Anthem for Doomed Youth
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries for them; no prayers nor bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,–
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
ok Steve, drum roll, why was my chair called Nelson Mandela?
Because it was falling Apartheid.
marcus received 2 official complaints about it (he complained twice to himself) so sadly it had to go
It was a bit odf a clowns car of a chair. First the arms fell off spectacularly, then the back and it kinda shed foam dandruff
…but it swoooshed!
I’ve just seen it outside, lonely and folorn in the car park.
somebody might steal it! yikes
last time i saw it was Friday evening, i sat down in the lift on it with, pete ‘peg leg’ brown riding shotgun
the new chair feels a little bit like Capn Kirk on the Bridge of the Starship Enterprise, without the drinks cabinet in the arm rest
A Sunny Winter Saturday, last night was a new moon and the islamic new year, so a time for optimism, beginnings and wearing green!
The kids dawdle jump about the living room curious as to what i’m up too.
Can’t say i blame ’em.