The meaning of life is not to go to the grave with a nice and well kept body, but to come sliding in bruised and bloody screaming, "Hell ya, what a ride." |
Cry, cry for the weeping willow, for it has no...
Watch its mournful sway, its dance for the wounds...
She is that, that brings me joy
Yet she is that, that gives me pain...
Stand and fight O' peaceful fools,
and leave your words away...
The dieing light,
Cathes the fading clouds...
Parading around in my mind all alone.
Revolting against everything I ever believed...