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This is a group story where you add to the story ONLY using song lyrics. You have to put your song lyrics artist/song in parenthesis. The story can be humorous or serious...wherever it goes. Have fun! Each person can post as much as you want!
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Latest Activity: Feb 9, 2013
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Sing a song with me to lift your worries
Sing a song with me to touch your heart
Sing a song with me to move you mountains sing with me (medley)
Sing,sing a song sing out loud sing it strong
sing of good things,not bad
sing of happy,not sad
sing sing a song,make it simple to last a whole life long
don't worry that it's not good enough for anyone else to hear
just sing sing a song la la ...lalala,la la ...lalala.et. (!-wally harper 2?- sesame st)
I stand at your gate & the song that I sing is of moonlight
I stand and I wait for the touch of your hand in theJune light
I sing you and bring you
A Moonlight Serenade (Glen Miller)
One less bell to answer ,one less egg to fry
One less man to pick up after I should be happy but all I do is cry cry no more laughter,oh why did he go ?
" Well, let me sleep on it, baby, baby,
let me sleep on it.
Let me sleep on it and I'll give you an answer in the morning." (Meatloaf)
"Well, I woke up this morning,
And I got myself a beer,
Well, I woke up this morning,
And I got myself a beer,
'Cause the future's uncertain,
And the end is always near' - ("Roadhouse Blues" - Jim Morrison)
"Well, I woke up Sunday morning, no way to hold my head that didn't hurt,
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad, so I had another for dessert,
Fumbled through my closet for my clothes and found my cleanest dirty shirt,
Shaved my face and combed my hair and stumbled down the stairs to meet the day,
I'd smoked my brain the night before with cigarettes and songs that I'd been pickin'
But I lit my first and watched a small kid cussin' at a can that he'd been kickin'
Then I crossed the empty street and caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin' chicken,
And it took me back to something that I'd lost somehow somewhere along the way,
On the Sunday morning sidewalks,
Wishing Lord that I was stoned,
'Cause there's something in a Sunday,
That makes a body feel alone,
And there's nothing short of dying,
Half as lonesome as the sound,
Of the sleeping city sidewalks,
Sunday morning comin' down." (Kris Kristofferson)
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