Son coeur est un luth suspendu;
Sitot qu’on le touche il resonne.
Et ensuite a commence les meurtres.
– De Beranger, via Poe
I remember now.
I remember how it started.
I can’t remember yesterday.
I just remember beginning the murders… murders… murders… murders…
Living on sponge cake, watching the sun bake
All of the tourist covered with oil.
Getting my big gun, and that’s when the murders begun
All of that sugar makes my blood boil.
First get in a comfortable position. If you can do the lotus you may but it is optional. Make sure you are wearing loose-fitting comfortable clothes. You may light a candle if you want. As each little thought comes up in your mind you may simply let it go and say to yourself “…thinking…” Then the murders begin.
Covfefe. Now the murders begin.
You mean the Bowling Green Massacre?
Turnaround, every now and then I get a little bit lonely
And you’re never coming round
Turnaround, every now and then I get a little bit tired
Of listening to the sound of my tears
Turnaround, every now and then I get a little bit nervous
That the best of all the years have gone by
Turnaround, every now and then I get a little bit terrified
And then I see the look in your eyes.
The look that tells me the murders are about to begin. Starting with me.
Rows and flows of angel hair
And Ice cream castles in the air
And Feather canyons everywhere
I’ve looked at clouds that way
But now they only block the sun
And the murders have begun.
So many things I would have done
But the murders had begun.
THE “Red Death” had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its seal --the redness and the horror of blood. And then the murders, however unnecessary, began.
A Mother’s instinct to protect her child ~the most powerful force on the planet. Right now I’m bursting with it. Overwhelmed by it. Trembling from it. My son, my precious boy, is hurt. Or, God forbid it’s worse. I don’t know the details of what’s happened. I don’t even know where he is. I just know I have to save him. And then the murder’s began~~~~~~
Hwæt! We Gar-Dena in gear-dagum
þeod-cyninga, þrym gefrunon,
hu ða æþelingas ellen fremedon!
Oft Scyld Scefing sceaþena þreatum
monegum mægþum meodo-setla ofteah;
egsode eorl[as] syððan ærest wearð
feasceaft funden; he þæs frofre gebad,
weox under wolcnum, weorð-myndum þah,
oðæt him æghwylc þara ymb-sittendra
ofer hron-rade hyran scolde,
gomban gyldan. Þæt wæs god cyning!
Till gmyrclra onginnan.
By the shore of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
At the doorway of his wigwam,
In the pleasant Summer morning,
Hiawatha stood and waited,
Waited for the white men coming,
Victims who knew they had it coming.
With his arrows freshly pointed,
With his tomahawk all sharpened,
Gradually the white men closed in,
Dropped like flies as arrows hit them.
Hiawatha grinning madly,
Rushed the white men with tomahawk high,
Did them in with manic howling,
Scalped them all with face of triumph,
Went back home where dinner waited.
Give me liberty or let the murders begin!
The author gives some account of himself and his family. His first inducements to travel. He is shipwrecked, and swims for his life. Gets safe on shore in the country of Lilliput; is made a prisoner, and carried up the country. And then the murders began.
“Something is happening, Eva. I’m sure of it!” Elisabeth von Schwarzenfels hurried her pace still further—and she was already walking quickly. Any moment now she’d break into a trot, her companion thought with amusement. And then the murders began.
Welcome back
Your dreams were
Your ticket out
Welcome back
To that same old place
That you laughed about
Well, the names
Have all changed
Since you hung around
But those dreams
Have remained and
They’ve turned around
And now the murders begin.
Puff, the magic dragon, lived by the sea,
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Hanah Lee.
Little Jackie Paper loved that rascal Puff,
And brought him strings and ceiling wax, and other fancy stuff.
And then the murders began.
I know I can’t stop. If I do, the seven-hundred pound female polar bear on my tail will catch me and devour me alive. And then the murders began…
YOU don’t know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain’t no matter. That book was made by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly. There was things which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth. That is nothing. I never seen anybody but lied one time or another, without it was Aunt Polly, or the widow, or maybe Mary. Aunt Polly – Tom’s Aunt Polly, she is – and Mary, and the Widow Douglas is all told about in that book, which is mostly a true book, with some stretchers, as I said before. So I could tell you about me and Tom Sawyer murdering them all and it could be just another of Mr. Twain’s stretchers. You can’t get us, no way.
It’s a long and a dusty road, a hot and a heavy load
The folks I meet ain’t always kind
Some are bad, some are good
Some have done the best they could
Some have tried to ease my troublin’ mind
And then the murders began.