I said the joker is a wanted man. He makes his way all across the land. See him sifting through the sand, so I’ll tell you all the story about the joker and the thief of the night.
The theif ran out of the store, holding four loaves of bread, two apples and a bunch of carrots. He needed something to feed his dog but wasn’t able to get near enough to the pet food isle. So it would have to do.
The owner of the store’s shouts could be heard in the distance.
In “The Kite Runner”, theft is considered the ONLY sin. I like that. Harold Camping stole from a lot of people. Not only money, but faith. And sometimes I feel like university has been a thief to me. Stealing the person I once was.
I feel like a thief, like i’m getting a part of people who loves me, and the only thing that I am doing is disappointing them, and I dont wanna do that, I love them… I’m a bad daughter, I wanna change, but I’m to lazy to do it…
steal. steal. steal. steal art. call it your own. steal love. call it your own. repeat. repeat the cycle. steal. steal. steal. no one is more that a common thief. a beautiful common thief.
He was a thief of my heart. Squeezing and pumping the blood into the street, as he stole away with a dish and a spoon. If only he’d have taken my brain, and I would have forgotten to hurt.
That bastard stole my heart. I commend him, though, for his commitment to the long haul. 7 whole years to create and upkeep an identity just for me. Such a life-like mask. God knows why he’d want it in the first place, though. It won’t be worth much on the black market.
Isabella is a thief. She steals stuff. That’s what thieves do, but Isabella does it best. LOL jk she is terrible at being a thief. She needs lessons on it. I mean, blind people can steal better than her! Crazy girl. WANKER!!!!!!!!!!!!!111!1!!W12q!!
someone who steals stuff, a bad person because you can be put in prison for it even beaten to death in Africa!! A word easily spelt wrong… theif! AKA robber, burglar, etc etc. errrr…?
He was wearing a black balaclava and he came in through the window of my apartment to take my dog and my jewelry but I stopped him with my baseball bat, and then I proceeded to stab him 37 times in the chest. This resulted in his demise.
Stealing is bad. I hate thieves. A girl tried to steal my Ipod once. So I stole her boyfriend, dangled him in front of her, and dumped in after two weeks. They never got back together. the end.
i feel like i am a thief. a thief of my own imagination and my own thoughts. i steal them and put them into words. i am a thief of my own life. i steal it for selfish reasons. i don’t know why. but i just think that if i can’t steal my life i can’t control it. and if i can’t control it i am no one.
The thief entered the house silently, like a cat. He blended in with the shadows and was wary of every creaking step he took, afraid to wake the sleeping owners, wanting to avoid using the shotgun he gripped tightly in his hands.
“Thief! Thief! You’re my thief!” The young woman cried, her ripped Victorian dress swirling around her as she ran to him. Her black hair, piled messily on top of her head, bounced up and down around her face.
The thief wandered the black night, wandering the skies as soft as velvet. He took only from those who deserved it; considered himself the Robin Hood of his time. THe only thing people saw of him was his silvery hair, whipping in the wind as they saw him leave their homes.
You stole my heart. you stole everything that was mine. you made me believe in something that i never thought was possible then you just walked away like i was nothing. It took me years to get back to this point but i now i find myself dealing with another one. hopefully this one wont do what you did me, hopefully this one will take it and me too. i want to go where my heart goes. i am sick of losing it.
a thief can be a good thing and a bad thing. a bad type of thief will steal a car or something that you cant even return, like your virginity or innocence. but theres also another type of thief. a thief that will steal your heart and you wont mind one bit. a thief that will steal a kiss on your cheek and all you can do is blush. so you can take it however way you want, but i see thieves as sometimes romantic, like in those long lost love stories. Someone that you wouldn’t expect at all to be a thief and a hero at the same time.
The days were fluttering by like a thief in the night. Coincidentally on that cold morning that started everything, a criminal of love, war and politics sat in his boudoir combing his luscious locks as he got ready to address the unsuspecting crowd outside of his balcony.
i take from everyone, i take from myself, i seek to destroy the good. but only sometimes. then i wonder why i have been stolen from only to realize once again that it was i that stole what i valued most. an endless cycle of self destruction only to have myself to blame, my complicated, tangled, ever loving, ever craving self.
How could you take something that didn’t belong to you? It was mine. You knew it was mine. But you still chose to take it. You soulless, heartless bastard. Now that it’s gone, I’ll never get it back. At least I can rest knowing it will never truly be yours. It will always have been mine first, and you’ll always know it.
a thief is a nasty person. Someone who takes but never gives back. They prey on the weak and vunerable. Sneak in the dark and hide in the shadows. For cars, money and treasure.
always searching never finding, always panting, looking over ones shoulder. a constand shame and an addiction to desperation. an undertone of pain in every interaction, trying to find something in others to satisfy what is missing within you.
