Parallel Universe: A Song From Tom Hooper's Les Miserables. In The Tune of Les Miserables Musicale.
Part I:
Me: I am such a representative.
The Them: Nexus of an anxious people of unluck.
Chorus: Extract3x, fit it out like a mother, wheel of derelict, make sure you to have visions, I have stories, I have lions, the quick fun is delayed, this is a tiresome lay-out. This is a
.
Me: At the end of the day you live nothing, you live longer. I have no hold of cities. There are chymeres and slave bosses who take in their tale the death as a point.
Chorus: There is a struggle, there is a war. And we're all but just a mere dying. What is the point what is the point, sleeping round? And there's gonna be pay to hell at the day of the end!
Jean Badian: There are unused words - Who am I? - monocles, ambivalent fused potions. There is an Aljur Abrenica I could kiss, I once almost wet on. Plagiarists are off-duty todaaay.
Chorus: There is a struggle, there is a war. And we're all but just a mere dying. What is the point what is the point, sleeping round? And there's gonna be pay to hell at the day of the end!
Pantene: The saint pays its/their own fare (Conductor: Plitihan ang Sto. Ninyo plitihan?) I am a witness of a baby, a baby of wan, all these notions and mores of uncaring, blankly of Alexander McQueenish, brain wirely, Wisdomish, truthed.
Cavert: Nobody sullies the bible qua the uncertain. Nobody lives. Grace of a breathless cryingthe. Breadth of lifing an illiterati. Banshee the snake, laughter then duck. Women of hope, mayor of muck. Millions forbid metal for their trite intent. I citizenize. I rice.
Part II.
Setting: World class poverty, CPILS=Syphilis.
Cose, the big version of Cosette, as in like when islet is small verse of isle: Nobooody buys the weird-looking fish.Why would I pray to myself?
Labels: David Foster Wallace, pretentious poetry, Tom Hooper's Les Miserables
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