Placeholder: Our dreams don’t belong to them Our dreams don’t belong to them

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@generalpha

Prompt

Our dreams don’t belong to them

large hands

2 years ago

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Model

Luna Diffusion

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

608 × 912

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Our dreams don’t belong to them
Our dreams don’t belong to them
There's more to living than only surviving Maybe I'm not there, but I'm still trying Though you hear me I don't think that you relate My will is something That you can't confiscate So forgive me, but I won't be frustrated By destruction in your eyes As you're staring at the sun
You say my time here has been some sort of joke That I've been messing around Some sort of incubating period For when I really come around but I'm cracking up And you have no idea No idea how it feels to be on your own In your own home with the fucking phone And the mother of gloom
Our dreams don’t belong to them
There's more to living than only surviving Maybe I'm not there, but I'm still trying Though you hear me I don't think that you relate My will is something That you can't confiscate So forgive me, but I won't be frustrated By destruction in your eyes As you're staring at the sun
Poetry has no place for a heart that's a whore And I'm young and I'm strong But I feel old and tired Overfired And I've been poked and stoked It's all smokethere's no more fire Only desire For you, whoever you are
It shouldn’t be up to them to decide our future
Our dreams don’t belong to them
There's more to living than only surviving Maybe I'm not there, but I'm still trying Though you hear me I don't think that you relate My will is something That you can't confiscate So forgive me, but I won't be frustrated By destruction in your eyes As you're staring at the sun
In a place where no one ever came close to dreaming about... a place from a foaming brain, there is a tiny ripple of truth that duplicates sanity to reality... existence of self-pity and triumph! This is a long gone dream in which only lost souls find mercy from a god of an insane creation! Blowing cold winds that come from an uneven breathing pattern warm the frigid core of the sun! Rotting brain from inside the brittle bone of an old branch impatiently waiting to outgrow the sky… You are lost
You are Joan, a farmer girl living in Domremy, a village in eastern France during medieval times. At the age of ten, you began to hear voices that you believed to be from the Lord. These voices told you to drive out the British soldiers from the Holy Kingdom of France. These voices also revealed future events to you, which impressed many people. As you spoke well, people listened to your advice. You have already convinced two famous soldiers, Jean de Metz and Bertrand de Poulengy,.
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