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Post by sinclair on May 8, 2003 14:27:26 GMT -5
"How is Anne's cough today, Michelle?"
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Post by Bert on May 28, 2003 13:59:49 GMT -5
my stick has its own ass, therefore the equation of people dying in africa will be that minus the feelings i felt the first time i hear the luke project. xiu xiu has meaning. it is by far the best effort of music ever made by humans. i am however partial to the noise in the backround of all the songs that sounds remarkably like a farting dog.
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Post by mildrid on May 28, 2003 14:10:04 GMT -5
TEXT i have to agree that apon my first listening of the all powerfull xiu xiu i felt a wave of synthetic death bleeding down my ear passage, it was unlike any other synthetic death experience i have ever known. i fear that soon i may find myself wallowing in my own depression and crooning out death cries to the passing cows......depression is beautiful.
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Post by bert on May 28, 2003 14:17:21 GMT -5
oh how the beauty of a synthetic crow depression death never stops to make my black rotting heart melt like the screaching crys of the weasel in heat. what a poet you are. if only i could be nearly as scene as thou. The depression of the mammal species reminds me of that of the porcupine, soft and beautiful. it is so meaningful.
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Post by mildred on May 28, 2003 14:19:39 GMT -5
it is moments like these that i am thankful for being vegan.....because there is no other way to be then by the bean.
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Post by David Werking on May 28, 2003 18:14:25 GMT -5
While I think Knife Play, after all is said and done, remains the better of their albums, I would have to say the best lyric, for me (personally) would be:
"that's enough of even trying"
on blacks. (a promise)
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Post by David Werking on May 28, 2003 18:19:14 GMT -5
then he says "I have had enough of this life" and it sounds like "i've had a false life"
the best lyrics are often the ones we hear wrong.
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Post by Nidhogg on Jun 2, 2003 15:23:08 GMT -5
oh how the beauty of a synthetic crow depression death never stops to make my black rotting heart melt like the screaching crys of the weasel in heat. what a poet you are. if only i could be nearly as scene as thou. The depression of the mammal species reminds me of that of the porcupine, soft and beautiful. it is so meaningful. I'm headed down the southern trail I'm goin' chicken huntin' choppin redneck chicken necks I ain't sayin' nothin' bout the hillbilly Barrel in his eye Boom-chaka Boom-chaka hair chunks in the sky Why I never liked chicken pot pie. Who's going chicken huntin'? WE's goin' chicken huntin'.
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