The Rusty Tank
Plate is my corpse's safeguard,
It took many hits and proofs it's hard.
Because I am the tank with all my might,
and in the front during the fight.
Dark times have come to me,
A grave danger I did not forsee,
The worst has happend for our canned man,
No mather how hard he faught or ran.
The rust has grown from spot to lots,
When I arrive the whole group nods,
If they are nice and I'm in luck,
They just say that my gear does suck.
It took many hits and proofs it's hard.
Because I am the tank with all my might,
and in the front during the fight.
Dark times have come to me,
A grave danger I did not forsee,
The worst has happend for our canned man,
No mather how hard he faught or ran.
The rust has grown from spot to lots,
When I arrive the whole group nods,
If they are nice and I'm in luck,
They just say that my gear does suck.
Reacties op dit gedicht
| little fly: | Woensdag, november 05, 2008 15:33 |
| Ik denk het niet:S ik begrijp deze heel goed! en ik vind het mooi en ironisch! Greetz, Linda |
|
| Gerregerbil: | Zondag, juni 15, 2008 15:35 |
| Volgens mij snap alleen ik deze :P | |
Over dit gedicht
| Auteur: The Guardian | 
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| Gecontroleerd door: benji | ||
| Gepubliceerd op: 12 februari 2008 | ||
| Thema's: | ||