Franks Wild Years
New member
To me it is like the first cry of a new born child or the bleat of a lost lamb on a snowey night.
Its the howl of a hungry wolf and the chatter of a million crows, its the gracefull arc of a young antelope as it prances across the savanha.
Its the tears and pain of a recent lost love and the girlish excitement of a new romance.
It twists and writhes like a woman aroused and it bows and withers like a naughty willy.
Its clean sheets and freshly aired pillow cases yet it is the damp dark claustrophobic confines of a freshly burried coffin, it kicks and screams like petulant child then collapses into our arms like a lover returned.
Its the sea, the sky and the stars, its love and hate and joy and sorrow.
Its North Stand Chat.
And its a bit of a laugh.
Its the howl of a hungry wolf and the chatter of a million crows, its the gracefull arc of a young antelope as it prances across the savanha.
Its the tears and pain of a recent lost love and the girlish excitement of a new romance.
It twists and writhes like a woman aroused and it bows and withers like a naughty willy.
Its clean sheets and freshly aired pillow cases yet it is the damp dark claustrophobic confines of a freshly burried coffin, it kicks and screams like petulant child then collapses into our arms like a lover returned.
Its the sea, the sky and the stars, its love and hate and joy and sorrow.
Its North Stand Chat.
And its a bit of a laugh.