The thief was running but all I could think about was those eyes. I knew those eyes once, but they no longer knew me. Oh how i used to fall into those eyes. I wasn’t even angry to loose the purse because it allowed me to see the beauty in those eyes one last time.
the thief is someone who takes what is not theirs.
he steals.
it’s violent, not passive.
but a thief maybe does not steal all that is his.
he’s a person, still.
he can still earn.
he can still have a family.
he can still love.
is it his?
I guess everyone thought I was that way. Stealing, running through the night. All I wanted was some damn food. Nothing more, no money. Zip. Just something to ease the pain I felt tingling in my stomach. Thief is what they labeled me… yet here I am, poor and alone. Starving. For life. For food. For anything.
I am a theif. Not the conventional kind though. I steal ideas and opinions. Thoughts. Memories. Dreams. Intangible things. Yet they are the best. Better than all the money and gold in the world. I am content with this.
sliding down a pole, slipping stealthily, running, afraid, caught, and again. You don’t quit. It’s not like the stories of valor and allegiance to some noble cause, this is real… frozen… unreal… un-felt nothingness. You die.
“Y-you…thief!” She cried, and I stopped, staring at her honest grey eyes and my own hands, trembling with nervousness.
I was about to drop that vase, but then decided against it as that would only push her further off the edge.
“It’s…it’s for your own good…you don’t know what this can do.”
He stole it . I can’t believe he would do that to me , my own brother my flesh and blood. I felt the blood in my mouth from were he had punched me back. I spat. What was I supposed to do now? I picked up the things off the floor that had fallen from the table in our struggle and placed them back were they belonged. Being careful not to cut my hands on the pieces of broken glass on the floor from the vase that had smashed. It was Amy’s favourite one. Blue with a stain effect. What would tell her? I cursed as I thought about the aftermath I would have to face thanks to him, my thief of a brother.
I said the joker is a wanted man. He makes his way all across the land. See him sifting through the sand, so I’ll tell you all the story about the joker and the thief of the night.
Wolfmother FTW
Someone stole my burger. Now I am mad
It sucks. A lot. I can’t believe it happened, right under my nose. How didnt I smell it?!
A thief in the night
A thief of teh heart
you came in a took everything fine from me
You took the razor to my heart and the bullet to my brain
You are a thief who won my soul and killed my heart </3
The theif ran out of the store, holding four loaves of bread, two apples and a bunch of carrots. He needed something to feed his dog but wasn’t able to get near enough to the pet food isle. So it would have to do.
The owner of the store’s shouts could be heard in the distance.
Those who take what they like but do not worry about the consequences – they care only for themselves… others are nothing to them.
In “The Kite Runner”, theft is considered the ONLY sin. I like that. Harold Camping stole from a lot of people. Not only money, but faith. And sometimes I feel like university has been a thief to me. Stealing the person I once was.
a thief is a person who always steal….they need some rule to folllow they are rule breakers
sewage
I feel like a thief, like i’m getting a part of people who loves me, and the only thing that I am doing is disappointing them, and I dont wanna do that, I love them… I’m a bad daughter, I wanna change, but I’m to lazy to do it…
steal. steal. steal. steal art. call it your own. steal love. call it your own. repeat. repeat the cycle. steal. steal. steal. no one is more that a common thief. a beautiful common thief.
He was a thief of my heart. Squeezing and pumping the blood into the street, as he stole away with a dish and a spoon. If only he’d have taken my brain, and I would have forgotten to hurt.
That bastard stole my heart. I commend him, though, for his commitment to the long haul. 7 whole years to create and upkeep an identity just for me. Such a life-like mask. God knows why he’d want it in the first place, though. It won’t be worth much on the black market.
Isabella is a thief. She steals stuff. That’s what thieves do, but Isabella does it best. LOL jk she is terrible at being a thief. She needs lessons on it. I mean, blind people can steal better than her! Crazy girl. WANKER!!!!!!!!!!!!!111!1!!W12q!!
some one who steels from someone else. some one who takes. some one who lies about taking. she is a theif.
someone who steals stuff, a bad person because you can be put in prison for it even beaten to death in Africa!! A word easily spelt wrong… theif! AKA robber, burglar, etc etc. errrr…?
pirates. pirates of the carribbean premiere last thursday. seeing someone i hate, crying, always crying, depression, medication, birth control
“You stole it!”
“What?! I have no idea what you are talking about!”
“Walk away and never look back. I never want to see you again. If you can’t return it, then I don’t want it. I will never use it again.”
He was wearing a black balaclava and he came in through the window of my apartment to take my dog and my jewelry but I stopped him with my baseball bat, and then I proceeded to stab him 37 times in the chest. This resulted in his demise.
