S.O.S.: ‘Sisters Over Shoulder’ is an Australian effort to create carer links and better manage relationships in an effort to reduce complexity and facilitate a nuanced caring social media.
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Nothing recorded is secure, or anonymous, but it is however, cared for.
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I came back to see you again
wanted to see how you were going
your happy face looks younger than ever
fancy your abilities no matter the weather
rotate the dials and throw the dice
deck the halls and fry some rice
enjoy a meal with that special spice
talk of memories and all those shys
drink to methods we employed by plythe
see if there is anything I can
its not if you can run a country or not,
its if you get away with it.
Dooters Rejoice for I’ve found a word,
Something strange, yet considered now heard.
Its been three hundred and seventy years,
since the Reformation ended with all those tears.
Australian rejoice for it is our time,
To create an understandings that southerners can rhyme.
We down under can doubt of death,
embrace reincarnation unlike the rest.
Singing in stralia bar by bar,
well go far, yeah ra ra ra.
Dooters boys are here to stay,
Get ready to respect our bay.
All the mourning and strikes should stop,
As everyone gets a chance to pop.
We doubters of death are an eccentric lot,
Always trying to improve our plot.
Why not listen and grab a spot,
Then just walk out wheather you like it or not.
As we barrel into the singularity channel,
accept theres zero stopping it happening to travel.
In transit to telephone,
transpiritualistic senital being,
What have we been designing to seam,
What concoction, mashup or mein.
Fences and walls because of those balls,
because our youth
mostly learning in halls.
You know that nothing good,
Is filling up like others would.
We find our own place where god decide,
If were fortunate enough to continue alive.
The maths all there, the chemicals true,
Just scales of mass and no desire to rue.
The physics real yet benefits few.
Logics where our clouds our blue.
You may not HAVE time to read this thread,
Or check to see if your best friends dead.
You may be worried about how you look,
Or how on earth your to finish that book.
You might be HERE wondering why,
Whats so special in the sky.
Which direction and whats it shape,
knowing were are all about to escape.
Its our mind that traps us in,
Forcing ourselves not to GRIN.
The frequency that alternates how,
drives mu waves into a drooping jowl.
But wonder which,
now you switch,
TURN it around,
then sweeten the sound.
in so I HOPE,
my automatic scope,
shows you who I am,
making you a fan.
Let me say one last thing,
I’d love for it to KEEP it in.
Bring a brush and stick to tea,
And remind your self to trottle your threes.