A steampunk nationBaby pollution rises up then the loving comes arraigning 'causeOur art's official and only partially artificialAnd our heart's in the middle of sharp hardened shards of metal butThere's not where it settlesBecause it's beating to the steaming of God's hottest pot or kettleAnd now we face it, this creation we made toTo save our craving for a synthetic rebelnation it'sOur safeway they make into a pathetic revelationIn our steampunk nationOur steampunk nation
art artificial creation fantasy god heart imagination kettle lyrics metal nation nationalism official patriot patriotic patriotism poem poetry punk rebel revelation rhyme rhythm romance song songwriting steam steampunk steampunk-romance steamy synthetic tso-love urban urban-fantasy
When Life rings your door bell and leaves a burning bag of poo on your porch don't step on it, instead put it out by pissing on it. Touche, Life will say. Touche.
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I like stories about supervillains. They teach children that you can accomplish great things even when the whole world is against you.
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Indeed. I have often thought that when a man selects one word over another he often reveals far more of himself than he intended.
mystery science-fiction steampunk
I tell you all the time, you will never be able to replace me with a brass and steam contraption. - Charlotte - As Timeless As Stone
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Goons were the lowest sort of homunculi, only superior to zombies.
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Let us fly, Madam Harpy Queen. Show me how you dance on the wind.
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Living on steam isn't easy.
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I love both her and them. I have come to understand that she is what they are. A woman accepts a man, expecting that he will change. A man takes a woman, expecting that she will never change. They are both disappointed. Yet within this very disappointment is the primal source of all new men and all new women
sci-fi steampunk
But there was nothing. No village or town as far as her eyes could strain. Nowhere for her saviours to come from and take her to; just fields and trees and the weeping arc of the river Greave all the way to the horizon. Just like in the books, Greaveburn was all there was; building and building until streets were foundations, roofs were floors, constantly climbing away from itself. Now that Abrasia saw it, her dream of escape crumbled completely like an ancient map in her fingers. The horizon was the world's edge and there was nothing beyond it but mist and falling. Greaveburn stood alone on this little circle of earth, the river running around and into itself like a snake eating its tail. And Abrasia was doomed to watch the sun and stars trade places for all eternity.
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