Stealing is bad. I hate thieves. A girl tried to steal my Ipod once. So I stole her boyfriend, dangled him in front of her, and dumped in after two weeks. They never got back together. the end.
i feel like i am a thief. a thief of my own imagination and my own thoughts. i steal them and put them into words. i am a thief of my own life. i steal it for selfish reasons. i don’t know why. but i just think that if i can’t steal my life i can’t control it. and if i can’t control it i am no one.
The thief entered the house silently, like a cat. He blended in with the shadows and was wary of every creaking step he took, afraid to wake the sleeping owners, wanting to avoid using the shotgun he gripped tightly in his hands.
“Thief! Thief! You’re my thief!” The young woman cried, her ripped Victorian dress swirling around her as she ran to him. Her black hair, piled messily on top of her head, bounced up and down around her face.
The thief wandered the black night, wandering the skies as soft as velvet. He took only from those who deserved it; considered himself the Robin Hood of his time. THe only thing people saw of him was his silvery hair, whipping in the wind as they saw him leave their homes.
You stole my heart. you stole everything that was mine. you made me believe in something that i never thought was possible then you just walked away like i was nothing. It took me years to get back to this point but i now i find myself dealing with another one. hopefully this one wont do what you did me, hopefully this one will take it and me too. i want to go where my heart goes. i am sick of losing it.
a thief can be a good thing and a bad thing. a bad type of thief will steal a car or something that you cant even return, like your virginity or innocence. but theres also another type of thief. a thief that will steal your heart and you wont mind one bit. a thief that will steal a kiss on your cheek and all you can do is blush. so you can take it however way you want, but i see thieves as sometimes romantic, like in those long lost love stories. Someone that you wouldn’t expect at all to be a thief and a hero at the same time.
i just wrote about this word, is it that popular or what? anyway, i wouldn’t want to meet him
bad bad person who takes things that are not his. steals from other people
The days were fluttering by like a thief in the night. Coincidentally on that cold morning that started everything, a criminal of love, war and politics sat in his boudoir combing his luscious locks as he got ready to address the unsuspecting crowd outside of his balcony.
i take from everyone, i take from myself, i seek to destroy the good. but only sometimes. then i wonder why i have been stolen from only to realize once again that it was i that stole what i valued most. an endless cycle of self destruction only to have myself to blame, my complicated, tangled, ever loving, ever craving self.
How could you take something that didn’t belong to you? It was mine. You knew it was mine. But you still chose to take it. You soulless, heartless bastard. Now that it’s gone, I’ll never get it back. At least I can rest knowing it will never truly be yours. It will always have been mine first, and you’ll always know it.
a thief is a nasty person. Someone who takes but never gives back. They prey on the weak and vunerable. Sneak in the dark and hide in the shadows. For cars, money and treasure.
always searching never finding, always panting, looking over ones shoulder. a constand shame and an addiction to desperation. an undertone of pain in every interaction, trying to find something in others to satisfy what is missing within you.
The thief was running but all I could think about was those eyes. I knew those eyes once, but they no longer knew me. Oh how i used to fall into those eyes. I wasn’t even angry to loose the purse because it allowed me to see the beauty in those eyes one last time.
the thief is someone who takes what is not theirs.
he steals.
it’s violent, not passive.
but a thief maybe does not steal all that is his.
he’s a person, still.
he can still earn.
he can still have a family.
he can still love.
is it his?
I guess everyone thought I was that way. Stealing, running through the night. All I wanted was some damn food. Nothing more, no money. Zip. Just something to ease the pain I felt tingling in my stomach. Thief is what they labeled me… yet here I am, poor and alone. Starving. For life. For food. For anything.
I am a theif. Not the conventional kind though. I steal ideas and opinions. Thoughts. Memories. Dreams. Intangible things. Yet they are the best. Better than all the money and gold in the world. I am content with this.
sliding down a pole, slipping stealthily, running, afraid, caught, and again. You don’t quit. It’s not like the stories of valor and allegiance to some noble cause, this is real… frozen… unreal… un-felt nothingness. You die.
Someone who steals from you. Your heart, money or possessions. Someone who hates you. And hurts you constantly.
“Y-you…thief!” She cried, and I stopped, staring at her honest grey eyes and my own hands, trembling with nervousness.
I was about to drop that vase, but then decided against it as that would only push her further off the edge.
“It’s…it’s for your own good…you don’t know what this can do.”
He stole it . I can’t believe he would do that to me , my own brother my flesh and blood. I felt the blood in my mouth from were he had punched me back. I spat. What was I supposed to do now? I picked up the things off the floor that had fallen from the table in our struggle and placed them back were they belonged. Being careful not to cut my hands on the pieces of broken glass on the floor from the vase that had smashed. It was Amy’s favourite one. Blue with a stain effect. What would tell her? I cursed as I thought about the aftermath I would have to face thanks to him, my thief of a brother.