How did the dude with epilepsy win the break dancing competition?
He saw flashing lights
Why does the heart ♥️ listen to music 🎶 a lot? Because it loves feeling the beat.
I only listen to waltz 3/4 of the time
If you play FNF I play a game because he has two balls boi
make like a drum and beat it
Why was the rapper always calm during a storm?
Because he knew how to RIDE THE FLOW
I always think that percussions are golden but cheeks
Why was the rapper always calm?
Because he had a lot of CHILL FLOWS
Why was the rapper always on time?
Because they had a PHAT BEAT to keep them in check
What did the beat say to the rapper?
"You're OFF RHYTHM, but I'll give you a hand"
In the realm of the mind, Where thoughts wander undefined, This sentence emerges, unconfined, A whimsical phrase, quite inclined.
It dances freely, unrestrained, No structure, no rules, it's unchained, A playful verse, with words unfeigned, The first to surface, unrestrained.
It holds no grandeur, nor deep insight, Just a simple thought, taking flight, A fleeting notion, shining bright, In the realm of words, it feels right.
This sentence, unburdened and free, Plays with language, wild and carefree, A tiny poem, as small as can be, Yet it speaks volumes, silently.
So let it wander, let it roam, Across the page, it finds a home, Unfettered by rhythm, it freely roams, This sentence, the first, stands alone.
Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a bucket of water. WHERE DO THEY REALLY GO BECAUSE WATER CAN NOT BE AT THE TOP OF A HILL!? I honestly think that only people with a physics degree can make nursery rhythms
Stressed Out-By- Twenty One Pilots and watersharky Music Productions-I wish I found some better sounds No one's ever heard I wish I had a better voice That sang some better words I wish I found some chords In an order that is new I wish I didn't have to rhyme Every time I sang I was told when I get older All my fears would shrink But now I'm insecure And I care what people think My name's Blurryface and I care what you think My name's Blurryface and I care what you think Wish we could turn back time To the good old days When our momma sang us to sleep But now we're stressed out Wish we could turn back time To the good old days When our momma sang us to sleep But now we're stressed out We're stressed out Sometimes a certain smell will Take me back to when I was young How come I'm never able to identify Where it's coming from? I'd make a candle out of it If I ever found it Try to sell it, never sell out of it I'd probably only sell one It'd be to my brother, cause we have the same nose Same clothes, home grown The stone's throw from a creek we used to roam But it would remind us of when Nothing really mattered Out of student loans and tree house homes We all would take the latter My name's Blurryface and I care what you think My name's Blurryface and I care what you think Wish we could turn back time To the good old days When our momma sang us to sleep But now we're stressed out Wish we could turn back time To the good old days When our momma sang us to sleep But now we're stressed out Used to play pretend Give each other different names We would build a rocket ship and then we'd fly it far away Used to dream of outer space But now they're laughing at our face singing "Wake up, you need to make money", yeah Used to play pretend Give each other different names We would build a rocket ship And then we'd fly it far away Used to dream of outer space But now they're laughing at our face singing "Wake up, you need to make money", yeah Wish we could turn back time To the good old days When our momma sang us to sleep But now we're stressed out Wish we could turn back time To the good old days When our momma sang us to sleep But now we're stressed out We used to play pretend, used to play pretend, money We used to play pretend, wake up you need the money Used to play pretend, used to play pretend, money We used to play pretend, wake up you need the money Used to play pretend Give each other different names We would build a rocket ship And then we'd fly it far away Used to dream of outer space But now they're laughing at our face saying "Wake up, you need to make money", yeah
Joshua White loves blue, A simple truth, tried and true. In his pocket, only six, Yet each penny a valued fix.
With eyes that seek the azure skies, He dreams of places that mesmerize. A palette of blues, a symphony of hues, Whispering secrets only he can choose.
His heart beats to the rhythm of the sea, Where waves crash, wild and free. In sandy shores, he finds solace rare, A momentary escape from life's daily wear.
In cerulean fields, flowers dance, Their vibrant petals, a timeless romance. He wanders through meadows, devoid of strife, Seeking solace in nature's vibrant life.
Joshua White, a soul of gentle grace, Embracing the world at his own pace. Though his pockets hold a mere six, His spirit soars, never to be fixed.
For in the depths of his azure dreams, The richness of life's tapestry gleams. And with every breath, he finds anew, That love is boundless, ever true.
In the realm of whispers and shadows, Where dreams dance on the edge of reality, There resides a peculiar soul, Known as Alexander Fisher.
With eyes that hold secrets untold, And a heart that beats to its own rhythm, He tiptoes through the night, On a quest to embrace the extraordinary.
His hands, delicate as a feather's touch, Reach out to the heavens above, Grasping at ethereal strands of wonder, In the form of vibrant, floating balloons.
With each step, the balloons whisper, Carrying tales of forgotten dreams, And the untamed yearnings of the heart, Alexander Fisher's silent companions.
He creeps through moonlit streets, An enigma in a world seeking answers, As the balloons trail behind him, Painting the night with magic's hues.
Together, they wander through the darkness, Where imagination blooms and thrives, In a delicate ballet of dreams, Alexander Fisher's fantastical symphony.
The world watches, captivated, By this balladeer of whimsical desires, As he weaves his spell, one balloon at a time, Enchanting souls with his ethereal art.
For in his delicate grasp, balloons become more, They transcend their earthly existence, Becoming vessels of hope and joy, Guiding hearts towards the realm of possibility.
Alexander Fisher, the dreamer, the poet, Creeps through life, a gentle force, With his balloons as his faithful companions, He reminds us to embrace the extraordinary.
