This ain't a song for the broken-hearted

This ain't a song for the broken-hearted No silent prayer for the faith-departed I ain't gonna be just a face in the crowd You're gonna hear my voice When I shout it out

loud. This ain't a song for lawyers in pleats No cry for justice out on the streets I ain't gonna wear a shirt saying I'm proud You're gonna hear my voice when I shout it out loud

This ain't a song for whiners and criers No wimpy ballad about cheaters and liars I ain't gonna be no Elwood P. Dowd You're gonna hear my voice when I shout it out loud.

erotic poetry but threw that away too, in fear that my mother would discover it. I finally settled on writing a short story. It was going to be a masterpiece. I named it 'Adventure

of a Remarkablly Manly Toadstool." and it went like this: "Once upon a time in an enchanted forest, the youngest daughter of the King, Fungulia sat below a large oak tree. Suddenly

a poisoned pineapple fell from the Oak Tree of Confusion in the forest's Garden of Barbara Eden. It struck Princess Fungulia in the noggin. When she came to, she was Sir Isaac

Newton' s mistress, referred to as his "heavenly body". This rubbed her feminist philosophies the wrong way. Thus, Princess Fungulia escaped to Witch Mountain, where

the brink of all potato destruction lay. Newton had to stop Fungulia before all of potato demolishes, and more importantly, grab his watch he dropped during his tour of the mountai

nous Abercrombie models. Newton stretched his arm, feeling his shoulder drop out of socket as he reached for the watch as potato chunks whipped his face. To be concluded...now.