Cause I am a Superwoman,
Yes I am,
Yes she is,
Even when I'm a mess,
I still put on a vest,
With an S on my chest,
Oh yes,
I'm a Superwoman,
...
And all my sisters,
Coming together,
Say yes I will,
Yes I can
I'll do my bit tonight, but forgive me if it's a little harder to keep going than normal. Forgive me if I'm not superwoman after all." "Not superwoman?" he exclaimed, putting a hand on his chest in mock surprise. "You've lied to me all these years!
My "heart". Does that pitiful organ still represent anything? It lies motionless in my chest, pumping no blood, serving no purpose, and yet my feelings still seem to originate inside its cold walls. My muted sadness, my vague longing, my rare flickers of joy. They pool in the center of my chest and seep out of there, diluted and faint, but real.
Todd? Are you still there?" "Yeah. I'm just trying to think of a good reason to continue our friendship." I grinned. "Jealousy is so unattractive Todd." "It would help if you could tell me one thing that's wrong. One flaw. Bad breath? Warts? Some condition that requires anti fungal spray?" "Would chest hair be a flaw?" "Oh, yeah." Todd sounded relieved." I can't stand a chest rug. You can't see the chest cut.
The slippers of the mortal Earth, now touched the chest of the Moon. Oh, it is shameful that the misery of hunger is still continuing as it was in the past.
Yes, we are our fathers' sons and daughters, but we are not their choices. For despite their absences we are still here. Still alive, still breathing,
with the power to change this world, one little boy and girl at a time.
Still, I wonder if we shall ever be put into songs or tales. We're in one, of course; but I mean: put into words, you know, told by the fireside, or read out loud of a great big book with red and black letters, years and years afterwards. And people will say: 'Let's hear about Frodo and the Ring' and they'll say 'Oh yes, that's one of my favorite stories.
And yes, I know it's you; and that is what we will come to, sooner or later, when it's even darker than it is now, when the snow is colder, when it's darkest and coldest and candles are no longer any use to us and the visibility is zero: yes. It's still you. It's still you.
Oh, I still like dresses. I've still got plenty of them. It's just that I don't put them on specially for photo-shoots anymore. It's just part of my everyday life.
I might not of told you enough that I loved you but I didn't expect for you to cheat, I loved you and you knew that and I still do, I might of argued with you, pushed you away but I still loved, I still do, you walk away as I cry with my hand on my chest because my heart feels like it will tear.
Can I flirt with another guy to make him jealous?" "Oh no." She laughed, still holding my hands. "That will unleash something you can't handle. You don't mess with men that way.
I put my hand on my chest. I can feel my heart beating. My heart is working. I'm pleased. I'm still alive.
I can still boss people around. I can still write. I can still read. I can still eat, and I can still have very strong views.
High Frontier places a bullet-proof vest on our bare chest. High Frontier is as non-aggressive as a bullet-proof vest. There is no way to kill anyone with High Frontier - all that High Frontier can do is to keep others from killing us.
Deutsche Telekom was a brand that people still loved, the nerds loved it, and it was still there, it was still visible. The advertiser was OK. But it was a mess. It was in my mind, though, intuitively obvious what to do. I had some advisers and friends, and we looked at it and said all you have to do is get the iPhone, buy some spectrum, consolidate the industry, reinvigorate the brand, and take this company public.
Oh, I was super serious about practicing and rudiments, and still am. I still have all my books.