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Stuck In HistoryYou got two eyes, two ears and one mouth,
Your talking like you know what its all about.
Lost in time with your ignorant ways,
Never really knowing what you say.
You walk around as if you were blind,
On the streets, on the grind.
Trapped in a maze with your ignorant ways,
While you stumble around lost in a daze.
I wonder if you hear the words I speak,
Wondering if its the truth you do seek.
My words they do flow,
In the same way you reap what you sow.
The worlds weight is more than one man can bare,
For that is something for us all to share.
They divide us as if we were slaves,
People alive stuck in a grave.
The message from William Lynch was delivered,
In 1712 from the banks of the James River.
Pit the young against the old,
This is how the story was told.
Men against women, lights against darks
That is how you tear them apart.
The message of envy, distrust and fear,
Is how you control the slaves he did make clear.
You would think he have come far from that day,
Yet it see
To The YouthI am the first to admit that I am not perfect and I have made many mistakes in my lifetime, none were worse then the complete lack of respect I had towards my education. I do not beat around when the bush when it comes to this subject, I fucked up and there is no nice way to try and polish it up to make it out to be something it is not. I wasted the one opportunity I had to get it right, I did not listen to my parents or teachers and I figured I knew all there was and that everything would be alright. Fast forward to today and I am cursing myself for the stupidity of my actions and attitude when it came to my education. The two hours I just spent emailing every university in Ontario was the worst two hours that I have gone through in a very long time, sitting here staring at the screen franticly siphoning through the infinite amount of information praying that I still have some hope. These tears are no joke, this pain I can barely
Blue Eyes in FlamesWhen the prince sees the flower bloom from the palm of her hand, he orders her arrest.
She is only seven years old.
He takes the flower from her and keeps it, even though he knows he shouldn't. He puts it a vase, or, rather, his servant does that for him. The flower doesn't ever die, even years later.
It's dawn of a December morning, and he's cold. But still, he stands next to his father dutifully and looks at the little girl with blue eyes that are now black from seven nights sleeping on a cold, dungeon floor behind bars. They cut off her dark brown hair during that time. She's tied to the pyre, and there are seven guards around her, holding sharper swords than normal, not that she could get away. There's one man dressed in black holding an unlit torch, with a mask over his face to prevent his death. His father raises his arm, and the torch is lit.
She locks her gaze to his, and he blinks at her. It's like she expects him to prevent it. He couldn't, though, he can't. She scares him, w
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More