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By Farthest From Studios
The podcast currently has 624 episodes available.
The mic sits still, the room is quiet,
Where once the words would ebb and flow,
A voice that sparked a vibrant riot,
Now gently fades, prepared to go.
The episodes, like chapters told,
Have carried thoughts through distant ears,
With laughter, wisdom, stories bold,
Across the months, the weeks, the years.
But every journey finds its end,
And now the time has come to part,
To say farewell, like leaving friends,
With gratitude within the heart.
The final sign-off, soft and clear,
A closing line, a voice of peace,
No need for sadness, doubt, or fear,
Just memories that never cease.
For though the podcast’s tune may fade,
Its echoes linger in the mind,
The stories shared, the moments made,
Will last beyond, a gift enshrined.
So with a smile, the host steps down,
The mic unplugged, the journey done,
A podcaster without the crown,
Yet knowing they have truly won.
The lights go dim, the crowd leans in,
A murmur rises through the haze,
Anticipation sparks the din,
Electric nights and wild displays.
The amps hum low, the drumsticks tap,
Then suddenly the silence breaks,
A burst of sound, a thunderclap,
The first chord hits, the whole place quakes.
The lead guitar screams through the air,
A voice cuts sharp, a primal cry,
The bass drum pounds without a care,
And bodies sway as rhythms fly.
The crowd’s alive, a single wave,
A sea of hands that clap and sing,
Each heartbeat echoes, bold and brave,
Each soul takes flight on freedom’s wing.
The singer jumps, the stage alight,
The world outside fades to a blur,
Within this space, this fiery night,
The music roars, the passions stir.
In every chord, a story told,
In every note, a spirit free,
For in this place, the young and old,
Are one with rock's eternity.
A modern coat for homes to wear,
In sheets that gleam and lines so neat,
Aluminum stands firm and fair,
Against the rain, the snow, the heat.
No paint required, no wood to rot,
It wraps the frame in silver skin,
A sturdy guard, without a thought,
Where strength and style both begin.
Reflecting sun with subtle gleam,
It holds its place through storm and age,
A simple yet efficient dream,
That shelters us from nature’s rage.
The panels click in perfect rows,
A fortress, light yet built to last,
In every breeze, the siding knows,
The secrets of the winds that pass.
It does not boast, it does not brag,
Yet there it stands, both firm and proud,
A quiet strength, a humble flag,
Protecting homes through every cloud.
So here’s to siding, strong and true,
A gleaming guard that does not tire,
In silver hues or painted blue,
A steadfast wall that won't expire.
A canvas turns with coded hands,
Algorithms brush and blend,
The future wakes to new demands,
As lines of ones and zeros bend.
The human touch, once all we knew,
Now meets a force both strange and vast,
Where AI dreams in colors, too,
And learns to mirror what has passed.
Will art evolve, or lose its soul?
Can circuits feel, or hearts create?
In this new dance, who takes control?
And where will fate and vision mate?
Yet art, at heart, is how we feel,
An essence AI cannot hold,
A journey through what’s true, what’s real,
A story that we each unfold.
The brush, the pen, the voice, the song,
May find new paths in what’s to be,
For even as machines grow strong,
The soul remains the mystery.
So let them paint, and let them learn,
For art’s a realm both deep and wide,
The future bends, but hearts still yearn,
For what no code can e’er provide.
A world that buzzes, clicks, and swipes,
Where every moment’s on display,
Can pull the mind in endless types,
And steal the calm of every day.
The scrolling feeds, the constant hum,
A flood of faces, voices, news,
Can leave the heart and spirit numb,
With truths distorted, lies confused.
But there’s a place beyond this noise,
Where stillness waits, a gentle friend,
Away from all the scrolling toys,
Where frantic thoughts can start to mend.
So, close the apps, and step outside,
Feel sunlight warm upon your skin,
Let nature’s whispers be your guide,
And let the quiet draw you in.
For in the silence, truth is found,
A deeper calm, a breath of grace,
No likes or shares, no chasing sound,
Just you, yourself, in sacred space.
