In Flanders fields the poppies blow.

The poppies hung Dew-dabbled on their stalks.

Carrying a poppy he passes through the quarrel.

The sermon is now the true poppy of literature.

All panegyrics are mingled with an infusion of poppy.

But pleasures are like poppies spread: You seize the flower

And far and wide, in a scarlet tide, The poppy's bonfire spread.

Or, bide thou where the poppy blows With windflowers fail and fair.

The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below

Kissing Mother Superior, incompetent, hairball, poppy seeds, on the can.

Through the dancing poppies stole A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul.

Pleasures are like poppies spread: You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed.

Such a blush In the midst of brown was born, Like red poppies grown with corn.

I survived, carried on, glad to be like a weed, a wild red poppy, rooted in life.

I'm not a big disco guy. Some of that English techno-poppy stuff wouldn't get me in the mood either.

his thumbs ran over my cheeks. Our foreheads touched. My dreamscape scorched. He set fire to the poppies

Yes, linseed oil. I used to use poppy oil, but I have heard that poppy oil is given to cracking pigment too, so I use it no longer.

I listened a little to punk when I was younger, but it was straight edge punk. It was nothing like what is going on now, like poppy punk.

Reason I know, is only a drug, and, as such, its effects are never permanent. But, like the juice of the poppy, it often gives a temporary relief.

I was sick of fast, aggressive music; I felt like I needed to make a poppy thing. But, right now, I feel like I need to make a Hawkwind/Sabbath record. It gets boring if you just do the same thing all the time.

I think you can hear, when you listen to someone's music, whether or not they're enjoying making it - it's so great to hear music where you can tell the person making it was just having a blast. That's really important to me as far as my process goes. That's probably why my music ends up being so poppy!

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