LYRIC FOR SALE

By Bonnie208

HUNDRED MILLION STORIES IN THE SAND

We are at Madame Tussaud’s Mike’s Luncheon
car opens for Mike.
Shoes on floor like gold, there is distinction
in place; claps loud like
thunder; why have concerts, when you can stand
Mike Jackson activists
screaming and shouting, as if a Band.
It is Madame grist
Tussauds affairs.

CHORUS
We have arrived for Mike’s Luncheon
at Baker’s street, feeling is godlike
here for the Luncheon.
His umbrella is so lifelike…
Which way do I turn? So many fans for grand
prime event hist.

BRIDGE
Music Luncheon
in a thousand words, is godlike
with Jackson.
With hundred million stories on Michael’s godlike
ways, and dreamy grand brand,
don’t judge me, just be earnest.

Do I run, walk, brisk walk or phaeton
or moonwalk, just like Mike?
We are here with King Michael Jackson
at Madame Tussauds. Mike
is the lifelike line. He is the brand.
Michael is deist,
I understand.

CHORUS
Such entourage! It’s a Luncheon…
What would I like?
Noise is deafening…
but truly dreamlike.
So, don’t try to judge this grandstand
he’s rooted on. Just let me love him in tryst…
feel his grand hand…







BRIDGE
Music Luncheon
in a thousand words, is godlike
with Jackson.
With hundred million stories on Michael’s godlike
ways, and dreamy grand brand,
don’t judge me, just be earnest.

Joyful in this dream occasions…
Michael’s eight metre lifelike
statue, flown from Prague, stands uncommon
on the Sydney Harbour spike.
My mind flies to Thailand where Mike withstands
shop casuist.
I love his smart waistcoat cut-glass brand
jacket with lattice…
love Thailand’s wares.

CHORUS
I’m in Thailand where this happens…
I keep staring at his Sportsmanlike
looks…He’s a statesman
too…’Mike’, I whisper in childlike
tone to him…”I love this armband and sweatband
around your wrist.”
He is a true brand.

BRIDGE
Music Luncheon
in a thousand words, is godlike
with Jackson.
With hundred million stories on Michael’s godlike
ways, and dreamy grand brand,
don’t judge me, just be earnest.

















NARRATION:

There, he has his smooth weapon
with him…ask me if I love Mike’s
loafers more than his brogan…
I love his white milky childlike
skin, which did him good. I feel grand
like Fúhuó, to be honest.
This is where I wake to Home land,
at the wax house. Michael insists
I should stay in the room upstairs.
It is a good day and he is
spending quality time downstairs,
with his crowd. I think Michael is
a world saver. He saves the Sun,
global earth, Universe and fun…
That blue mini-bus gift in London
I got for him, is what I like.
Love it too. I have a sudden
flash back and Mike loves the dreamlike
dresses for my mum. This dark brand
of abaya, is enlisted…
hey, I love my abaya brand
love the shoes, which is the latest
for me, love the gold bangle wares.
He finds earrings on me, a phiz.
I’m claustrophobic and aware
of crowd consciousness. The thing is,
if someone had told me I won
tonnes of trophies like golden sun,
and awards of Michael Jackson,
I might have hugged them. The suchlike
honour is nice. I am deepened
with joy. I am upstairs in this cool,
soft cushioned room, in the great grand
Madame Tussauds. I modestly
study the wax works varied brands,
and how they withstand or resist
all the seasons and years, at their
Tussauds base…should make a treatise.
Healthy stories to write, on their
statues. Wonder, if my showbiz
boy, Prince Bigi would visit one,
or all Madame Tussauds that stun
the world with statues…a Luncheon
visit round the world, is lifelike,
but from my mansion on a brand
new wide screen. With Michael’s greatest
goals, comes peace, and I understand
no greater joy…peace; that exists.
I look at magazines upstairs…
Do the statues look so fizzy?
Michael’s stories are sweet with airs…
His stories make me truly rich
like a bun, as I think of fun
with sand cake glow in my Sun;
wonder how much grain of garden
sands, make stories worth a lifelike?
It’s my luncheon.

I could go on and on about big Mike.
I could go on and
on, about Madame Tussauds artistic
statues, high styles and
flash fairy fantasies that harvests
sand cake illusions their;…
as I flick through magazine ages.
I’m jotting upstairs…
with eyeglasses.

CHORUS
Meant to write Mike’s story as fun,
as hundred thousand stories, but then,
I just reckon
I have more to write, in dreamlike,
lifelike, childlike ways, with a million proven
stories alike.

BRIDGE
Music Luncheon
in a thousand words, is godlike
with Jackson.
With hundred million stories on Michael’s godlike
ways, and dreamy grand brand,
don’t judge me, just be earnest.

Not thinking of stopping after my grand
millions of story gists.
I remember, in the chill cold, and
in seasons extremist
up North, when ice-blocks fell…unaware
that its blocks fall like glass,
but the Sun will come, like down the stairs.
Shine like gold riches,
Shine like fun Sun.







CHORUS
Sun was august visitor fun
whenever it arrived. Sunken rough
dampness I loathe. Like
salt lamp is gold…an occasion,
I call this…when being nine years old was dreamlike
on barren sands.

BRIDGE
It was silken
soft sands, with cattle’s alike…
that happen
to be grazing on the compound, like kids on trikes,
on the soil, on soft land,
where sand cakes have a stylist.

With sand in water concoction
and in little red buckets,
I would then hold on…I loved silken
sands and tasted sand’s pikes.
I licked sand and loved the crunchiness of sand.
After this grist,
I turn the bucket upside down, and
on the concrete schist…
there…sand cake wares!

CHORUS
My silken sand cake is smoothened
My sand cake is standing erect, like
gold cakes for luncheon.
Auctioned or eaten like garpikes…
but the Sun was my August visitor, and
I watch this grist
sand-cake on sun-land.

BRIDGE
It was silken
soft sands, with cattle’s alike…
that happen
to be grazing on the compound, like kids on trikes,
on the soil, on soft land,
where sand cakes have a stylist.

REFRAIN
There are hundred million silken
stories; if you’re workmanlike
in nature, you could write dozens
by hundred million sportsmanlike
worth of story books, which is First-Hand.