Disconnect to reconnect,
With who you are, and what you need,
To find the peace you may suspect,
Is buried in the constant feed.
In every wag, a world of love,
Tallulah brought the brightest cheer,
A gentle soul, like stars above,
Her presence made all shadows clear.
Her eyes, a window to the heart,
So full of life, so pure and true,
With every step, she played her part,
In making every moment new.
But time, it flows, a river wide,
And though we wish to hold it fast,
The day arrived, the ebbing tide,
Where love must linger in the past.
Tallulah’s bark, her joyful run,
Now echoes in the halls of dreams,
Yet in our hearts, she is not done,
Her spirit flows in endless streams.
We miss her paws, her gentle grace,
The way she’d greet us with such glee,
But in her place, a warm embrace,
Of memories that set us free.
For love like hers, it never fades,
It lives within each tear, each smile,
Tallulah’s light, though heaven’s shades,
Will guide us on, through every mile.
The silver screen once filled with dreams,
Now echoes back familiar tales,
Where once new worlds burst at the seams,
Now sequels sail on well-worn sails.
The magic fades, the spark grows dim,
As stories told are told again,
A cycle where the lights grow slim,
And creativity seems to wane.
Characters we’ve loved and known,
Are called again to tread the stage,
Yet something fresh, a seed unsewn,
Is lost within this gilded cage.
The heart that once made wonders soar,
Now clings to tales that came before,
While somewhere waits an open door,
To lands unseen, to something more.
But still they come, the sequels rise,
A shadow of what once was bright,
As fans look on with weary eyes,
For something new to spark delight.
The worlds we crave, the tales we need,
Are waiting in the wings, unshown,
Yet Disney’s path, it seems to heed,
The echoes of what’s already known.
With capes unfurled, the legend flies,
A symbol born from ancient lore,
Now under James' guiding eyes,
He soars anew to heights once more.
The Krypton son, in shadows past,
Now steps into a light reborn,
His future bright, his story vast,
A hero for a world reborn.
With every frame, a tale retold,
Of strength and hope, of heart and might,
Yet something fresh within the fold,
A vision clear, a shining light.
Gunn’s touch will craft the Man of Steel,
With humor, heart, and power grand,
A tale where truth and justice heal,
And heroes rise to take their stand.
The world awaits this hero’s flight,
A journey set on paths to run,
For in this film, a new delight,
A Superman reborn by Gunn.
The skies will part, the stars will gleam,
As he ascends with purpose true,
In every scene, a bright new dream,
Of what our greatest hero can do.
A universe where heroes rise,
And legends weave their fates in time,
From skies above to battles nigh,
Their stories form a grand design.
With iron heart and thunder’s might,
The bravest stand to face the night,
A tale of hope, of wrong and right,
In every clash, a spark of light.
The webs are spun, the shields are raised,
Through realms of magic, space, and stone,
Each hero’s path, a winding maze,
Yet never do they fight alone.
From guardians of distant stars,
To warriors with regal scars,
Their destinies entwine in wars,
That shake the heavens, earth, and Mars.
The villains rise with schemes in hand,
Yet always meet the hero’s stand,
In every frame, a world unplanned,
With courage forged in fire’s brand.
As credits roll, the story’s sewn,
A universe in every tone,
The Marvel world, where seeds are sown,
For heroes yet to be unknown.
Golden skin, a crisp embrace,
The scent of warmth that fills the air,
A feast of flavors, pure and base,
In every bite, a love affair.
The juices run, so tender, sweet,
Each shred of meat, a perfect taste,
From first to last, a purest treat,
No morsel left to go to waste.
The crackling skin, a savory dream,
A symphony of roasted bliss,
With every bite, a quiet gleam,
A comfort found in something this.
The herbs and spice, the secret blend,
Infused in every golden turn,
A simple joy that knows no end,
A hunger only this can burn.
On plates it rests, a sight divine,
The centerpiece of home’s delight,
Each piece a treasure, yours and mine,
A meal that warms the coldest night.
So gather round, and take your share,
Of this, the finest, humble fare,
For rotisserie’s tender care,
Is food that’s beyond all compare.
The podcast currently has 624 episodes available.