I'll die way before Methuselah. So I'll fight sleep with ammonia. And every morning, with eyes all red. I'll miss them for all the tears they shed. . But I'm actually good.
With it. I become the death Dickinson feared. With it. I'm the red admiral on his ship. And I raise. With infans for my coronation. I've ruled over my all my dead impersonations.
Je commence un livre par la fin. Et j'ai le menton haut pour un rien. Mon œil qui perce à cause du vent. Mes absences et du sentiment. . Je ne tiens pas debout.