Cant wait to end all this case. and nt forgetting to stay out of troublessss. Saturday, December 23, 2006.

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Blood Red Sky

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Friday, March 7, 2008. The Future is Here. Theres the broken steeple. Whose fundamentals I once clung to. Hanging like Jesus himself. From the crutch of rusted redemption. Whos redeeming qualities proved futile. To the French Revolution. Was it the Romantic Era that captured me? Or the gore of Realism? I cannot tell you my friend. All good things must end. All good men will bend the rules. In those times of desperation. All Im saying is look out for those. Who will swear on their mothers grave.

CONTENT

This web page internal-bleeding.blogspot.com states the following, "Friday, March 7, 2008." We saw that the webpage said " Whose fundamentals I once clung to." It also said " From the crutch of rusted redemption. Whos redeeming qualities proved futile. Was it the Romantic Era that captured me? Or the gore of Realism? I cannot tell you my friend. All good things must end. All good men will bend the rules. In those times of desperation. All Im saying is look out for those. Who will swear on their mothers grave."

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Quarta-feira, 28 de maio de 2008. Ao meu amigo Frei Bento da Trindade Cortez,. Atualmente no Mosteiro do Rio de Janeiro. Porque lágrimas também são amor. Em minhas horas de noturna insônia,. Com os olhos fitos no porvir longínquo. Eu penso em mim, - e na segunda idéia. Eu te pranteio no arrebol da aurora,. Que em teu exílio meditando esperas. Envolto num crepúsculo te enxergo. Nem acho Deus tão sábio.