FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

I need my baby tonight,

I need to scream tonight,

Pure delight,

Yeah, that's right.

Lisa Raccoon,

dippin' back to the 80s and all,

getting lost in the cool, tranquil shade of Evergreen Forest,

our plush, tender hearts melting together

to something more modern,

like Kurt Cobain, or Pearl Jam,

while the sweet birdies, and frail winds tease our backs.

I need you tonight, my love,

for while God fails above

to give to me altruistic love,

I know I could be welcome in your arms,

in your silky, moist glove,

where you, O perfect child of the future Paradise,

can free my soul, and child, tonight,

and forever.

And, yeah, I feel the beckoning of righteousness calling me back,

like a nagging good Pied Piper wanting me to cut that electric cord between

my beautiful imagination of a mind, and my tender thread of a life.

But I have a choice, and that choice,

that choice is to rebel against the fraudulent Illuminati,

for I do have a lot of shit-grinning courage,

and while I can't dance,

I don't give a shit,

Lisa Raccoon, my almost thirty-year old Catfish sweetheart,

yes, I have seen your image on the TV screen,

and, yes,

while the Bible says it is wrong to worship a false image,

is not the Cross which can be manipulated into a Nazi sign,

(Oh Yeah),

then I don't give a damn about eternal damnation any longer,

my sweetheart,

Lisa Raccoon.

But,

it's not just you,

Lisa Raccoon.

It's all the furs I've come to love in my own tragic life,

this short Hamlet-style play,

where far too often, the most excellent decisions, and their consequences, are temporal, and less 'fatal',

whereas the more sorrowful create barbed wire bracelets around our hearts, and bleed us of our sanity, and even worse, our freedom to love the way we wish without freedom.

The truth is, though,

Lisa Raccoon,

and to all my lovers in Care A Lot,

and for every fur friend in my head who I have made through the years,

the 'gangsters of reality'

will not yet keep me today,

nor tomorrow,

from believing in an 'obscene fantasy'

that may, one day,

become a 'fantastic reality'.

For now,

Lisa Raccoon,

O perfect maiden,

combine yourself with me tonight under a sweet surrendering golden moon,

and swoon with me,

and let us forget of the tragedy

which has forsaken the rest of the world

tonight.