Lorraine Manca
Well-known member
what will you say with your dying breath? make it count!
famous last words
- Thread starter Lorraine Manca
- Start date
Lorraine Manca
Well-known member
and the doctor will say, nope, the beer finished off you
i cant see what this thread is aboot, but i hate you too banvard:
:i guess im not getting stuck on a christmas card next year
Lorraine Manca
Well-known member
hey! with some exceptions i hope!
Lorraine Manca
Well-known member
i hear the old man stamping his feet
iamthenra
Well-known member
I don't think I would say much... I would have a last request though... I would probably ask for one of the cute nurses to give me a sponge bath! (and maybe a bit more too!) Haha! Hell, maybe she would even take my virginity??? At that point it wouldn't hurt to ask....
Hell, maybe she would even take my virginity??? At that point it wouldn't hurt to ask....
Rembrandt Broam
Well-known member
"Is that it?"
Lorraine Manca
Well-known member
dylan thomas was a pretty awesome poet, evidently his last words were..
I’ve had eighteen straight whiskies, I think that’s the record . . .
~ Dylan Thomas, poet, died: 1953
I’ve had eighteen straight whiskies, I think that’s the record . . .
~ Dylan Thomas, poet, died: 1953
Lorraine Manca
Well-known member
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.
The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.
The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman's lime.
The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather's wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.
And I am dumb to tell the lover's tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm
my favorite poem of his, not bad for a drunk
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.
The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.
The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman's lime.
The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather's wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.
And I am dumb to tell the lover's tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm
my favorite poem of his, not bad for a drunk