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Philosophers RapI've got a rap song
And I'm here to rap it awesomely
Starting with the ancient Greeks
And their philosophies
There was a dude named Socrates
And he'd always go
How do we know what we know?
And what do we have to show
For all of our thinking
Because life is just one big stinking
For wondering what to do in a tricky situation
And Socrates taught Plato
And Plato, Aristotle
And they all posed questions about reality
If the things that they were seeing were really what they think they see
And how can we figure out what we're supposed to be
If the words that we are saying
And it's dope
But they're hoping
That someone can rise up
And make sense of everything
Become the Philosopher King
If the people are smart enough
To choose someone smart enough
To be the leader of all of us
But do we even need it?
We've got it on lock
Like John Locke
Who says that we all rock
That we know
Scattle RapNothing can prepare you
This world, it'll scare you
And tear you
A million pieces
A million crimes
I've seen it happen millions of times
Be a million and one
Cuz you're one in a million
They're not taking stances
They're not making plans
And they end up
Ending up fading away
At the end of the day
And they get in the way
Or they make matters worse
Just reciting each verse
Every day a rehearsal
Claim they'll save the world
and then pull a reversal
Lash out at their allies
Cause their own boat to capsize
And blame you
Make a ref to Titanic
and they're all the mannequins
I don't understand it
And I never want to
and we've never got to
We've just got to keep trying
There's no point in denying
that this world will break you
Into a million pieces
Throw you for a loop
And don't stoop
to their level
in what they call the devil
Be a r
The Night Prince - Chapter OneChapter One
In Which We Meet The Young Maiden Lucia
The sun shone down on the humble farmhouse, making its thatched roof glow golden. The air was filled with the smell of fresh hay and the sound of chickens clucking in the distance. Across from the barn was the beginning of a path that had been worn into the grass by years of its being treaded upon. That pathway led through a grassy meadow towards a stable.
The stable was a simple structure, little more than rows of wooden planks nailed together to form an enclosure. Its owner was a man who believed in simplicity. In fact, he believed in only three things, simplicity, good food, and the value of hiring someone more skilled than oneself when it came to the completion of difficult tasks.
That someone was a young girl named Lucia and the difficult task was the care of a fearsome horse named Hellbred. The stable owner had discovered Hellbred as a foal and
The Night Prince - ProloguePrologue, or the Chapter Before the First
In Which Our Story Commences
The night was still and quiet. The air was cold, almost as if it were a gust of wind that had become frozen in place. If there was a wind at all, it certainly wasn't blowing very much, for one could barely hear the last dead leaves still rustling across the path. Indeed, there was scarcely movement at all on that dark road. Occasionally, the silence would be broken by the far-off hooting of a lone owl.
Overhead was a clear night sky, the stars cold and bright and distant. They were framed by the gnarly reaching fingers of bare trees, twisting upwards into the darkness. As the ancient branches loomed above, one who is following this road at this particular moment could perhaps see someone approaching from the opposite direction. The hunched figure is draped in a dark cloak of indeterminate colour. As this person draws neare
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
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