You can’t tig your butcher

If my Gran taught me anything it’s that earthquakes are just god farts

Even Angels Fall, That Does Not Make Them Human

We are children of Nero

They will remove the tongues of women who speak

And the pale rider looked at me and knew that I was Death

Those that say they aren’t scared of the dark, they’ve never been truly trapped in it.

Round these parts they still burn witches.

Forever Halloween

Below this sacred stone
Lies my beloved Grant
He bet he could get out of anything
I bet that he can’t