The day they covered us in the dirt. Like stars in the ground that will grow into dead flowers. The day they covered us in the dirt. Like stars in the ground that will grow into dead flowers.
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!. Life's but a walking shadow,. A poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more.
Do you always have to hire actors to play the devils that talk me out of my suicides?. You're just a ringtone,. That happens when you get sick enough to call the one with bullet holes.
Do you always have to hire actors to play the devils that talk me out of my suicides?. You're just a ringtone,. That happens when you get sick enough to call the one with bullet holes.